Between the pills and the slight swaying of the ship, nausea crept upon Kallah. She stood, the head ache beginning and her stomach churning, and stumbled to the nearest door. Looking into the closet, she turned, trying another door, finally successful.
Kallah perched upon the edge of her bed and stared at the orange bottle in her hands. She threw everything away, left her home for this ship to change, right? To return to who she was before the drugs, the lies, the abuse. The little bottle rattled to the bottom of a drawer. Dressed in loose blue jeans and a baggy hoodie, Kallah wandered the cabins, desperate to see another human, yet painfully afraid to leave the confinement of her solidarity.
She wrapped her arms around herself, embracing herself, trying to hold herself together. Daylight lit a nearby stairwell and she slowly ascended to the deck. The ship had everything an average cruise liner had, pools, bars, restaurants, dance floors, but no people. She was alone. Never releasing her embrace, Kallah meandered the deck, taking little interest in the luxuries offered.
The ocean stretched out for miles around, an abyss. Green blue water, teaming with life, churning in constant motion. But here it was calm. No disruption but the wake left behind by the ship. Kallah stood, staring out into the water, unable to remove her gaze from the ever-present churning.