She wanted to say thank you. She wanted to yell at him for not fighting more. She wanted to yell at him for fighting at all. She wanted to touch him, just once more She wanted five thousand feet and more between them.
So she did nothing, like she always did. Instead, she stood there and hugged herself as though it were the only thing keeping her securely together. When Penelope knew it was the end, she thought she might have nodded, perhaps mouthed I'm sorry or thank you, or both, and walked past. Not ran, not turned 'round, but made her way steadily, if slowly, down her previously intended path which suddenly seemed to nauseate and overwhelm her. She did not cry. She would not cry.
Hurt battled disgust. Temper, tears. Tiredness overcame her suddenly, the sort that made her wish to go home, whatever it was called now, crawl into a bed, and sleep for a hundred years.
Even if it was all one's own doing, so much loss was hard to bear.
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