Rachel stormed out of the shop, tears streaming from her eyes. Stupid. The word echoed through her head. The whole idea had been stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Her grand plan to change things had gone wrong. There had always been the chance that it might, of course. But she’d vastly underestimated. She’d thought she would be over the anger. That by denying it the anger would go away. Then, when she was sure it was gone, two minutes of conversation had blown a hole in the wall she’d spent the last six months building. Six months denying she was now a creature ruled by emotions. Six months living an existence devoid of colour, denying the reds, the greens, the blues of emotion. Six months instead embracing the grey of not feeling. Two minutes in, and six months of denied emotion; rage, hate. disgust, resentment, had burst forth, hot as ever. Blindly she stumbled along, her thoughts consumed by the whirl of all the colours she wasn't used to. All tinting one echoing word. Stupid.
Stupid to think she was over it. Stupid to think she could have anything to do with them.
Somehow she’d blindly made her way up 10th street in her anger, and now stood at the midpoint of the bridge. She had been walking quickly in her rage, and now her body faltered, unused to such exertion. She clutched a lamp post for support, just to rest for a moment, breathing heavily. The bubbling turmoil of thoughts and emotions slowly died away, and left her with an aching hollowness. By reflex, she tried to reach the blank emotionless state she’d trained herself to live in, but it wouldn’t come. A great welling of sadness and despair welled up instead, and tears began again to flow freely down her cheeks.
As the heat of emotion drained she began to feel chilled. She blinked away her tears, finally focusing on the world around her. Her clothes were soaked She’d left her coat in the café, and the rain had soaked through the thin material of her blouse. Probably within moments of her leaving. Funny how she hadn’t noticed it until now. Funny how she’d wound up here, of all places. When she started the day she was looking for closure. Now here she was, clutching a lamp post at the top of a bridge, freezing and staring at the dark water churning below.
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