My Year of Rest and Relaxation

by Ottessa Moshfegh

I loved Reva, but I didn’t like her anymore.

But I think I was also holding on to the loss, to the emptiness of the house itself, as though to affirm that it was better to be alone than to be stuck with people who were supposed to love you, yet couldn’t.

If the VCR had been working, I would have watched Working Girl on high volume, munching melatonin and animal crackers, if I’d had any left.