Page 63 of Boards & Betrayal

The shower had always been my sanctuary, a place where I could let my guard down, even if just for a few minutes. As I lathered shampoo into my hair, the familiar scent of lavender filled the small space, grounding me in the present. Each motion felt deliberate, almost ritualistic—an act of self-care that I often neglected.

Rinsing out the shampoo, I watched as the suds swirled down the drain, disappearing like so many of my unresolved emotions. It was strangely therapeutic, seeing something so tangible be washed away. If only it were that easy to cleanse myself of everything else—the grief, the guilt, the complicated feelings for Tom.

I reached for the body wash next, squeezing a generous amount into my palm. The creamy texture felt luxurious against my skin as I worked it into a lather. The scent mingled with the lavender from my shampoo, and then conditioner. As I scrubbed my arms and legs, I focused on the sensation—the slight roughness of my loofah against my skin and how it contrasted with the silky smoothness of the soap.

My thoughts drifted to Tom lying in bed just a few feet away. It felt surreal to have him here after everything that had happened between us. Yet, his presence was also a comfort, a reminder that not everything was lost. That maybe we could rebuild what we had… what we might have had…

I turned around and let the water rinse away the soap, feeling cleaner but not quite lighter. The heat had turned my skin pink and softened some of the edges of my tension, but hadn't erased them entirely.

Finally, I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. Grabbing a towel from the rack, I wrapped it around myself and took another deep breath. For now, at least, I felt more ready to face whatever came next.

I finished up in the bathroom, ducking my head so hair fell in my face and hid my cheek. I returned to the bedroom to find Tom half-awake, watching me with those intense eyes that always seemed to see right through me.

"Don’t you have practice or something?" I teased, pulling on a pair of jeans.

He grinned lazily. "Practice can wait."

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. "You’re impossible."

"And you love it," he replied without missing a beat.

Maybe he was right. Maybe amidst all the chaos and unresolved emotions, there was something here worth holding onto. But for now, I had to focus on getting through the day.

"See you later?" he asked as I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

"Yeah," I said softly. "See you later."

With that, I left the apartment, ready to face whatever came next—one moment at a time.

Driving through town,I couldn’t shake the image of Janet from my mind. Her smug face, the way she’d leaned in as if her words were precious secrets meant only for me. The threats, the demands—they replayed in my head like a broken record.

My grip tightened on the steering wheel as I navigated the familiar streets. The studio wasn’t far, but each red light felt like an eternity, giving me too much time to stew in my frustration. The morning sun cast long shadows over the pavement, highlighting every crack and imperfection. It mirrored how I felt—fractured and raw.

I thought back to her exact words, how she’d twisted the knife about my loss, something so deeply personal and painful. It wasn’t just about money for her; it was about power, control. She was getting back at me. My chest tightened at the thought of her using something so intimate against me.

How could I have ever let it come to this? I’d kept so much hidden, thinking it would protect me, but now it felt like those secrets were ammunition for someone like Janet. Each turn of the wheel brought a new wave of anger and helplessness.

What was I supposed to do? Giving in to her demands wasn’t an option—I couldn’t let her win. But ignoring her threats seemed equally dangerous. The studio came into view, and I smiled. I loved it here, loved my job, even through the hard parts.

Parking the car, I sat for a moment, letting the engine idle as I tried to collect myself. The familiar hum of the motor did little to soothe my nerves. I needed a plan, something concrete that could keep Janet at bay without unraveling everything else in my life.

With a deep breath, I killed the engine and stepped out of the car. The cool air hit my face, nice and refreshing. Each step toward the studio door felt heavy, burdened by more than just Janet’s threats—it was everything.

Pushing open the door to the studio, I forced myself to focus on the present task at hand. Clients needed their photos; projects needed completing. Maybe if I threw myself into work, even for a little while, I could find some clarity—or at least some temporary peace.

The familiar scent of developing chemicals hit me as I entered, grounding me momentarily in routine. Yet behind every click of a shutter or flash of light was Janet’s voice echoing in my mind. And with each passing minute, the weight of what lay ahead grew heavier.

But for now—for these next few hours—I had work to do.

Carl was hunched over his desk, a mountain of paperwork in front of him. I approached, trying to push the morning's turmoil aside.

"Hey," I said, hoping my voice sounded steadier than I felt.

Carl looked up and did a double-take. "What are you doing here?"

"You scheduled me for today," I replied, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh, shit," he murmured. "You haven't checked your texts, have you?"

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