She stood in the kitchen, knife in one hand, red beet in the other. She removed its stems and rootlets and cleaned it up before setting it aside for grating.
Wallflower would be done with her exam soon and on the bus headed home. Sunset figured she had about an hour, but was in no hurry.
Wallflower, though, weighed heavily on her mind.
They had fallen asleep on the couch, but Wallflower had gotten up and left before Sunset awoke.
She had texted her throughout the day, though, she didn't expect Wallflower to respond.
Sunset tried to remain focused on her chopping. Still, she couldn't help but imagine what sort of pain Wallflower was going through.
She had never seen her girlfriend like this. She'd seen her happy; she'd seen her sad. This was more than sad. This was... Sunset struggled to put a word to it... distraught.
Sunset didn't think that was the exact word, but close enough.
There was certainly a pain behind it—a deep, remorseful pain. A pain that would not go away easily. One that would leave deep scars.
Sunset stopped; her heart leapt into her throat.
She hadn't been paying attention, but, somehow, her chef's knife had been set on her forearm—poised and ready to slice.
She dropped the knife and quickly backed away. “No,” she breathed, “Wallflower!”
Her thoughts turned to the razors in the bathroom vanity.
“No, please, Wallflower! Not that!”
The feeling grew stronger. Sunset felt compelled to obey it.
She had barged into the bathroom, nearly tripping over the threshold.
She had taken out the razors from the drawer.
She had lost.
And, now as all things began to fade away, she thought she could hear Wallflower's voice.