Page 30 of Inevitable Endings
She has power over me.
Not because she’s taken it, but because I’ve given it to her.
And I would hand her every piece of it, every shred of control over the monster I’ve become.
Chapter 15
Fragments of Normalcy
Isabella
The world outside the clinic always feels different, almost too bright, too full of life for someone who spends most of her time inside dim, sterile hospital rooms. The air is crisp this morning, the scent of fresh rain clinging to the pavement, mixing with the aroma of coffee and fresh bread from the café across the street.
For once, I don’t have to rush.
Today is my usual day off. And for the first time in weeks, I’m actually taking it without Ada having to force me.
I lean against the doorframe of our home, shifting the paper bag of pastries in my arms while I enter.
“Rise and shine, lazy ass,” I call out, grinning.
A muffled groan comes from upstairs, followed by the sound of shuffling feet. A few seconds later, the door swings open, revealing Ada in all her morning glory on the stairway; her hair an absolute mess, her oversized T-shirt slipping off her shoulder, and a sleepy glare that could probably kill me if she tried hard enough.
“You’re too chipper for this hour,” she grumbles, rubbing her eyes as she steps down the stairs.
“It’s nine in the morning, Ada. Normal people are awake by now.”
“I’m not normal people,” she mutters, dragging herself toward the kitchen while I follow behind.
A faint scent of vanilla enters my nostrils and something floral; probably one of Ada’s expensive candles.
I drop the bag of pastries onto the counter and start making coffee.
“Croissants from Bennetti’s,” I announce, knowing that’ll get her attention.
Ada perks up immediately, eyes flicking to the bag like a starving animal. “You do love me.”
“More than anyone else ever will.”
Something about this morning, about her, makes me feel lighter.
I don’t know when it happened exactly, when I stopped feeling like I had to keep every part of myself locked up around her. Maybe it was last night, when we sat on the bed for hours, talking about things I never say out loud. Maybe it was the way she listened, really listened, without interrupting, without trying to fix me like Dr. Monroe.
Or maybe it was just her. The way she exists in my life, so effortlessly, like she’s always meant to be here. The way she has cared for me like no one else yet, apart from him.
I glance up, meeting her gaze, and for once, I don’t feel exposed. I don’t feel like I’m giving away too much or that I’ll regret it later. Instead, I feel… safe. Like letting her in isn’t something I have to be afraid of.
We settle into our usual rhythm; Ada sitting cross-legged on the couch, stuffing her face with pastries, while I curl up on the armrest, sipping my coffee. It’s easy with her. Comfortable. She’s one of the only people who doesn’t expect me to be anything other than what I am. She doesn’t expect a mask, she appreciates the real me, bruised and all.
“So,” she says after a while, licking a stray flake of croissant off her finger. “How was your shift the other night, the double one? You never gave me a real answer.”
I hesitate, debating whether or not to tell her about John and his whispered warnings. But the logical part of me knows it was probably nothing, just the delirious ramblings of a man too far gone to know what he was saying.
Instead, I shrug. “Same as always. Junkies, drunks, and a guy who thought he was being hunted by criminals.”
Ada snorts. “Classic. Did he have any good conspiracy theories, at least?”
I sip my coffee, shaking my head. “Just the usual cryptic warnings about impending doom.”
