“Can I use the washroom? I’ll be right back,” I whisper to him.
It’s the first thing I’ve said to George since the argument, and he looks at me like he wasn’t expecting me to speak at all.
“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” he asks softly, leaning a little closer as if to study my expression.
I nod. “Yes.”
“I can go with you...."
“No, George. I’ll be fine,” I cut in quickly, already rising from my seat before he can insist again.
Finding the washroom wasn’t hard. I stepped out of the hall, turned left at the row of glass windows, then followed the corridor until the soft glow of a chandelier exposed a sign that read: Powder Room. The place was too fancy, too grand, too cold.
It was beautiful too, but almost suffocating. Honestly, I just needed to breathe.
Hassah had been burning holes
