It Will Never Be The Same

The vise tightens around her head, squeezing her temples. She can hear the blood throbbing, throbbing in pain. She bites her lip, her mouth bone dry.

"I'm sorry," she says, though in her mind, she is calling herself a liar. She doesn't mean it but she says it because she knows she's expected to. She doesn't feel guilty but she does when she's expected to. And they forgive her and say it's alright. But no, they will never be the same now. She has apologized to them and now the scales are unbalanced and she will never be able to come close to them again.

She stares at the phone that doesn't ring.