CHARLES FOX.
The next morning, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, underscored by deep, dark circles, and my jaw ached from clenching it in my sleep—or lack thereof. Last night had been hell. Ruby’s words, the slap… I could still feel the sting on my cheek, but the guilt gnawing at me from the inside was even worse. I told myself again and again it was for the best, that pushing her away was necessary, but the sick feeling in my gut refused to leave.
I shoved down the thoughts as I got dressed, pulling on a crisp white shirt and dark slacks, hoping that looking the part would help me feel put together. It didn’t. Everything felt off. My movements were sluggish, my head felt heavy, and I moved through the morning like a zombie.
The office was no better. I co
