Sheila’s POV
The apartment is too quiet when I get back.
The air feels heavy, like it’s been holding its breath the entire time I was gone. I drop my bag by the door and just stand there for a second, staring at the dark shape of the couch, the faint hum of the fridge, the city noise leaking in through the thin window. It’s all too normal for how I feel inside.
I should shower. Eat something. Pretend today didn’t happen. But I can still feel the heat of his hand on my skin, the press of his voice when he told me not to move. My body still remembers it even though my brain keeps whispering that I should hate him.
I move to the bathroom and turn on the light. My reflection looks wrecked. My lipstick is gone, my eyes are a little swollen, and my hair’s a mess. I grip the sink and stare fo
