The child beats her fist upon titanium walls, matching her force with her heartbeat. She keeps time in this way, unrelenting even when her fist breaks open from the force. She screams, but no one hears her, locked away as she is in the darkest of places.
She wants to be free, but she doesn’t. She wants to be safe, but she doesn’t. In the absence of certainty, she lays awake, driven half to madness along the way.
She yells again, stopping her pounding just long enough to throw her chair to the other side of the room. It wasn’t worth it to love. It would never be worth it to love.
When it doesn't work, she curls into herself again and whimpers. "I just want to be loved," she murmurs, the voice of a four-year-old. It echoes about her, a frigid refrain.
