A/N: This chapter requires a bit of background information. If you're not familiar with the Borealis and its connection to the Half-Life series, I would definitely go and read up on it a bit. Then, hopefully some of this will make more sense :3

Chapter 20 - Ship Overboard

Click.

The weighted storage cube clicked into place. A yellow checkmark lit up the exit.

A bell gave a cheerful two-part chime.

DING-ding.

A triumphant tune blared at the test's completion—cut off by Cave Johnson's recording a moment later.

"I don't even know why we're bothering making recordings this far ahead," he said, giving a disbelieving cough. "These subjects can barely make it through the simple tests, much less these. They're too hard." His voice dipped, and Chell could almost picture him folding his arms and leaning across a desk to speak to the sitting-straight-in-her-chair Caroline.

"Sir, there's nothing wrong with the tests," she said. "We just need to improve the quality of subjects."

"—still a waste of time," he said, voice muffled.

"Sir," said Caroline, almost insistent. "You're still recording."

A pen clattered on the desk. Chell heard a faint squeak, and the sound of papers shuffling and clothes rustling.

"Oh! Well, it's not like anyone's going to hear this—and if you are hearing this, test subject, then congratulations! Aperture Science thanks you for your outstanding dedication to science. Go on and relax for a few minutes while Caroline figures out some sort of reward to get you—and when you get out of here, please keep your testing experience to yourself."

Chell barely heard their voices as the final chamberlock clicked open. Her shoulders heaved and her knees trembled, but she hustled onwards and smiled as the door hissed closed behind her.

She'd done it.

In every chamber, she forced herself to work out the entirety of the puzzle before making her first move. She went over each possibility and each calculation countless times until she felt absolutely certain that she'd left no margin for error.

So many times she had stumbled and slipped and scrambled back to safety, thankful for her foresight in installing the Advanced Knee Replacements. More than once she'd misjudged a distance and underestimated her necessary momentum and found herself clinging to the tips of an edge—and the only thing that kept her from slipping was a combination of miracles and sheer willpower.

Even as she solved each test, part of her always quaked with the fear. Overlooking something simple in a place like this meant death.

But she wouldn't fail these tests.

And with each successful fling through portals and across acid pits, confidence flared to life within her, even though Chell never allowed herself any celebration. She was good at testing, yes—but it wasn't something she'd ever wanted to be good at.

Still, she was grateful for these newfound skills. She truly was alone in Old Aperture, and she couldn't rely on Doug to rescue her a second time.

Even if he had returned to their hideout and saw it empty, he wouldn't know where she had gone—and certainly wouldn't go down to the testing tracks to look for her. It was just like what she told herself back in that relaxation vault: if she wanted to get out of this place, she'd have to do it herself.

Chell gently slid the Quantum Tunneling Device off of her shoulders and set it gently on the ground. She couldn't risk damaging the internal components any further, especially after all of the crash-landings she'd suffered today. But Aperture built their equipment to last—she had no reason to worry.

Carting around the device through those chambers had left her with sore shoulders and sore abs and a sore spine. Her legs ached from the falls; her left hand tingled from holding up the operational end of the device for hours. Pain spiked in her right hand with every accidental twinge.

She let her head roll back and rest against the catwalk's edge as she slid to the ground. She arched her feet, stretching out her toes and letting her heel springs flex. Walking on her toes was a skill she had yet to master, even with the support of the Advanced Knee Replacements. A quiet moment passed, and then Chell gave a soft, shuddering laugh of relief.

She'd proved Caroline wrong.

It took her hours upon hours, but she'd managed to get through each test without being fatally injured. So if this was the most deadly testing track Aperture had to offer, then she could take on anything this place threw at her.


Chell couldn't wait to get back to the Borealis.

The promise of plastic-tasting water and an old mattress to collapse into had been enough to push her through those last difficult chambers. Even those beans sounded delicious after hours without food.

She couldn't wait.

Chell sped through the hallways outside of the testing track, zipping across catwalks with ease. As soon as that room's door slipped into view, she quickened her pace and threw her hands against the handle.

The door squeaked, but did not move.

Chell pushed again, turning her shoulder into the door and shoving until her face darkened and her arms quivered. She exhaled, chest heaving, and then pressed again and again.

The door didn't open.

"No. Come on," she said, voice ragged. "Come on."

She needed to get back in there—she'd been stupid to leave there before. After all the trouble they'd gone through to escape the upper levels, she'd almost thrown it all to waste.

She pounded her good hand against the door, face slipping into a heartbroken expression.

This door wasn't opening, and she'd need to find a new place to hide out. Chell twisted, letting her head fall back and clang against the cold metal of the door. Her eyes strained up and focused on the out-of-place ship looming above her.

Perhaps something onboard the ship could help her.


The Borealis.

Chell rolled her shoulders and stared up at the ship. She didn't know much about it, other than that it was an abandoned Aperture project—just like all of the other vitrified experiments locked away behind thick, blast-proof doors. Doug hadn't gone into detail. Then again, he hadn't had a reason to. No point in taking the time to explain a boat's complete history, even if that boat was stranded in the middle of a salt mine and nowhere near water.

And yet among all of those piled crates and stacked boxes, there had to be something useful onboard.

A metal pathway zigzagged up the right side of the dry dock, switching back and forth and twisting to the side to connect with the ship. It was the only way to get onboard—besides, of course, attaching herself to one of those cranes and magically hoisting herself up. So Chell moved, walking over to the right side of the dry dock. She didn't know what was over here; the two times she'd been here, she had clung to the left side.

Not that they were much different—both had sheer rock walls tinted blue, and little pathways and staircases tacked on to their sides. But as Chell moved towards the ramp, an indent in the wall caught her attention.

The flatness of the rock wall made it impossible to see the tiny alcove unless she stood at the perfect angle. It wasn't anything particularly fancy—just a ledge cut away from the stone. But on that ledge, she spotted a device that made her heart jump.

A telephone.

A black cord jutted out from the phone's side, snaking through staples and loops and worming its way up to the rest of the facility. It wasn't the phone itself that was special— she'd seen plenty of these within the offices at Aperture. But every time she'd tried to call, she'd encountered an error: all of the phones had only been connected to the company's grid, and not to the outside world.

She glanced at the plaque hanging above it—simply reading 'Telephone'—and reached for the slick handle with a burst of hope. A sheet of paper hovered over the phone itself, and Chell leaned in.

Crisp, yet feminine writing stretched across the page, and Chell gave a small frown as she read it.

For EMERGENCIES ONLY.

Then, in tiny, loopy letters:

Thank you.

Chell gave a hint of a smile. This phone had to be connected to the outside world—and some Aperture employee must have used it enough for personal business that Caroline (or someone else with distinctly feminine handwriting) had to come down here and write that reminder.

She ripped off the paper and tossed it aside, then reached for the telephone. She cradled it against her shoulder, dial hum whining in her ears. And with each passing moment, the sound grew more unnerving and more insistent. She reached her good hand toward the keypad.

Her mind went blank.

For one brief, panicked moment her thoughts darted though the maze of her mind. She overturned memories and sifted through emotions—she needed to remember her mother's phone number. This wasn't something she could forget, and especially not now.

The numbers came to her in a burst of fear-induced clarity.

She punched in the number quickly and readjusted the telephone with her right hand. The dial tone switched to a calling one as her call reached out across the country.

Riing.

Riiiiing.

All she wanted to do was hear her mother tell her that it was okay—that all of this was a mistake, and that this whole thing was a terrible idea.

Riiiing.

Chell chewed at a fingernail, willing for her to just pick up the phone. Even if she hung up a moment later, all she needed to hear was her voice.

Riiiiiing.

Riiiiiing.

Click.

"Hello?" she said, voice coming out more accusing than friendly. "Who is this?"

"Mom," said Chell, giving a choked yet relieved exhale. "You picked up!"

"Chell—why are you calling?" she said, and she heard shuffling on the other end. "Did you even look at the clock?"

"Well, no, but—" she said. "I just needed to hear you."

She heard Judith clear her throat, though her voice remained groggy as if she'd just been woken up from a deep sleep. "But why are you calling now, of all times? You can talk to me when you get here," she said, and then gave a slight inhale. "And I really can't wait to get a closer look at that portal device. I've been theorizing for days as to the mechanics behind it—but seeing it for myself and breaking down the physics behind it," she said, and Chell could almost see the wistful smile on her face, "well, I'd give anything."

Chell braced her shoulder against the wall, just savoring her voice. Somehow, even though she tore her down more than she helped her, hearing Mossman's voice made things better—as if she really could keep going on and moving forward.

She paused, and confusion crept in as the fog from sleep drifted away. "Hold on—Chell. You guys should be here already. Where are you?"

Chell braced herself against the wall, happiness flooding out of her like a popped water balloon. "Aperture," she said. "But Mom, she knows—"

"Wait, who knows?" she said.

"Her," she said, a note of fear in her voice. "Caroline. She KNOWS and she's known this entire time and she was just waiting until we tried something and then she locked me in a room," she said, pulling in air. "And then she—she tried to kill me and now I don't know how to get out of here—"

"Chell. Slow down and breathe," said Judith. "Now where are you in Aperture?"

"I—" she paused, breaths heaving. She glanced back at the tilting ship. "I'm beneath the enrichment center—down in the 70's section. There's a boat here—
"Wait," she said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Turn around and tell me what the name on the ship says. If it's what I think it is, I might be able to get you out of there."

Chell flipped around once more, gaze darting over the ship's name three consecutive times just to make sure she'd read it correctly. "It's the Borealis," she said.

Judith Mossman gave a slight gasp. "So it does exist," she said. "Years ago I heard rumors that Aperture was experimenting with large-scale teleportation, but then dropped the idea altogether. But if they still have a working prototype—"

"Just get me out of here," said Chell, almost a whisper.

"I will, Chell. I promise," she said. "You're smart; I know you are—and I need you to do something for me. That ship can teleport you out of there, but you're going to have to go on there and activate it yourself."

Chell swallowed, but said nothing.

"Can you do that?"

She gave a hesitant nod, even though no one could see it. "I—I think so."

"I'll be right here," said Judith. "Just come right back after you find it—but DON'T activate anything yet. I've got to know what I'm dealing with before I can give you any more instructions."

Chell set the phone receiver on its side, then darted up the winding path to the ship.


Bzzzt-t.

The material emancipation grill passed over her like a burst of static as she moved into the ship's bridge. She wasn't sure why a boat might need to guard against unwanted testing materials, but she was at least glad that she'd set down the Quantum Tunneling Device before walking around up here.

It had taken her long enough to wind her way up and find this room. If this boat followed some sort of standard layout, Chell wouldn't have known—she wasn't familiar with ships at all.

Thankfully, the Borealis wasn't an ocean liner or an oil rig; it was simply a moderately-sized cargo ship. And from up here, it seemed much smaller than it looked.

Chell gave a subtle frown as Cave Johnson's voice came through tiny speakers.

Was there any place in Aperture he hadn't prerecorded messages for?

"If you're hearing this, then welcome to the bridge of Aperture's first ship! Now, I'm sure you're wondering—why does Aperture even have a ship? We're in a salt mine, not next to an ocean. But before I answer that question, let's talk about teleportation.

"Here at Aperture Science, our greatest success has been the creation of a man-sized rip in time and space. Now that's great for experimenting with, but it doesn't have many practical applications. That's where this ship comes in.

"We're working on some experiments right now—just down the hall, actually—to see what sort of effects large-scale teleportation has on the human body. And if they're successful, the possibilities here are endless. We could send this boat anywhere on the planet in a span of a few minutes!" said the recording, a bit garbled from the low-quality speakers. "I'm all for firing it up now and seeing what happens, but Caroline here—" he broke off for a moment, most likely glancing around to make sure she wasn't around, "—insists that we start with small scale tests. Take it slow. Wouldn't want to lose the ship and everyone on board, after all, heh."

Chell could only imagine him sitting up here in this room, feet propped against the desk and recording device in his hands as he looked out and across the dry dock.

"Anyways, hang in there until we finish those experiments. You'll get to teleport the ship soon enough."

The message cut off, and Chell felt a tiny burst of hope. The Quantum Tunneling Device—a supposedly unstable, unpredictable portal creator—never gave her any problems. A large-scale version of that shouldn't be any different.

With this boat, she could get out of Aperture now.

She twisted, glancing around at unfamiliar gauges smudged white with a million tick marks, and darkened bulbs that would no doubt light up when the ship was 'powered up.' But none of these things had labels; a ship's navigator was expected to know which gauges were which, after all.

Chell couldn't even drive a car yet—much less a boat stranded in a salt mine.

And yet she looked around anyways, struggling to figure out how to use this boat to get out of this place. Though teleporting a ship like this may come with a few risks, Chell really had nothing left to lose. She didn't care where she ended up at this point—she just needed to get out of here.

A green-tinged computer screen caught her eye. Chell used the side of her hand and brushed away a thin layer of dust, then leaned forward to blow away the rest. Specks of gray swirled up; Chell coughed once.

Chell pressed down on the keypad, but the screen didn't light up.

Not good.

Chell flipped around, darting along the edge of the control room toward what looked like a power switch. A lever jutted out from the wall on the opposite side of the room, and she reached up and pulled with her left hand.

Red tinged her face as she strained against years of disuse. Chell pulled harder, and with an earsplitting screech, the lever slipped and then slammed into her thighs with an earsplitting screech. Chell winced, stepping back and rubbing at her legs.

Beeee-p. Beeeee—eep.

Flashlights lights flared to life, accompanied by a shrill siren. Beneath her feet, the ship trembled. The screen on the table flashed to life.

Light green letters lit up against a deep green screen, the letters and numbers themselves looking like they belonged on an alarm clock rather than a computer.

ENTER COORDINATES_

The end of the sentence blinked, and Chell blinked back. The screen flashed, replacing the blanks with a random assortment of cycling numbers. A miniature image of a globe blinked, different specks lighting up with specific coordinates.

It paused, flashing again.

ENTER COORDINATES_

Chell froze. So this was what she was supposed to find for her mother. She'd told her not to touch anything—and Chell knew that in a minute she could go and ask for the specific coordinates to get her as close to New Mexico as she possibly could.

But while she was thinking, the screen idled and another message popped up.

SLEEP MODE ACTIVATED

POWERING DOWN_

Chell panicked, jumping forward and pressing at the keys. She'd already turned on the boat's power, and she didn't know of any other way to get this working again. Letting the boat power off would be a terrible idea, and Chell couldn't risk losing this chance.

Click.

COORDINATES ACCEPTED_

A countdown clock on the wall flared to life.

4:59:00

Oh no.

Oh no.

"If you're hearing this you're an idiot. Yes, you. The one who pulled the goddamned lever. This experiment—if you couldn't already tell by the posters we plastered up—has been discontinued. Closed off. Gone. Done," he said, grumbling. "We've gotten ourselves in deep enough water with the disaster that was the small scale-experiments. Trust me, it's not you I'm worried about. Go get your skin flipped inside out for all I care—I'm more concerned about the facility. Pull that lever and you'll turn that ship into scrap metal and take out part of this facility while you're at it. So whoever pressed that button—get out of there, because you are fired," he said.

She couldn't stay on this ship.

If Cave Johnson—usually so flippant as far as safety concerns went—thought this ship's teleportation was a bad idea, it must be serious. Chell bounced on her feet and moved out the door. As she craned her neck upward, she realized for not the first time that she was near the top of the ship. Antennas and rotating equipment—stone-sill earlier in the breezeless dry dock—whirred to life, windmilling aimlessly.

A tremor rocked the boat. Chell's legs buckled and she staggered back into balance. Apparently she didn't have her sea legs yet.

The countdown timer clicked with each beat, the sound identical to those she'd heard in the testing track.

Another test.

That's what she had to think of this as—another test of her ability, another trial of her grace under the pressure of an impending deadline. She had a limited time to get off this ship and hope that her mother could help.

She wasn't sure if she could fix this.


Chell sprinted across the boat's main area, grateful that she was underground, and that some splash of water couldn't lap over the sides and make everything slick. She kept her fingers curled along the railings as she sped her way out and onto the walkway. Though heights didn't scare her, that open edge did.

The whining blare of the gathering portal increased, and as Chell glanced back she saw a wobbly, turquoise substance spread around the ship like a massive and misshapen bubble. From here, it seemed as transparent as a material emancipation grill, but with flecks swirling from it like from the edges of an opened portal.

Her ponytail whipped against the sides of her face as she tore down the last few switchbacks. She scrambled at the slick surface of the phone, clamping her hands around it as she held it to her ear.

"Chell?" said Judith. "What's going on? What's that sound?"

"The ship," she said, out of breath. "It's—"

Another blare sounded from the Borealis, and Chell flipped around and then back to the phone. "I didn't mean to—" she said, raising her voice.

"Slow down. What happened?"

"I found the control room. There was a computer and it kept cycling through coordinates—then, when I didn't push anything it was going to shut down so I pressed—"

"I told you not to touch anything," she said, initially annoyed but switching into concern. "Here, just punch in these new numbers—"

"I can't," said Chell. "There was a switch—I accidentally powered it on and this whole boat's going to disappear in a few minutes and I can't get on there because if I do it'll kill me," she said, growing more and more hysteric. "I just don't know what to do."

"Chell. You need listen to me," she said. "Get out of Aperture. I don't care if it's on that ship or another way—you just get away from there."

"I'm trying," said Chell, almost pleading. Everything she'd done so far was in an attempt to get out of this place, and yet every time she'd tried she'd failed. "All of this has been for you, and I've been trying as hard as I can. And you don't even care," she said, fighting back hot tears. "I just want to come home."

"I know," she said. "And you're right—I'll come and get you, I promise. Just get out of there."

"But—" she said, breaking off. The ground rattled beneath her, as sudden and unsettling as if a large wave had rammed into her. She fell to the floor, wincing and then cradling her right hand once again against her chest. Her eyes squeezed shut.

The countdown timer ticked and the noise from gathering portal reached an almost unbearably loud and echoing wail.

Thunk.

The portal opened, and white light cracked through the chamber like a bolt of lightening.

Wind hissed like static on a blown speaker, tearing into the area with all the force of a hurricane. Life preservers flew from the sides of the ship. and within the span of a moment the wind reversed directions. Her hair went from being plastered to her face to feeling as if it were being pulled from her skull.

The suction increased and Chell scrambled, reaching out and grabbing at the closest object—the phone receiver. The line stretched taut as she felt the wind pull her toward the boat and she wasn't sure how long she could hang on to that slick phone—

SNAP.

The cord split and Chell skidded, bouncing then rolling toward the open portal. She gave a panicked yell. This ship was going to drag her along with it; she just knew it—

—and with an amplified TSCHH, the portal disengaged.

A blast of cold air hit her like a storage cube to the chest. Darkness flooded back into the dry dock. Lingering snow swirled in the air, dancing then drifting limply to the ground and dusting Chell in white.

A single life-preserver rolled to the side, circled once, then flopped to the ground.

Slowly Chell pushed herself to her feet, broken phone still clutched in one hand. On her way up, she scooped up the life preserver and pulled it close to her chest.

She glanced back at the dry dock, a wave of goosebumps running up her arms at the sight.

It was gone.

The entire ship was gone.

Planks lay splintered and scattered. The walkway Chell had used had vanished as well—ripped from the side of the wall and pulled into the portal surrounding the ship.

So it really had teleported—she ship was gone, and the technology had worked.

But at this point, Chell didn't care about the boat. She turned back toward the wall and her stomach flipped when she saw the snapped phone cord again.

The rest of the phone remained perfectly intact, tucked away in that tiny alcove and protected from the suction of the portal. But she had needed that phone to work. She needed to call her mother back and tell her that the Borealis was gone and that it hadn't worked—and more than anything, she needed a way to get out of Aperture.

Chell dropped the receiver and kicked it aside, then pulled the life preserver into a tight hug.

She could've screamed.

She wanted to cry and yell out in frustration because her last shot—her last way out of this place was gone. Her hideout was gone and the boat was gone and the phone was gone and she wasn't sure what she could do besides go back to the modern Enrichment Center and risk facing her once again.

Instead of reacting, Chell stared at the overwhelmingly empty dry dock. The ship was gone-and nothing she could do would ever bring it back. She'd been too curious for her own good, too stupid to listen to instructions for once and stay safe.

Perhaps she should've just boarded that ship. Almost anything would've been better than this utter failure.

Chell gave the life preserver one last squeeze before placing it near the exit of the dry dock. She didn't need it anymore, and besides—it was time to move on.


Creeaaak.

Chell pushed her way into another room.

Getting back to the elevator from the dry dock had been simple enough, especially with the help of the Quantum Tunneling Device. It was incredible as to how many surfaces lying around Aperture—even outside the testing tracks—were portal conductors.

It hadn't taken her long to make it to the 80's section of Aperture—and luckily, the few times she'd been down here on painting expeditions made it ever so slightly more familiar.

She'd made her way through empty, ever-lit hallways still glowing with a dim aura of silence. Catwalks crisscrossed between offices and labs and testing spheres, and more often than not every door handle she pulled at remained locked.

Except for this one, apparently.

Lights buzzed as they flickered on, revealing a checkerboard white-and-gray floor. A brownigh-gray tinted the walls of the typical lab, accented by the shelving and equipment pushed to the sides.

But Chell took one look at the room and sighed in relief.

In the center of the room satthree bulky squares—quite possibly the most welcome sight she'd seen in a long time.

Beds.

She'd been looking forward to sleeping in that room behind the Borealis so much—and after having it ripped away from her earlier, she couldn't help but feel overjoyed.

Chell powered down her Quantum Tunneling Device and propped it against the wall. These weren't typical beds.

Thick cords trailed from the foot of them, snaking across the room and towards a tanged pile of cords attached to an overloaded outlet. Clear coverings, accented with thick and yellowed plastic, covered the beds and made them look like a cross between a sunroom and a coffin.

Chell paused, blinking.

These were relaxation pods.

Well, bulkier and distinctly more rectangular version of them.

Chell crouched to a small panel of buttons attached to the side of the bed and flipped her thumb beneath a switch. A row of lights flickered to life; something inside the glass hissed to life. The cover unlocked with a pop, and as Chell slid it back another announcement came on.

"Cave here," he said, then gave a thick, dry cough that made her thirsty just listening to it. "As you probably know, recently I've been making you lab boys work on a lot of things—but this one really is the one I should've been working on all along. Caroline and I have been throwing around this idea for years. It's called suspension, and ideally this 'stasis' will freeze the clock and keep the user just as they were when they entered the pod.

"This is perfect for the storage of test subjects, of course—create a queue and keep testing going for months once we create a backlog of subjects. We're still ironing out the details—but first, I've gotten my engineers to build something to keep me alive.

As most of you know, I'm running out of time. And if we keep going at the rate we're going, we're not gonna find a cure to this damn moon rock poisoning until long after I'm dead. What I really need is time—and if they can get this 'stasis' thing to work, I might make it through this thing after all. Isn't that right, Caroline?"

"Yes, sir," said Caroline—though distracted and distant, as if she couldn't be bothered to look up from whatever she was doing in the other room.

"Anyways. If we can get this to work, it'll be a huge leap for science—and not just because I'll be able to stick around this place longer," he said. "Well. Back to work."

Chell left her hand on the glass covering the bed.

Everything about the relaxation pods scared her—the way they sealed shut around the person; the way the gas crept in and lulled the subject into a not-quite-dreaming yet not quite awake state. She'd never experienced it, and in that vault before she'd avoided it at all costs. She'd rather curl up on the cold floor than dare to go in there.

But tonight—today—whatever time of day it was—things were different.

This time, she wasn't trapped in a glass room. She had a choice in it this time—and while the floor was still an option, she wasn't going to try that again with actual beds around. More than anything else, Chell just needed a genuine good night's sleep.

She slipped into the square pod and leaned over the edge, punching in what she assumed to be the default wake-up time. That should be enough time to let her body relax and dream at catch up with all of the craziness she'd been through.

She readjusted herself, legs not even coming close to the bottom of the bed. These pods were much bigger than ones she'd seen before, and Cave Johnson had been much taller than Chell.

She reached up and pulled the glass covering, letting it glide and click into place like a sliding door into a backyard. She heard a hiss sound as the seal re-engaged and a few gas vapors seeped in.

In theory, these chemical processes of stasis would have no ill effects on her body—simply keep her body frozen in time while her mind recovered.

As she breathed in and out, her mind drifted back to the day's events.

She didn't want to be here anymore.

She wanted to be out of Aperture.

She wanted to live a calm, normal life.

And Chell didn't want to think about how so far she'd failed at every single thing she'd tried here—and she'd failed spectacularly while she was at it. Honestly she didn't know why she was deluding herself into believing things would change between herself and her mother. Who was she kidding?

She was a failure, and she'd never be able to regain that love she longed for.

And now, she was stuck down here. She was terrified. And she wasn't sure if she'd be able to make it out of Aperture.

Chell's eyes welled with tears, and she turned and buried her face into the pillow.

Sometimes, the black nothingness of sleep was easier than facing the truth.

She cried until the gasses kicked in.