Anna Ralphs Couch //top\\ Link

On day twenty-three, she tried to leave. She swung her legs over the edge, planted her bare feet on the hardwood. The couch made a sound like a held breath. Her knees buckled—not from weakness, but from a sudden, immense gravity that pinned her to the cushion. She laughed, a dry, frayed sound. “Fine,” she whispered. “Fine.”

“I can’t,” Anna said. Her voice was soft, almost amused. “It won’t let me.” anna ralphs couch

“Go,” Anna said. “Tell them I’m comfortable.” On day twenty-three, she tried to leave

It always had.