I eyed my right hand wrapped in a bandage, blood stains on the gauze indicating I needed a change, but I haven't given any thought to it or moved for the last few hours.
I glared hard at the white door before checking my watch. It was close to noon, and she had yet to come out of there.
I pictured how she screamed at me last night to leave, the hot tears running down her face, and each time I did, a tightening sensation squeezed right through me.
Ever since yesterday, this feeling has been eating at me. No amount of alcohol, smoke, or giving Noah a slow, painful death dulled the feeling.
Catherine caused this. This rift... this struggle.
She knew what would happen the moment she said those words. I specifically told her the consequences. I terminated the contract as it should be, yet it felt like I had done something... wrong.
I heard the door unlock. I pushed to stand, moving to the other corridor and pressing my back against the wall.
