Page 64 of Oathbreaker

One-two-three-two-one.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I count and breathe.

Count and breathe.

Hunger pangs shock me out of my spiral, and when my stomach releases a loud growl, I glance at the time on the clock.

It’s nearly three p.m. and I haven’t eaten anything all day. I lean my head against the window. That’s another pattern I’ve been battling—cycling between not eating for hours and then binging at night.

I’m a whole, complete mess.

I don’t have to be.

Steeling myself, I put my phone in my pocket and head to the kitchen. When I face the well-stocked refrigerator, I get overwhelmed with the options. It’s like I can’t make a decision.

The overwhelm makes me want to cry. Again.

“Stop with the fucking tears,” I say out loud, and I jump when Kitty’s collar jingles behind me.

I look in his direction, and he hops over to me, nudging my leg with his nose.

I am here. I am safe.

I open the freezer and pause when I see the opened box of Eggo waffles. There are at least six boxes here, all lined up in a perfect row.

August.

I’m an asshole. I’ve all but abandoned him, and that fucks with my head—not just on a professional level, but on a personal level too.

I’ve fucked everything up.

I pull the box of Eggos out of the freezer, and the cold centers my brain, shocking it to think of nothing else but the frostiness in my palms.

I don’t want to feel like this. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.

I press the box to my chest and close my eyes, ignoring Kitty’s whines.

My eyes snap open when I feel the air shift near me. And as if I summoned him, the person I need to see is there: August.

He looks nervous as he bites his lip and rocks from side to side.

I’m ashamed that this is the first time I’ve seen August since everything happened.

“Hey, Aug,” I say in a tired voice. My body and mind and soul are tired. So, so tired.

August blinks hard several times before picking up his tablet, fingers flying over the screen.

“Hello, Winter. It is good to see you,” he says.

Suddenly, I feel more tears roll over my eyelids.

“You changed your sound,” I say with a choked voice. Before, he used an American gangster accent, then an older British woman. Now it sounds like a sullen teenager. Maybe this is more fitting to how he feels.

“Yes,” is all he says.

I go to put the Eggos back in the freezer, but stop when August says, “Are you going to eat my Eggo waffles?”

I don’t push the box back on the shelf. Instead, I say, “I was thinking about it, but I don’t have to.”

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