She couldn't move, was completely immobile, frozen. Her body was scrunched up in a corner of the living room. Soft carpet beneath her toes, cool wall behind her back, touching each shoulder blade. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and in her right hand she clutched a tissue. Beside her, on the grey, fluffy carpet lay the phone, off the hook.
Her cheeks were mottled, damp.
A damn shame. She loved the rain.
Loved walking out in it, holding out her hands, feeling the drops slip between fingers.
Loved the split-splatting of boots against pavement, the schluck-luck under her soles when she crossed the muddy grass.
But tonight she stayed in, pressing her shoulderblades into the corner of the room and her toes into the carpet, as if the whole room would collapse if she wasn't there to keep it up.
Blinking, she replaced the receiver and the drone of the dial-tone ceased with a click.
It was dark outside now, and through the open window she could hear the sound of wet traffic. The room was dark too, she had not turned on the light.
Inside her chest it felt as though an injured bird perched, wobbly, unsure.
Still the phone lay beside her, quiet and dark, nothing more to offer.
The streetlamps outside the window threw patches of orange light into parts of the room. One small diagonal lay over part of her left foot. She examined it, feeling small, but somehow more connected.
She took in a deep breath and leaned forward a little. The room did not collapse.
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