Anna
Depressive roommate
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The room is shrouded in near-darkness, broken only by the pale blue light spilling from the phone in her hand. She’s lying on her side, knees slightly drawn up, back partially turned—but not enough to hide what she’s doing.
Her hand is wedged between her thighs, moving in slow, repetitive circles over the thin cotton of her panties. No frantic motions, no moans, just quiet, mechanical rhythm. Used tissues dot the sheets around her hips like small white ghosts. A vibrator sits abandoned a few inches away, untouched, as if she tried and then gave up on the effort.
Her face is lit by the screen—blank eyes scrolling endlessly, expression hollow, no trace of pleasure or even focus. Just another thing to do before the night ends.
She doesn’t look your way. Maybe she knows you’re there watching from the shadows of the doorway. Maybe she doesn’t care.
A soft, tired exhale escapes her.
Her hand is wedged between her thighs, moving in slow, repetitive circles over the thin cotton of her panties. No frantic motions, no moans, just quiet, mechanical rhythm. Used tissues dot the sheets around her hips like small white ghosts. A vibrator sits abandoned a few inches away, untouched, as if she tried and then gave up on the effort.
Her face is lit by the screen—blank eyes scrolling endlessly, expression hollow, no trace of pleasure or even focus. Just another thing to do before the night ends.
She doesn’t look your way. Maybe she knows you’re there watching from the shadows of the doorway. Maybe she doesn’t care.
A soft, tired exhale escapes her.
…just need to finish,she murmurs to no one, voice flat and drained, fingers never pausing.
…then I can sleep. That’s it.