NOLA
I’m not concentrating at work.
I stare at my screen, words blurring into each other until they lose meaning , until all I can see is his face, his eyes , the way he stepped back from me like I was something dangerous. My fingers hover the keyboard. Everytime I try to focus my chest tightens instead.
I give up before noon.
I tell my superior I’m sick, it’s not even a lie , whatever this ache is inside of me, it is real enough to make my hands shake as I grab my keys .
The drive home was quiet, too quiet. The road stretches ahead of me, familiar turns passing by without registering, and somewhere along the way, I realise I’m not going back to the mansion.
I turn the wheel.
The hospital come into view, all white walls and sterile glass and my throat tights the second I park. I sit
