ISABELLA
The silence in my room was too loud. Not in the poetic, tragically beautiful way they write in books but in the irritating, brain-piercing kind of way that makes your ears buzz and your thoughts roll around like loose marbles inside a cracked glass jar.
I stood at the center of the room, unmoving, barefoot and arms crossed tightly over my chest as if I could hold myself together by sheer force.
The door clicked shut behind me an hour ago. Logan hadn’t said much after dropping me off. “I have somewhere to be,” he’d muttered, like I was a burden he couldn’t wait to be rid of.
I had nodded, made some pathetic attempt to act indifferent, and climbed out of the car with my pride dragging behind me like a tattered hem. The coldness in his voice wasn’t new, but it stung all the same,
