Page 33 of When the Storm Breaks
This matters to him.
And I don’t want to take that away.
Even if facing the holiday without Jules feels impossible.
After hours on the couch, my back turned to the TV with the volume barely a whisper, I finally force myself to move. I need to clean the apartment. I need to clean myself.
It’s been at least a week since I’ve taken a proper shower—washed my hair, shaved, done more than just swipe on some lotion from the bottle on the bathroom counter.
With a deep breath, I push myself upright and reach for the remoteto turn off the TV. But before I can, something on the screen stops me cold.
True crime.
Unsolved true crime.
A man sits in an interrogation room, shoulders hunched beneath the stress of the detective’s questions. My heart pounds. I fumble with the remote, scrambling to turn up the volume.
The case unfolds in fragments—an argument, a disappearance, a wife who never came home. The detectives press him, their voices careful but insistent. He denies everything. His face gives nothing away, but I swear I can feel the guilt bleeding through the screen.
Then comes the final blow.
The narrator’s voice returns, calm and detached: the man was cleared.
Released.
The case remains unsolved.
Tears spill over before I even realize they’ve formed, hot against my cheeks. The credits roll, but I stay rooted to the couch, the silence pressing in as I finally reach for the remote and shut off the TV.
Jules.
Her name hits me like a blow, unearthing all the pain I’ve tried to bury. I stare at the blank screen, the last twenty minutes looping through my head on repeat.
Finally, I force myself to move, dragging my aching limbs to the bathroom. I sink to the floor of the shower, knees to my chest as the water pounds against my back. The heat is cranked as high as it will go, droplets landing like sharp pin pricks, each one demanding I feel something. Anything.
I clench my jaw, anger simmering beneath my skin, mirroring the scalding water beating down on me.
I won’t let it happen. Not to Jules. Not to me.
I need to talk to Tyler again.
With a burst of energy, fueled by a fire I haven’t felt in weeks, I reach up and twist the knob. The shower groans in protest, the stream slowing to a trickle. I step out and wrap myself in a towel, skin flushed and stinging, my breaths coming in uneven gasps.
But by the time I reach the bedroom, the energy is gone—drained, like it was never mine to begin with. I sink onto the edge of the bed, water still dripping from my hair, soaking through the towel. I don’t move. Just slowly lie back, the dampness seeping into my sheets as I stare at the ceiling, unfocused. The fire from moments ago is already gone, reduced to quiet embers.
I don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until I wake to the dim glow of the clock on my nightstand, red numbers glaring back at me: 8:00 p.m.
A numbness creeps in, wrapping itself around me.
What’s the point in fighting it anymore? I’ve already lost.
I peel off the towel and toss it to the floor, not bothering to aim. Sliding under the covers, I feel the dampness cling to my skin, but I don’t care.
Sleep pulls at me, and I let it in.
Chapter 14
Calla
