Chelle
I need to get my stuff from Nikolai’s, but I’m not ready to see him. I’m still pretending to myself that nothing’s wrong. That every day is normal, just like all the days I had before I met Nikolai.
I do double workouts at my spin gym and make an excuse to skip Wednesday at the Red Room, and I send Shanna vague texts about being busy. I don’t want to—I can’t—be with anyone who will talk about feelings. I’m working very hard not to have any.
On Sunday afternoon, Shanna shows up at my door with two grocery bags of brunch food.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stepping back.
“You need me. I can tell.” She gives me a critical look, taking in the faded bruise on my face, then pushes past me and into my kitchen to start unloading. I follow her but can’t make myself move to help or t
