I’ll never know what she was running from

Silence, now. No air to breathe. Only the horrid, oily tar taste creeping up my nostrils. Let it in. Let it fill your lungs. They were counting on you and you blew it. Skinny, steely fingers at my wrist. Miho, you’re an angel.

Stop chasing me!

And my ears feel like popping. Do your ears feel like popping?