A voice far too cheerful for this hour chirps back. “Good morning! This is Ms. Lucy’s five a.m. wake-up call!”
My brain stalls completely. “What?”
“Mr. Smith requested we give Lucy a call to make sure she’s up and dressed. The car service is scheduled to pick her up in thirty minutes.”
My eye twitches. “Did you say,Lucy?”
“Mr. Smith requested we make sure Lucy is up and dressed! The car service arrives at 5:30. He left a very detailed note if you’d like me to—”
“No,” I cut in, voice rough. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Wonderful! Enjoy your day!”
Click.
I lower the phone and scrub my hands over my face, dragging my palms down until my fingers hook in my hair.
Of course it’s Orion. He must’ve slipped out in the middle of the night, because he knows damn well this is the only way he’d get me moving without a drawn-out argument and at least one credible threat of violence.
I flick on the bedside lamp.
An unfamiliar suitcase sits on the bed with a square of hotel stationery resting on top.
A note. Of course, because the wake-up call wasn’t enough.
Lucy.
This suitcase is filled with shit I stole from your place. Your car will be here at 5:30. Get your ass out of bed.
-O
I mutter every curse I know as I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the words low and automatic, more habit than heat. My body feels heavy, sluggish with sleep and nerves. This early in the morning, everything aches a half-second before it moves.
Lucy.
I scowl at the space near the phone. I hate that nickname. Somewhere downstairs, some poor hotel employee probably thought he was waking a woman and had no idea he’d just committed a minor act of psychological warfare instead.
Before I can dwell on it, a familiar weight lands on the bed.
Sir Sass hops up and crosses my legs with deliberate care, pads over my thighs, and purrs immediately, loud and satisfied, the sound vibrating straight through my bones.
I look down at him. “Do I really seem that stressed out?”
He answers by leaning forward and nuzzling my chin, then purring harder, as if that settles the matter completely.
Great, I’m being emotionally blackmailed by my best friend and a three-legged cat with abandonment issues.
I ease him aside and stand, pausing long enough to find my balance before moving toward the chair where I left everything laid out the night before.
The carpet is cold under my foot as I roll the silicone liner into place, smoothing it carefully, making sure there’s no twist or pinch before guiding my limb into the socket. I shift my weight, letting my weight settle and the pressure distribute the way it’s supposed to. There’s a quiet click as the suspension engages.
Seven months ago, this process felt like proof of everything I’d lost.
Now it feels like proof that I’m still here.
I let myself stand there for a second longer than necessary, caught between the temptation to crawl back into bed and the heavier truth that avoidance has never actually protected me from anything.
My therapist’s voice cuts in, uninvited but annoyingly accurate.
