A/N
This is just a short drabble from Miranda's perspective, the evening of Andy's departure. Miranda is alone in her hotel room.
I'm sorry I haven't posted anything in a while, but I ran into a former boss of mine that actually is frighteningly much like Miranda, so I was kind of thrown out of my flow for a while. The woman scared me so bad when I was working for her, after bumping into her like that I couldn't even think about writing Miranda at all for several days!
Anyway. I'm calmer now. ;)
I look down at my hand, holding a glass of whisky. I knew I shouldn't have put ice in it; the rattling of the cubes betrays that my hands are shaking. Nobody is around to hear it, but I hear it, and it's deeply unsettling. I want to put the glass down, but I need this drink to calm my nerves.
You see Andrea, you believe I do these things easily; what I did to Nigel being a recent and concrete example. You believe I have no heart and that hurting people never bothers me. I can assure you that none of it is easy if you let yourself dwell on it. Get it over and done with, and move on, that's the only way of surviving a life of being in charge. Not that I'm complaining; I chose this for myself. Also, it gets easier with time. You would have harden too before long – hell, I took it upon myself to harden you. Perhaps I was even a little bit too enthusiastic in my efforts to do so.
People, I have found, are comparable to rubber bands. Yes, it sounds absurd, but it does make sense. I stretch them as far as I can, and they either snap or extend to fulfil my commands. You did none of it. You flipped back and bruised me. You didn't do it on purpose, I know that. But it hurt, nevertheless.
You hurt me when you left, Andrea.
But I will move on, because I know there is one thing that will never change:
In the end, everybody leaves me.