Page 116 of Fractured Allegiance

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That would make this something it isn’t.

Instead, I step back. Because standing here any longer would feel like nostalgia, and I don’t have the luxury for that. Not tonight. Not anymore.

When I leave, I don’t bother to look back.

The loft is exactly how I left it. I’m not sure I am. I toss my keys on the counter and pull my jacket off in one sweep. Let it drop over the chair instead of hanging it. The fabric slides, sighs into the wood.

I peel off my boots next.

Then the earrings.

The ring.

Going through the motions, every piece comes off like a layer I am shedding. In the bathroom, I wipe the paint off my face: the lipstick, the dark-lined eyes, the faint shimmer across my cheeks that makes men forget what they’re asking for.

It’s all for show.

All of it.

The mirror doesn’t lie. Not to me.

I stare at myself. Not long. Just enough.

Then I turn and leave the bathroom lights on as I cross back to the kitchen, tugging the elastic from my hair and shakingit loose. The burner phone is still on the counter where I left it, calling to me, luring me in.

I pick it up. Thumb hovers over the screen. There’s still no message from him. No call. No missed anything.

It makes my teeth grind.

I open a new message window.

There are a hundred things I could ask. Did you find out who sent the note? What aren't you telling me? Why does it feel like you're protecting me from something you won't name?

But what comes out is simpler. More dangerous.

Why me?

Two words that ask everything I'm not supposed to want answered.

I hit send before I can think better of it.

No read receipt. No typing bubble.

Nothing.

Just space.

I set the phone down like it's guilty.

I set the phone down like it’s guilty.

Then I sit beside it.

Still.

Breathing through my nose. Counting the seconds.

I don’t know what I expect.

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