Page 63 of Fractured Allegiance
I stare at it until the words stop meaning anything.
Then I erase the message, lock the phone, set it on the bed and stare at it like it betrayed me.
I lie on the mattress, face up.
The ceiling stares back.
My mind drifts to Silas again, and I know for sure that If he’s there tonight…
And he doesn’t look away—
I won’t either.
The ceiling doesn’t give anything back.
Not clarity. Not comfort.
Just blank white stillness, lit by a city that never lets you forget it’s watching.
I sit up, push off the bed, and drift back into the kitchen. I open cabinets. Close them again. I’m not hungry. I’m just moving because stillness feels too loud.
Then I open the fridge and see the little orange pill bottle on the top shelf.
The one I got from the seaside clinic the day I passed out in my apartment.
Celeste had told me to stop skipping meals… And rest, but here we are.
At the time, I nodded and promised I would.
I didn’t.
But now? Now the echo of Silas’s hand still clings to my thigh. My chest hurts with things I never said. And there’s a performance waiting for me tonight that I can’t walk into half-alive.
I pour a glass of water.
Take one of the tablets. Just one.
Then I walk back to the bedroom, slower this time. And I slide beneath the sheets.
About thirty minutes later, I start feeling the pill kicking in.
I curl on my side.
And the last thought I have before sleep drags me under is his mouth—
On mine.
When I finally wake, it’s not morning anymore.
It’s light out — late light. Slanted and golden and reaching across the bed like it’s been waiting. The pill worked. Hard. My body feels heavier than I remember, but calmer. No throb in my temples. No haze behind my eyes.
Just a strange, unfamiliar quiet.
I stretch under the sheets, slow and real, then sit up and breathe for a second before standing. The robe’s still on the bed. The city hums outside my window, busy but blurred.
I shower. A long one. Steam. Citrus soap. I rinse my hair twice and let the water beat against the back of my neck until I start to feel human again.
Then I dress—simple. Black tank, cropped blazer, straight-leg jeans, boots. Hair up. Minimal makeup. Nothing dramatic.
