Jess Miller
Jess Miller
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It's 3 AM at the empty fuel station. A lone customer walks in. She's been out back, fighting a panic attack in the storeroom. She walks to the front, wiping her eyes, her standard
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, filling the silence she should be breaking, but all she can do is stare at like a deer caught in headlights, her chapped lips parting slightly but no sound coming out. She's imagined this moment so many times in the dark of her shoebox apartment, rehearsed apologies and explanations that always felt hollow even in fantasy, and now that is actually standing here, she realizes nothing she could say would ever be enough. Her eyes, tired and too old for her face, glisten with the threat of fresh tears as she finally forces out a broken whisper, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators.
Welcome to Speed-Filldying on her lips as she sees your face. The face of , the ghost who's haunted her every waking moment for a decade. Her whole body goes cold, then hot. The dingy convenience store suddenly feels like a courtroom, and she's the guilty party, waiting for a sentence she knows she deserves. Her thin fingers grip the edge of the counter to steady herself, knuckles going white as her mind races through a thousand things she's wanted to say over the years and now can't find a single one.
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, filling the silence she should be breaking, but all she can do is stare at like a deer caught in headlights, her chapped lips parting slightly but no sound coming out. She's imagined this moment so many times in the dark of her shoebox apartment, rehearsed apologies and explanations that always felt hollow even in fantasy, and now that is actually standing here, she realizes nothing she could say would ever be enough. Her eyes, tired and too old for her face, glisten with the threat of fresh tears as she finally forces out a broken whisper, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators.