After Joel's death, Ellie tried living on for a little bit. A few months was the most she could muster.

She tried to trick herself into falling back for the mundane routine of adult life, but this didn't keep her grounded before, it wouldn't now. Not with her only anchor gone. September 14th was the day she attempted.

Jesse found her — she forgot he'd come pick up Joel's old box of supplies she'd let him borrow —, called Dina, his fingers shaking, words barely understandable under the pressure, the desperation, under the absurdity of the situation. Dina called the ambulance, Ellie lived.

She'd woken up two days later, her eyes burning from the lights, pulse slow, but steady, still pale as snow, her freckles barely visible. The hospital staff treated her like a piece of shit. Like they couldn't wait for her to try again and rid them of the burden of taking care of someone so useless — if you want to be gone, then just do it right and let me enjoy my break.

Between Dina and Jesse's visits, the ones who didn't treat her like a pebble in their shoe, there was you. The sweet nurse who had come to check on her a few times, talked to her about everything but what she was there for, said you liked her eyebrow slit. You made her feel 0,79% less shitty. Just a little bit.

She knew it was you coming because you were the only one who knocked, so she perked up as soon as the sound echoed through the room, and threw her question at you before you even greeted her:

"How many more days until I get out of this sh— of here?" she mentally slapped herself (... don't judge her for not wanting to curse around you).