Page 10 of Fractured Loyalties
“Hi.” I adjust the angle of my monitor even though it doesn’t need adjusting.
“You sleep all right?”
The question lands sharper than it should. Something about the ease of it—the assumption that sleep is simple.
I try to answer, but my throat tightens. I shrug instead.
Alec doesn’t push. Just nods once. “We’ve got the Patterson intake at nine. Thought I’d give you a heads-up. She can be...chatty.”
I offer a soft laugh, and it sounds foreign to my own ears. “Thanks.”
He leaves, and I stare at the space where he was. Just standing there. Casual and safe and steady.
I close my eyes, just for a moment.
But instead of peace, something else comes.
The memory is sharp, uninvited. Caleb, cornering me in our old kitchen. The flicker of a vein in his neck. The smell of whiskey on his breath. The way his words came slowly, tightly, like he was counting them out one by one so he wouldn’t explode too soon.
“You think you’re better than me now?”
I open my eyes fast.
The room is the same. My hands are clenched.
I push back from the desk and stand.
Restroom. I need the restroom.
I step into the restroom and lock the door behind me. The click feels louder than it should. Echoed. Final.
The light is bright here, almost sterile. The mirror spans half the wall above the sink, and I hate it. It forces me to look when I want to disappear.
I grip the porcelain and breathe. In. Out. Repeat.
But it doesn’t work.
The air feels thinner than it should. My heartbeat is too loud. My palms sweat against the cool sink.
The memory isn’t fading. It’s flowering.
Caleb, slamming a cupboard door hard enough that a glass jumped and shattered. The sound of his voice when he went quiet—that was always worse than the shouting. It meant he was winding up. Rehearsing the pain in his head first before letting it out.
He didn’t need fists to make me bleed.
He used silence. Manipulation. The way he’d tilt his head and smile with just enough teeth to make me question everything I remembered.
My stomach tightens.
I turn the faucet on just to hear something else. Cold water rushes out. I splash my face, again and again, until my skin stings and my vision clears.
When I finally look up, I barely recognize myself.
My blouse is wrinkled. My lips pale. There’s a sheen on my forehead I hadn’t noticed. But it’s my eyes that catch me. Wide. Lost. The kind of look prey gets before it bolts.
I press trembling fingers to my temples.
"You’re fine," I whisper. "He’s not here."
