After wallowingin bed for two days, I should be well-rested and emotionally recovered. At least, that’s what I tell myself. In reality, the nightmares have gotten worse since returning from Mikhail’s, and I haven’t gotten more than four hours of uninterrupted sleep for the past two nights. I still forced myself out of bed on the first ring of my 8 AM alarm this morning, unwilling to continue the monotonous cycle of self-pity.
And anyway, I’ll be damned if I let some demented millionaire’s misguided punishment fuck with my final semester grades.
Setting the coffee to brew, I sit down at the desk and open my notebook to a fresh page, starting a list for the day.
One step after the other, Cass.
Soon enough, I’m hacking through my budget analysis homework, completely absorbed in finishing each task as thoroughly as I can manage.
I love the clean repetitions between each case study, but my favorite part of these is the problem-solving: the assessment of each individual client’s needs and timeframe, and working to shift the budget to favor different priorities. Completing a task as straightforward and applicable as this one makes the world seem so much simpler than it actually is. Years can be planned in a matter of minutes, and plans can be molded into whatever shape best fits the company’s needs.
Yeah, sure, it sounds boring, but I find that many people don’t appreciate the privilege of being “boring.” I shake my head, thinking of how horrifyingly eventful my life has been lately. Case in point. I can’t wait to find a job and make good money someday, maybe move into the middle of the woods so I only need to see another human every few?—
A knock sounds at the door. My heart jumps into my throat.
I’m pretty sure my roommate is still fast asleep in her room, and Sophia never shows up at my place before texting me first. Maybe she has an emergency?
I tiptoe toward the door. Some easily avoided part of my mind must be aware of the chance that it’s in fact not my best friend on the other side of the door, because I snatch up my can of bedazzled mace from the side table before I approach the entrance and crack the door open?—
Which I immediately slam shut.
“Cassandra, please. I just want to talk.”
I press my body against the wood, anger pumping through my veins.I cannot believe he had the nerve to come here!
“Cass, just open the door. Please.”
I crack the hinge once again and glare up at Mikhail’s revealed face. His eyes are dark and haggard, like he hasn’t been sleeping, his skin dull and pale. He looks worse for wear. Most notably, an angry red stripe stretches from cheek to cheek, the lingering proof of my attack bringing sick joy to my wounded soul.
“Leave,” I growl, low and guttural. I try to slam the door shut again, but his foot slides into the gap, jamming the door open.
“Please, Cass, please just listen to me for one minute.” His voice is begging, steeped in anguish.
“And then you will leave?” I ask, raising a brow.
“Yes,” he promises. He’s close. So close that I can smell the woodsy spice of his cologne that makes me want to crawl into his arms and accept all the excuses he’ll surely produce. To forget that awful night ever happened. The urge makes me hate him all the more.
“Fine. Speak.”
There’s a beat of silence, like he wasn’t sure he’d get this far with me, but eventually he senses the urgency in my mood and responds.
“I’m so sorry, Cassandra. I…don’t know where to start. My organization was given false evidence that you were an infiltrator. That you fabricated your way into my life and drew me in to steal vital information from me. I had only intended to keep you in the holding cell while I investigated the claims, and once I realized my mistake…”
I absorb his words in confused reluctance, each claim sounding more fucked up than the last.
He takes a small step forward, leveling my gaze.
“I had no idea, Cass, or I would never have left you in there, even then, as angry as I was.”
I squint my eyes.
“Had no idea?”
“That you were scared of being locked in places. I had no idea you would panic like that. I just had to keep you safe from any efforts of retaliation until I could figure out what to do next.”
I release a cruel laugh, shaking my head. I’m not sure how he even managed to recognize my claustrophobia, but what a fucking joke.Sorry, baby, if I knew you had issues, I never would have locked you in my kill room.
“And I suppose you expect me to believe this? That even if this were true, it would suddenly make everything right between us again?”
