"Talk to me," she urges, at her wits end. "I need you to say something."

He studies her from where he lounges on her bed, eyes half lidded but curious. "What is there to say?"

"Any thing," she says, hands flat on the keyboard.

Her roommate sighs in her sleep and turns over to get comfortable with another small moan. They both watch her for a few seconds to make sure she's asleep. He cocks his head to the side after some time passes. She notices he's laying on her bed in the wrong direction so his head is closer to her.

"I'm not sure what you're looking for," he offers. "Give me a clue."

She shakes her head and rests her forehead on the desk. She sighs, letting all the air leave her body until it is limp. She glances to the side and meets his gaze again. He looks amused.

"Stop teasing," she whispers. He responds with a soft grin. "This isn't creative. I'm not here to write an autobiography."

"What am I supposed to do?" he teases, shifting slightly. He lays down flat, arms pillowing his head so he can still look at her. "It's not my fault."

"They haven't figured it out yet," she says with a bitter smile. "I've let it continue for too long."

"End it," he suggests, lazily. "It's not your fault if they don't get it."

"It makes me feel worthless," she replies, picking up her head again with a sigh. "I want them to understand."

"You can't make them," he counters again, "So end it and stop worrying about it."

"There's only one more person left," she says. "I'll end it after him."

He shrugs and lays on his side, breaking eye contact before her gaze can return to the screen. "Suit yourself."

She sighs once more and rolls her shoulders. "One more day. And then it's over."

And she really hopes it is. But how do you end something that doesn't have an ending?