>>10292686After her shower, Colby sits in silence in her living room, feeling a dull sense of loss, shame, and bitterness. And also back pain; the fleeting comfort that the hot shower always brings is already fading.
Feeling a quiet, distant sense of desperation, Colby picks up her phone..... but who could she really call? Her dad? He'd probably grumble about her spending two hundred dollars on a dress and going to a peace rally in the first place, much less offer much sympathy. Her mom? She would ignore any of Colby's concerns and plights, and offer to set her up with any one of a dozen or more boys who were really nice young men, they just hadn't fond the right girl yet, as soon as she got home from "this wrestling thing". Would the Yellow Empress even accept a call from her, just to talk about their feelings and comfort one another over Miss USA's despicable attack? Of course not. Then Amy? She was probably on a flight back from Japan right now. Besides, she hadn't responded to the last text Colby sent. And could you blame her? After telling Amy she was "unconventionally hot", sending her a picture with her panties showing, and alternately babbling and whining about nothing important, Colby wasn't really surprised that Amy had ghosted her. She'd finally found a friend she could relate to, on some of her favorite interests..... and then alienated her by being a weird clingy creep. Was that a surprise, really?
Besides, Colby doesn't want a phone call, not really. She wants a human hand on her shoulder, or squeezing her hand. She wants somebody there with her.
But there is nobody.
The evening creeps past, one endless minute followed by another, followed by another. Colby stares at the wood grain of the coffee table in her apartment: miserable, alone, and in pain.
