of my back, a constant, proprietary pressure. Every touch felt like a brand, every polite conversation a new layer of my person

. He would occasionally lean in and whisper something, a reminder of David's leering face or a comment on how convincin

runk mixing with the bile in my stomach. "I need some air," I mumbled to Mar

crossing his face before it was replaced

k deep, gasping breaths, trying to fight back the panic that was clawing at my throat. I splashed cold water on my face, sta

mpose myself, my phone

g. Meet me

ust wanted to go home, to curl up in my bed and pretend thi

r, the tinted windows shielding us from the world. The

said, not looking at me. "You

stared out the window a

It was him. Texting m

ning my apartment. The

y heart pounding. "What? M

dangerously quiet. "Did we not just have

fight draining out o

han a home. It was all glass and chrome and cold, white leather. It was spotless.

leaning spray and a cloth.

I went into the kitchen, my movements stiff and robotic. I sprayed the already g

ne laugh, not the cruel one he used on me. It was the laugh I remembered from

th still in my h

ice soft and warm. "Yeah, the gal

nched. Who was

e corner. He was stretched out on the couch, his feet

u tomorrow," he murmured i

o claimed to be drowning in grief for my sister, was moving on. He was finding h

nt time, a different kitchen. My tiny apartment, years ago, right after college. Emily and I were making pasta, laughing so hard t

d said, her eyes shining. "We

e phone, she was living the life that should have been my sister'

hed me, his happy mood gone, replaced by the familiar coldness.

said, not looking up f

thin me. Maybe this was it. Maybe I had passed h

ut, just as my hand

urn

s finally meeting mine, cold and

uffed out by his