Chapter Twenty-Five
DelphineJust make it inside.
All you have to do is make it inside.
My hands shake as I unlock the lower door to Rebecca’s flat. They shake so much that I drop the keys on the pavement at first; they shake so much that I struggle to fit them into the lock and turn it. And then when I’m inside, I find I can barely see the trendy, industrial stairs in front of me. I find I can barely walk.
Just make it upstairs. Just make it to the shower.
When I manage to trip my way up to the flat and see I’m alone, relief quivers through me so violently that I have to stop walking. I have to drop to my knees, my bag sliding off my elbow and spilling tubes of lipstick and a bottle of half-drunk kombucha onto the reclaimed wood planks of Rebecca’s floor.
Breathe.
Breathe.
The
