“Are you finished?” Six asked as he reached across the coffee table.
I looked up at him as I took another sip of my wine. Glancing down at my plate, there was still half a chicken breast and some cheese and baguette, but I nodded anyway and turned toward the window just in time to see the Eiffel Tower start twinkling in the moonlight.
It was late, and I was hoping the wine, which Six ordered, would make it easier to fall asleep. Five days had passed, and I had become very blasé.
My spark was gone, or at least hiding. Depression was overpowering everything, and I had no will to do anything. Even sleep eluded me as my mind whirled about nothing. I stared up at the ceiling, blank, unresponsive in the night.
It wasn’t me. I wasn’t me.
Cracked and broken as I tried not to cry, thinking abo
