Trapped.

Please, please let me out.

Furious, desperate scratches, a desire for freedom that leads to the loud echoes of a body slamming into a door.

I can't take anymore of this.

Exhaustion. Fatigue. Resignation. A body slumps against the door, so close to freedom, and yet so far. Freedom is intangible, a taunting dream that haunts her waking moment.

Why are you doing this to me?

Flashes of memories. Of sadness, anger, regret. She thinks maybe she deserves this.

I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Self-hatred wars against pride, and she clutches at her head, tries to shake everything out. Shake everything out, until she is empty again.

Please make it stop.

Emptiness is so much better than hurt. Numbness is preferred over pain. She starts to rock back and forth, sobs wracking her body.

I just want everything to end.

She stills, looks up. Dries her tears and smiles. Her eyes are empty. Her smile, devoid of emotion.

No more.

She decides she doesn't have to play this game. Freedom was tangible.

Freedom is in my hands.

A knife to the throat. To the wrist. A gun to the head, a rope to the neck.

I can be free in so many ways.

She is gone. Free of this life, free to be her.

She is free.