playing somewhere at Laura’s house. She can’t bear the silence, so she drowns it in a sea of editors choice playlists. She really doesn’t care what is on, as long as she can’t hear the footsteps or the occasional door shut somewhere downstairs, or the soft murmur in faraway rooms of the mansion.
Laura closes her eyes and sways gently from side to side, cracking her fingers and clapping her hands to the rhythm of the song. She sings along, screaming into the air without really knowing the lyrics.
Even the most high-pitched, absolutely tuneless ear-splitting nonsense is better than listening to the pounding sound of her heart racing in this deafening silence.
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