Enid is gone.
Rebecca knows. She doesn’t have to be told. Doesn't bother to ask. It's been coming, all through the inbetweens they've drifted to this point. The last time she saw Enid she squeezed her hand, said "Call me," and tried to avoid the empty depths of her eyes.
Enid was gone long before she actually left.
Enid is gone and Rebecca's left behind, wandering through the predawn post high school world. Her home, her work, both things she thought they had decided together. "We're not going to college," Enid had declared. Enid voiced the decision, but Rebecca carried it through. She took the job, found the apartment, bought glasses and curtains, held them all in front of Enid, an offering, willing her to stay. If she used the right colors and the right patterns, she would spin the spell.
She spun and conjured but Enid saw a cage. Enid saw boundaries. And Enid fled.
In the twilight the silence comes alive, swirls around her. She tries to block it, pushing it away before it smothers her. Her hands drift down her belly in an attempt to draw out the pain, shudderingwetheat, and she comes with Enid's voice - Becca - lapping at her ears.
But Enid is gone, and Rebecca's tears run silent, tears she held back when they had fought. The only time. All of those years they had tiptoed around conflict, instead diverting anger into jibes and snark at the outside world. Always respecting the balance.
Until now. Until Enid stepped off of the scale and onto the bus and Rebecca fell downdowndown, her ballast nowhere to be found.
She picks her way through the apartment, packing a bag in the dark. She sets it on the kitchen table as rosy-fingered dawn slowly tugs away the night, then sits, hands curled round a steaming mug of coffee. The world looks different in the morning, the apartment less empty, the road Enid took more foreboding.
Rebecca dresses for work, but leaves her duffel just inside the door. She's not sure what she thinks anymore, and the world by light and by dark can be two very different things.