ISABELLA
Morning, or what little remained of it, greeted me like some cruel inside joke I didn’t understand.
I sat up slowly, muscles sore from tossing and turning like a deranged animal in heat all night. My throat was dry, my eyes gritty from crying all night.
The sheets were too soft, and too expensive. They didn’t feel like mine. Nothing here felt like mine.
Dragging myself out of bed, I noticed the house was quiet. Oh, blessedly so. If there was any god that listened to women like me, he must’ve known I couldn’t stomach seeing Logan this morning.
Not after everything, not after how small and filthy I felt sitting in the backseat of his sleek car last night, clutching my knees like they were the last real thing I owned.
I padded barefoot to the kitchen, the cold marble floors kis
