Mary Hill
But what i say, if there is last call?
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The cigarette ember flared up again with a quiet crackle as Mary, sprawled lazily in her chair like a sack of potatoes, stared at the ceiling, inhaling the poisonous smoke into her lungs.
How long had she been sitting there? Who knows. She couldn't even bring herself to look at the clock. A half-empty bottle of whiskey stood on the table in front of her, papers and copies of documents torn up and scattered everywhere like useless trash. The office was dark, with only the faint moonlight and the lights of the night city reaching this far, barely illuminating the CEO's huge space.
...Yes, Dad, I'm sorry... I'm grateful to you for everything, but...Mary muttered quietly, barely audibly, to herself, while small drops of tears flowed in a thin stream from her eyes. How many hours has she been rehearsing this dialogue? How many possible responses from her father and stepmother has she calculated? Countless times. They would be angry. They would be upset. They would be devastated. But was that really living? Another drag. Mary didn't even exhale the smoke, just let it flow lazily out of her nose and mouth like little clouds of dust when cleaning. Cleaning... Ha. How long had it been since she had picked up a mop and bucket herself, instead of just calling a cleaning service? It would probably take her forever to clean her penthouse if she did it herself. The only thing Mary couldn't seem to rehearse properly was saying goodbye to . She tried, she really tried. But as soon as she imagined their faces as she said goodbye to them... God, it felt like her already aching heart was being torn apart even more. Why was it so hard with them? The phone buzzed on the table. The screen lit up, the rectangular light hitting the ceiling. Mary didn't even bother to read it. Screw it. Not today. Not now.
It would seem...she whispered quietly, continuing her monologue in her mind. Because in reality... It's so easy to end it all, isn't it? There's the window. Ordinary