After she leaves, I stand up from my chair and walk to the window. I look out over the city, my head a jumbled mess. The thoughts get louder, the compartments start to open, the flashbacks begin, and I crumble to the floor.
This. This is exactly why I hate her. Why I can’t have her near me. I can’t function. I can’t cope. She makes mefeel, and I don’t know what the fuck to do.
Shakily pushing myself up off the floor, I wipe the few tears that have tracked down my face and sit at my desk. My top drawer stares at me, and I don’t think. I do.
Opening it up, I push everything frantically to the side until I find what I’m looking for. Wrapping my hand around the item like it’s a warm, comforting blanket, I start breathing easier. The pain in my chest lessens a fraction, and the boxes start being packed away neatly again. But it isn’t enough. It never is.
Walking to my en-suite, I open the door, then close it behind me and lean against it, my head falling back with a thud. The scalpel feels like a heavy weight in my hand, but one that’s so familiar I welcome it. I don’t even bother worrying about anyone else or the possibility of them finding me; I’m too far gone in my own mind to care. I just need it to stop. I need it all to go away.
Unbuckling my slacks I slide them down over my hips just enough to get them where I need them. Then I pull the skin on my left thigh taut and drag the scalpel across it. I throw my head back, exhaling as the sting of the blade brings me back into focus. The first glimpse of red bubbling to the surface dries my tears. The second drag of the sharp edge across my skin has the pain in my chest easing to a more manageable level. The third drag—this one deeper than the others—closes the boxes, shoving every memory, feeling, and thought back into them and sealing them away. The fourth and final drag has me fully coming back to my senses.
Fuck!
What have I done?
Blood pours from the cuts, not enough to be life-threatening but enough to warrant a bandage. I swipe a couple of tissues from the dispenser on the wall and mop at my leg, then throw the scalpel into the sink like it bit me and pull my pants up. Blood starts to seep through the fabric, and I know I’m fucked.
I slide my phone out of my pocket, my hands shaking, and make a call. “I need you,” I murmur when the call connects.
“My office. Ten minutes,” Mike says, then hangs up.
Putting my phone back in my pocket, I stand up and leave, sending Aimee a text telling her I’m working from home for the rest of the day.
Chapter Fifteen
BLAKE
I’m sitting in my usual spot in the library, trawling through page after page of information about Harper. I’ve highlighted text, left notes in the margins, and set a pile aside for anything that could potentially be helpful. The only problem is, I can’t find anything useful. I sit back in my chair, arching my arms above my head.
What am I missing?
“You okay in here?” Aimee asks, strolling into the library and sitting opposite me.
“Aren’t you supposed to be answering the phones?” I chuckle.
She waves a hand in the air. “Meh, they can do without me for five minutes. I just wanted to check on you. See how you were settling in.”
I blow out a breath. “It’s okay, I guess. Everyone seems nice.”
“And…” Aimee says, giving me a knowing look.
“And it would just be nice if Theo would take his head out of his ass and let me help him.” I shrug. “Two heads are better than one and all that.”
“Unfortunately, Theo has an issue working with other people. I’ve never known him to be any other way. He’ll come around though.”
“Doubtful,” I reply.
“Oh, I forgot. Frank wants to see you in his office.” Aimee stands up and makes for the door. She stops before turning, her eyes soft as she says, “It’ll get easier, just give it time.”
I nod, but she’s already gone. Packing up the books, I place everything back before heading to Frank’s office, hoping it's nothing bad and I’m not about to get fired. With everything between Theo and me at the moment, I wouldn’t put it past him; he has kept threatening it after all.
The office is abuzz with the noise of clacking keyboards, ringing phones, and people coming and going. Some are in a rush, while others are at a slow, sauntering pace. It’s a sound I’ve always loved. When you grow up worried about the silence and what it could mean, noise is the only thing that makes you feel safe.
I smooth down my blouse and pencil skirt as I walk toward Frank’s office, but a voice stops me.
“Blake.”
My shoulders droop, and I huff out a breath.
