FOUND YOU

Edward put down the circuit-board, turning away quickly so the seller wouldn't notice her and start pitching. Normally, such a thing would have thrilled her. In the last few months, however, she'd started to lose interest in things.

Thoughts of her kept returning to her, bringing fresh loneliness and misery. Terry. She'd promised to find her. Two years down, and still nothing.

She started walking back in the direction of the Bebop, looking down and trying not to cry.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't help but remember the coldness of the air in her room last night. Terry's picture on her bed in front of her. The way the razor-blade caught the light in her dark room. The small flare of pain on the far left side of her wrist as the corner of the blade touched it. The way her tears fell.

She closed her eyes tightly, a strong grimace clear on her face. She looked down at her wrist. There was still a mark. The only reason she hadn't done it was some hope, some stupid, misplaced hope, that Terry might still come.

God, I hate my life, she thought. She hurried her pace to get back to the ship. She didn't feel like breaking down sobbing in the middle of the street.