Page 11 of Dissension

Kara hangs up fast before she says anything truly regrettable. She feels worn, exhausted. He’s emotionally draining. She hasn’t seen him in months, not since that dreadful party at his office. The night she found out about him and Claire. Every time she thinks of him, she feels ill.

Not only that, she feelssad. Heartbroken. Something she isn’t quite familiar with. At least, not over a man.

The only man in her life to break her heart is her father. Because of that, she never had much of a heart for another man to fit into, but somehow, Nick weaseled his way in.

It’s not that she didn’t know he was a bad man to start with. It’s more so that she finds herself stupid for not expecting him to be hiding a soon-to-be wife behind the scenes. Sure, he was always clear about no commitment, but knowing he’s engaged to be married makes everything nightmarish and sickly in Kara’s eyes.

How could he do this to her? Everything had been going so well…why did he have to make her want him, all while omitting the fact that she would always be a secret side piece? Even worse; his client and friend, Paxton Brooker, is being investigated for the underground torture porn ring that is operating in the city, pulling in the vulnerable from Paxton’s club,Dark Mirage.

What if Nick knew about it all along? Is he really the sort of man that would go that far?

Kara would like to think that he had no clue, no interest in it. In all their time together, he may have shown his darker desires, his fantasies with control, domination, and simulated nonconsent, but never did he ever draw blood or harm Kara in a manner that hinted towards true bloodlust.

Still. There’s so much she never knew about him.

At the office, she does her best to dismiss all thoughts of him. Kara’s only moderately successful in that endeavor; mainly because now she’s fretting about Dieter and having to schedule time for him at the police station for an interview.

Getting him in a room with cops? The very idea of it makes her sweat bullets. God, he’s such a loose cannon! She’ll have to call Gale. She doesn’t feelprepared.

Later that night, she calls Bianca to chat about plans for the weekend. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Bianca quips, audibly typing loudly on her computer, likely working on some sort of program script. “Calling about Saturday night? We still good? What should I bring? Or, do you want to cook together? I found a good zucchini lasagna recipe; I’m dying to try it.”

Movie night with home cooked meals -or takeout, if they’re feeling lazy- has become the new norm for the time being. Kara is growing accustomed to it; she barely feels the need to drink anymore and that’s by design. Bianca has been a saint, sticking it out with her even though Kara knows she’d rather be out partying.

“We can cook together. You bring the ingredients; I’ll buy stuff for dessert.”

“Oooh, aren’t you fabulous? Right on. I’ll see you at six then, Saturday?”

“That works,” Kara replies softly, walking into her closet, glancing at her clothes with a certain air of distaste. Her mind is already drifting to Sunday. She never quite gets the right attire for the occasion.

The mad typing on Bianca’s end of the line goes quiet for a brief moment. “You aren’t getting up early on Sunday again to head out to the suburbs, are you?”

“Mhmm…”

“Urgh!Your clientisyour boyfriend! I won’t be convinced otherwise,” Bianca says with disbelief. “I’ll cab it home after our movie; you always wake me up when you leave me forhimon Sunday. I happen to like my beauty sleep, even if you don’t seem to anymore.”

God, she sayshimlike Dieter is some sort of menace. Alright, he is.

Beauty sleep? Kara likes it, she just doesn’t have the luxury of that anymore. “Whatever works for you, B. Can’t wait to see you. Kisses.”

“Kisses, bitch,” Bianca says fondly, with only a hint of exasperation as she hangs up the phone.

Chapter 6

She’s fourteen and driving without a license, the rain pounding on the windshield. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing. It’s dark. It’s late.

Kara has no business being on the road, not with all the tears in her eyes, not with her violently shaking hands.

Some teenagers drive off in their parent’s cars just to be rebels. Others do it while trying to show off to their friends, ‘look how cool I am, driving my dad’s Mustang’ and all that jazz. Kara isn’t the sort to be interested in any of the above. She has other concerns.

Her mother is bleeding profusely in the passenger seat. Her teeth are gritted in pain, a hand clenched to her side. Kara had given her a wadded-up towel to hold against the wound in an effort to staunch the flow of blood.

Panic is making Kara feel faint, her stomach on fire with sickness. Her hands hurt from clenching the steering wheel.

“Turn…turn here…” her mother utters weakly.

The hospital looms bright, even in the gloomy dark, like a beacon of salvation through the downpour. Kara pulls up to the ER entrance and runs inside to get the staff, crying out for help.

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