Drunk. Desperate.
"Linda!" I screamed, banging on the door again.
She gasped when she tore it open, and I fell inside into a puddle of nothing but blood and bruised flesh.
"Samara!" he yelled again, but the door closed and locked, cutting off the rage in his voice.
Safe. Safe behind closed doors.
For now.
My eyes snapped open, and I shot to a sitting position in bed. My empty bed, with my new mattress.
It didn't matter. Every time I opened my eyes, I still saw the broken mirror on the floor, the blood on the base of the lamp I'd used to smash him over the head. Too fevered, my body felt slick with sweat as I shoved the blankets off. I curled my legs in, crossing them and trailing a finger over the scars on my feet. Thick, hideous white lines that covered the soles.
It had taken hours for Linda to pull out all the pieces of glass.
It had taken almost as long to wash the blood off me, out of my hair, out from under my nails.
I still didn't feel clean.
I stood to shower, avoiding looking in the mirror. I didn't want to see my too pale face staring back at me, see the vacant look in my terrified eyes that would stay until I washed the nightmare from my skin.
Washed his touch down the drain. Never to be felt again.
Another day, another nightmare of my doing. My phone chimed with a text message from the bedroom, and I felt my lips curve into a hesitant smile. I didn't need to check it to see who it was from or what it would say.
My daily good morning message from Lino was one thing that drove Connor mad during our too-long marriage. Most days, I said good morning to my best friend before I had my ex-husband. Now it drew me out of the memories, and it pleased me to know that even though Connor was part of my past, Lino remained.
I got in the shower, belting out an upbeat song while I washed away the sweat.
It would be a good day, despite the rocky start.
I just knew it.
???
My knee-high boots clicked on the granite tile floors of Lamb & Rowe. Such a stark contrast to the way my bare feet slid across my hardwood floor in my dream.
My memory.
People nodded as I made my way passed, the file folder in my hand filled to the brim with charts and my monthly summaries for my boss. Summaries on all the people who stared at me, nodding in respect tinted with apprehension.
I fought down the urge to smirk, remembering what the bankers had thought when Jasper Rowe first hired me. It hadn't mattered that I had a ring on my finger, because news spread between firms like wildfire, and I had foolishly married a partner in my last firm.
But it didn't matter. My work ethic spoke for itself, and while Jasper and I were friendly, there was absolutely nothing romantic between us. I was his rock, professionally.
I knocked on Jasper's door, letting myself in with no concern or hesitation even before he could respond. "Don't forget you have your lunch with Carson Davis in an hour."
"Good morning to you too, Samara." There was an unmistakable smile to his voice, and I looked to him with a raised brow. His blond hair was perfectly styled as usual, his skin didn’t look like he’d had a rough night partying. So I couldn’t decide what had made him come to work so late. The man worked constantly.
"It's noon."
"11:56 actually," he returned, and I dropped t
he folder on his desk and crossed my arms over my chest. The position made me feel a little more capable of breathing in the black turtleneck I’d put on that morning to accompany my grey wool skirt. He grinned at me and the lightest grey eyes I’d ever seen twinkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair and didn't even bother to open the file. "Your assessment?"
"Mark Dobson's accounts aren't doing as well as they easily should be with the amount of hours he logged the last month. It might have something to do with the rumors he's sleeping with Jim Clarke's wife during that time."