🧩: 40

                                    

                                          

                            

                                
                            
                              
                                  
                              
                              
                                
                                  
                                  
                                
                              
                             
                            
                            
                          
                          
[ Third Person Pov ]
       Days blended like watercolours on wet paper, indistinguishable and forgettable. Shinhye had lost track of time and maybe the only sanity she had left. She couldn't tell for how long she had been lying on the cold, hard floor, the chill of the tile seeping into her bones. She was sprawled out, her body limp and lifeless, like an abandoned ragdoll. Her hair short and disheveled, carelessly spread on the floor as her finger tapped on the tile repeatedly— the only semblance of her still being alive.
Shinhye felt like she had hit rock bottom, the cold floor a stark reminder of her own vulnerability.
It only took a few days for everything to go south— a complete marionette in her stalker's hand. He had ordered she cut her hair, complaining about how long it was. He made her believe she was the problem and he was only helping her out, that everything he had been doing was to protect her, that he knew what's best for her. 
Shinhye slowly lifted her head up, searching for where she had tossed her phone, her eyes burned from lack of sleep while she felt like she was drowning in nothingness, sinking without a lifeline to cling onto.
It's been over a week ever since her stalker had made her stop going out for work, or anywhere else. The isolation breaking her more. She couldn't remember the last time she felt the sun on her skin, or breathed fresh air. The world outside her window was now a distant memory; just like all the people she had pushed away, not one left. And even when they tried prying to understand her better, Shinhye would go berserk, chasing them off, refusing to open the door.
She felt like their lives lies on any decision she made— or rather, the ones her stalker forced on her.
She was constantly living in fear, seeing the news about the first man her stalker had killed had really trapped her in a headlock, like the police would burst through her door any second, taking her away for his disappearance.
Shinhye finally pushed herself off the cold floor after what seems to be hours, crawling over to where her phone laid idly.
What day is it? What time is it? Does it matter? She had lost track of days, hours, minutes. Time was now a meaningless concept, she was stuck in the never-ending circle of sadness.
She didn't let her stalker know she had stopped taking her meds, waiting for him to show up at night, but just like the conniving serpent, he didn't visit, making her constantly wonder if he was aware of her halt.
And now without sleep, Shinhye was always awake, entertaining her thoughts and the constant echos in her head. It never stops. She was at the verge of collapsing. She wanted it to stop, she begged for it to stop, she cried for it to stop, but nothing ever works.