BOUND BY THE SESSION

Chapter 4 | Breaking Point

Leona’s POV

The city’s chaos hummed around me as I stepped out from Dr. Volkov’s office, but it barely registered. His words echoed relentlessly in my mind: “Leona, what you’re describing is abuse. Anyone who lashes out physically has surrendered control.”

I drifted toward a small park across the street and sank onto a weathered bench, pulling my phone from my pocket. Dr. Volkov’s card pressed against my thigh, burning with silent urgency emergencies only, he’d said. But what counted as one? Would he even pick up if I called? What would I say?

Instead, I opened my messages and tapped Marion’s name. My boss didn’t text often just when she needed me to cover shifts and our past conversations were sparse.

My thumbs hovered nervously over the keyboard.

Hey Marion, is that spare room offer still open?

Before my brain could derail me, I sent it. My hands trembled as I gripped the phone, watching the typing bubbles appear almost instantly.

Of course, sweetie. What’s going on?

I hesitated. Marion didn’t know about Zoe’s volatile moods or the bruises I masked under long sleeves. I was a master of hiding, of excuses, of pretending everything was fine.

I need to move out. When would be good for you?

Her reply came fast and kind: How about this weekend? Saturday? I’m off and can help you pack.

Relief swelled inside me a lightness I hadn’t felt in ages. I’d taken a step. Made a move toward something better.

Dr. Volkov would be proud.

Saturday works perfectly. Thank you so much!

Don’t mention it. That room’s been empty too long. Good to have company again.

Pocketing my phone, I glanced up at the narrow strip of sky between the buildings. For the first time in what felt like forever, a flicker of hope stirred. There was a way out. A safe place waiting.

Now to face telling Zoe.

My chest tightened just thinking about it. Anxiety twisted inside me, but I shoved it down.

I stood, slid on my headphones, and began walking home. The sun warmed my face, and I found myself smiling faintly at the idea of escaping the toxic mess I lived in.

Three days. I could make it three more days.

Halfway there, Lana Del Rey’s High by the Beach played softly in my ears when a prickling sensation crawled up my spine the primal warning that someone was watching.

I slowed and glanced over my shoulder. The sidewalk bustled with people heading to lunch or slipping into happy hour, nothing out of place.

But the feeling wouldn’t quit.

At the next corner, I turned as if checking traffic but stole another look behind me.

There, half a block away, stood a tall figure in a dark coat. I couldn’t see his face, but something about him screamed danger.

It had to be paranoia. Dr. Volkov spent the last hour drilling safety into my head. I was just seeing ghosts.

The light flipped green and I hurried across, picking up my pace as I neared my quiet street. Two blocks left, then a right onto the residential block where my apartment waited.

As the city sounds faded, so did the fear but it was replaced by something heavier. Dread. Not about the stranger, but what was already waiting inside.

The front door was stuck again, forcing me to shove it open with my shoulder.

Four flights up, I stopped outside apartment 4C and listened. Silence. Maybe Zoe was out?

I unlocked the door quietly and slipped inside. The living room was a wreck empty beer bottles littered the table, the ashtray overflowed, and men’s shoes I didn’t recognize were tossed near the couch.

I wrinkled my nose at the cigarette smell, which Zoe knew I hated.

I headed to my room, desperate to change and maybe catch a nap before work.

The door was shut, which was odd I always left it open for fresh air.

I turned the knob and pushed it open and froze.

Zoe was in my bed, naked, tangled with a man I’d never seen, both wrapped in my sheets.

My sheets. The ones I’d washed just yesterday.

“What the hell?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Zoe’s eyes snapped open. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, her face shifting from surprise to irritation.

“Seriously, Leona? Ever heard of knocking?”

“This is my room,” I said, voice shaking but firm. “My bed.”

The man looked between us, confused. Older than I expected mid-thirties, with the red, blotchy skin of a heavy drinker or worse.

“s**t, sorry,” he muttered, insincere.

“Your bed’s bigger than mine,” Zoe shrugged like it explained everything. “You were gone all day.”

Something inside me snapped a lifetime of shrinking, bending, swallowing my pride boiling over.

“Get out,” I said low and steady. “Both of you. Now.”

Zoe’s eyebrows shot up, disbelief turning to venom.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Out of my room. Out of my bed. I don’t care if you go to your room or the door ten seconds.”

The man scrambled for his clothes, eager to escape. Zoe stayed, eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” she hissed.

“My roommate, who’s in my bed without permission,” I said, amazed at how steady I sounded despite the fear inside. “I’ve tolerated a lot, Zoe, but this crosses a line.”

“Tolerated a lot?” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “I’ve been carrying your sorry ass for months. You think anyone else would put up with your panic attacks? Your nightmares? How you flinch at every raised voice? Nobody puts up with a weak little b***h like you. Someone who can’t even stand up for herself when her life depends on it.”