Late night descends, and she turns her music on to drown out the screaming voices in her head.  It's always worst at night.  Maybe it's the isolation, or maybe it's her body screaming for sleep.  Maybe it's the darkness, or maybe it's her mind finally rebelling against distraction.

In any case, she can no longer run.  And so she turns the volume higher.  There's something comforting about the repetitious beat of the drum to soothe her frayed nerves.  Something about the emotion-filled singer's voice that reminds her, however obliquely, that she is not alone.  She welcomes the pain, knowing that there is only to welcome it, for to push it away for another night will only make its eventual attack worse still.

The song changes, and the switch to a happy song is almost too much.  Grating on her consciousness, she insistently clicks skip.  Waits for a more soulful alternative.  But no, yet another advertisement reminds her that even to seek solace through music can be a tenuous aspiration.  The next song comes on.  Much better.  But it's too loud.  Now it's too soft.  To find a balance between void and jarring is nigh impossible.

But all of this is but posturing.  Obsessing over the music lets her forget her pain, if only for the span of a few minutes.

In any case, those few minutes were all she needed.  The armor is back, and she breathes a sigh of relief.  Maybe not tonight, after all.

She clicks skip again, looking for a happy song.