"I thought you were my friend..." Anya's voice was broken. "In New York... you're the only friend I have..."
Elizabeth knelt behind her, her hand gently stroking Anya's back.
This bathroom had never been used. The light was warm and bright, casting their two shadows onto the wall where they overlapped.
Elizabeth didn't say a word. Right now, any words would be superfluous, any explanation would be feeble, and any apology would be like rubbing salt in the wound.
Anya didn't know how long she had been crying.
It could have been five minutes, or it could have been a century. She couldn't tell the difference.
She only knew that when she finally stopped, her voice was hoarse and her eyes were swollen. The back of her nose stung, and the aftertaste in her mouth made her dry heave again, but there was nothing left to throw up.
