BOUND BY THE SESSION

Chapter 5 | When Silence Breaks

Leona’s POV

The apartment felt strangely empty without Zoe. Quieter, calmer.

She’d stormed out two days ago, slamming the door hard behind her without a word. Probably off to her ex or some friend.

The red bruise on my cheek had faded to a faint pink, but the sting of her hand still lingered, like a ghost I couldn’t shake.

I curled deeper into the corner of our worn out couch, dragging the threadbare throw blanket up to my chin as some forgettable reality show flickered on the TV.

Thursday night. Just one day left before my next session with Dr. Volkov. The thought made my stomach twist with nerves I tried to ignore.

My phone buzzed. A message from Marion popped up: “Got fresh sheets for the spare room today. Can’t wait for Saturday!”

A small smile cracked across my face. Two more days. Two days until I left all this behind.

I’d already started packing whenever Zoe wasn’t around stuffing a duffel with clothes. My few precious belongings the books and keepsakes I’d managed to hold onto through years of foster homes were carefully wrapped and tucked under my bed.

Onscreen, flawless people with perfect teeth bickered on some sun-drenched beach. I couldn’t focus on their petty drama. Not when my own life was about to shift. Not with Dr. Volkov’s voice echoing in my head: “You deserve more than just surviving, Leona.”

Then a sharp knock shattered the silence three quick, firm raps that didn’t sound like Zoe’s usual crew.

I muted the TV and held my breath. Zoe had a key; she never knocked.

The knocking came again, more urgent this time.

Coming! I called out, peeling the blanket off and shuffling to the door.

Peering through the peephole, I saw two figures in the dim hallway a man and a woman dressed in dark clothes. Their stance was stiff, hands clasped in front, and a chill crawled up my spine.

I cracked the door, chain still on, and asked, “Can I help you?”

They flashed badges simultaneously.

“Ms. Winters?” the woman asked. She was middle-aged, with short gray hair and eyes that looked tired from too many long nights. “Detective Ramirez. This is Detective Powell. May we come in?”

My throat went dry. Police at my door. My mind raced was this about the fight with Zoe? Had someone called it in?

“What’s this about?” I managed, voice barely a whisper.

“We’d prefer to speak inside, ma’am,” Powell said, his heavyset frame looming slightly. He had a face that rarely smiled.

Hands shaking, I unlocked the door fully and let them in. Their eyes scanned the apartment with cold professionalism.

“Is your roommate home?” Ramirez asked.

“No, she left two days ago… Not sure when she’ll be back.” The lie slid out smooth and quick. I wasn’t ready to admit we’d fought, that she’d hit me. Some part of me told me to be cautious.

“Please have a seat, Ms. Winters,” Powell said, gesturing to the couch I’d just vacated.

I sat, feeling the cushions dip beneath me as the detectives settled opposite. Neither took off their jackets.

“What’s this about?” I repeated, anxiety knotting my stomach.

Ramirez leaned forward, voice low. “When was the last time you saw Zoe Chambers?”

“Two days ago,” I said carefully. “We had a disagreement, and she left.”

“A disagreement?” Powell’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

Swallowing hard, I said, “She had someone in my room my bed. I asked them to leave. She got angry.”

“Did things turn physical?” Ramirez’s eyes flicked briefly to my cheek.

I hesitated. Would telling the truth make me look guilty? But lying to the cops felt worse.

In the end, I lied: “No. She just stormed off like usual.”

They exchanged a look I couldn’t read.

“And since then, she hasn’t returned?” Powell asked, jotting notes on a small pad.

“Yes. I haven’t seen her.”

Ramirez’s expression softened just a bit. “Ms. Winters, I’m afraid we have some difficult news. Zoe Chambers was found deceased about two hours ago.”

The words floated, disconnected from reality.

“Deceased?” I echoed dumbly. “You mean… she’s dead?”

“I’m sorry,” Ramirez said quietly. “Her body was discovered at Riverside Park around 7:30 this evening by a jogger.”

“How?” I barely breathed.

“Preliminary report suggests suicide,” Powell said, eyes locked on mine. “She apparently consumed alcohol and pills before jumping from Franklin Bridge.”

“Suicide…” I whispered, more to myself than them.

I wasn’t sad. If anything, relief washed over me. Thank God she was out of my life. But the shock still hit Zoe would never have done that. She always acted untouchable, above it all.

“How would you describe your relationship with her?” Powell asked.

“Complicated,” I said honestly. “We weren’t friends just roommates who tolerated each other.”

“You mentioned a disagreement earlier.” Ramirez nodded.

“I told her I was moving out this weekend,” I said. “She didn’t take it well.”

“Moving out?” Powell scribbled something. “Where to?”

“My boss offered me her spare room. It’s a nicer area.”

The questions kept coming when had Zoe been drinking? Did she have depression? Medications? Suicidal thoughts? A note?

I answered truthfully, painting Zoe as a party girl, often drunk, bringing different men home, maybe doing drugs, really someone I didn’t know well.

“We’ll need to search Ms. Chambers’ room,” Powell finally said.

I nodded and led them to the bedroom. They asked me to stay out, just unlock and stand aside.

From the hallway, I watched them move through the room, bagging small things prescriptions, maybe a phone.

When they left, it was nearly midnight. I stood in the middle of the living room my living room now trying to process it all.

Zoe was gone. The woman who’d hit me two days ago had apparently taken her own life. My first thought? I didn’t have to move out anymore. But I couldn’t afford to live here alone.

I sank back onto the couch, pulling the blanket tighter against a chill that wasn’t from the air.

The muted TV flickered on, the perfect people still fighting silently on their beach. Everything looked the same, but nothing was.

Zoe wouldn’t kill herself. I was sure of that. Too stubborn, too angry, too convinced she was untouchable. That’s why she was so hard to live with.

But if it wasn’t suicide…

I pushed the thought away. The police said it was. Maybe I never really knew her. Maybe behind all the rage, she was hurting in ways I couldn’t see.

Or maybe she’d just been drunk and reckless on that bridge. Maybe it was an accident.

And honestly? Who cared? I was just glad she was gone.

My phone buzzed again Marion checking in: “You okay? Didn’t hear back.”

I stared at the screen. How do you explain that your roommate is dead?

I typed back: “Crazy night. Can I call you tomorrow?”

Then put the phone down and sank deeper into the quiet.