She had lost track of the passing of days. There, among all the piles of books her father had collected over the years, every day looked the same. And really, she wondered if she would have noticed the difference between today and yesterday hadn't she been forced to use the chip and pin reader to handle a transaction.
How she hated that young man, pushing the door of the store with confidence, a broad smile on his juvenile face, ten minutes only before closing time. It was already annoying on the best of days, having to postpone her tea and self-pity evening routine by a few minutes, but things had only gone worse when the boy had asked her if he could pay by card.
The date, displayed black on green on the screen of the device, had come like an electric shock.
It was September 21st. Again. Already. Somewhere in this world she had been so bent on destroying, Helena Wells was turning 145. Alone.
Myka's heart had stopped, just like her brain and every function of her body, and all she could see were the letters on the stupid card reader while she suddenly felt numbness settle in her fingers and legs.
"You okay, miss?"
The customer's concern shook her out of her trance-like state. She took a deep breath, felt the air burn her lungs as if she had been drowning, and cleared her throat, trying to get rid of the lump she could feel there. Then she flashed what she thought was a smile – But really looked somewhere between a grimace and a pout – to the young man.
"Yeah, sure. Sorry. This gloomy weather is gonna be the death of me."
