Page 44 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
"But I-I need this job," Aria said, the words shaky as they left her mouth. "Ireallyneed this job."
Ebele's eyes were kind but helpless. "I know," she said softly. "If it were up to me, this wouldn't be happening, but my hands are tied. The directive came from higher up."
Aria stared at her, numb.
Somewhere behind the ringing in her ears, a thought bloomed like poison.
Was this Crispin?
Or his family?
Ebele reached out, her hand resting lightly on Aria's forearm. "I'll give you the best reference I can. You've always been an excellent employee."
Aria nodded, then she turned and walked back to the corridor to complete her shift, her thoughts heavy and slow.
Chapter 25
Aria
The streets blurred past her in streaks of light as she rode the tube home. She had managed to hold down a cup of soup on her way home. The lukewarm carrot soup was something to fill the ache in her stomach and quiet the nausea. It had helped, at least just enough to keep her upright and moving.
Her legs ached and her brain buzzed. It was all just movement now-her feet taking her home on autopilot as if they didn't need permission from the rest of her.
She pushed open the main door to the flats and was halfway up the stairs when she ran into Fergus.
He was carrying two bags, muttering to himself as usual, his thick brows furrowed under his battered fisherman's cap. But something in her face must have startled him because he paused on the landing.
"You alright, hen?" he asked in his usual gruff Scottish rumble, half grumble, half concern.
Aria gave a jerky nod, not trusting her voice, and kept walking.
The third floor felt more distant than usual. Each step was a small war.
She normally looked around, alert for the late-night lurkers who occasionally wandered the halls. But tonight, she didn't care. Her key shook a little in the lock, but it turned. The door creaked open, and she stepped inside.
Her backpack dropped to the floor where she stood.
The shoes came next, then the coat. She didn't bother hanging it up.
The sofa called to her, soft and familiar, but she knew that if she laid down now, she wouldn't get up. Not tonight and maybe not tomorrow, either. She just wanted to sleep and forget.
Instead, she dragged herself into the bathroom, towel in hand, and turned on the shower.
The cracked tile under her feet wobbled slightly. She'd meant to report it. Maybe tomorrow.
Tough grime lined the corners of the cubicle like an old bruise that wouldn't fade. It just wouldn't scrub off, no matter how hard Aria tried. The limescale had found its home long before Aria had taken residence and had no plans to leave. The glass pane in the window bore a sharp crack, jagged like a lightning bolt, streaking across one edge. She kept meaning to tape it. Maybe tomorrow.
Outside, the sky was still blue. It was almost six PM.
She stepped in and let the lukewarm water hit her back.
She didn't know how long she stood there, thinking of nothing in particular.
When she stepped out, the mirror was fogged over. She wiped it with her arm and stared at the face that looked back.
"I'm thirty-five," she whispered to no one, "but I look fifty."
The dark circles, the hollows under her cheekbones. The new silver threads at her temples and the faint lines bracketing her mouth, permanent now.
