Shattered

Chapter 48

It was just as quiet down here as it was upstairs, only a little bit brighter because of the foyer light being switched on. Near the front door, the suitcases were lined along the wall, along with the other stuff we had brought with us, and I assumed Chandler decided he didn't feel like bringing anything else upstairs except for me. The rest of the apartment was dim and silent, my footsteps echoing about as I walked across the living room.

"Chandler?" I called out before I made it to the dining room, slowly beginning to realize I was likely the only person here. I thought maybe Stella could be around, but it soon became obvious I would have heard her a while ago if she were here. A longing feeling bloomed in my chest, soft and gradual, like a gentle hand gradually squeezing my heart. Why didn't I want to be alone anymore?

There was no response to my call, so I concluded I was alone. Fun. With a sigh, I walked through the dining room, running my finger over the backs of the chairs as I passed the table. The city lights illuminated parts of the room, standing in for the light fixtures which I made no effort to turn on. I wanted to stay in this melancholy darkness; in a way, it made me feel better.

A few steps later, I was in the kitchen filling a crystalline glass with water, hoping to find some relief from my headache. The nausea persisted, and for that, I wasn't sure what to do, so I left it alone, still finding the thought of eating revolting. Whether it was the contents of that needle or the stress of the past hours that left me with this feeling in my stomach, I wasn't sure, but I knew it was nearing the point of unbearable and there was a high chance it wouldn't stay in my stomach much longer.

Pulling out a dining room chair, I sat with my glass of water, taking small sips every few seconds. The pine and mahogany scent of Chandler still followed me, the result of his shirt, but it wasn't as strong as the bed. Admittedly, it was a pleasant smell, but if I were to catch wind of it after I found freedom, it seemed to be a panic attack waiting to happen. Just one more thing I've had ruined for my life.

Two more sips and I set the glass down, occupying my hands, and my mind, by carefully unravelling my braids, which had become quite messy after my induced sleep. They were difficult and knotted, getting caught on my fingers several times, and overall making me annoyed. Loose waves were the byproduct of my styling, but I was quick to tie it into a bun, feeling animosity towards my hair.

There was anger that had already settled within me, and my hair got to experience the first sparks of it. It was like that feeling when you're upset and everything does the opposite of what you want, so this rage starts burning and you want to scream, kick, throw, or do all three. Yeah, that's what I wanted to do to my hair. A bun was the safest place.

With a groan, of pain and anger, I pressed my forehead to the table, debating knocking it against the wood. What ended up stopping me was the thought of my making my headache worse, so I just let my heavy head rest on the cool wood and shut my eyes.

I had a lot to think about, but I didn't want to think of anything. I wanted to feel better before I went running through the specifics of my ploy to steal Chandler's keys, which I was dreading, and decided to put it off until tomorrow. One more day won't kill.

There was a noise in the foyer, like a quiet beep, which I wouldn't have heard if the apartment weren't so silent, followed by the door opening. What little energy I had left couldn't be bothered to be put to use, so I remained where I was; eyes shut and forehead to the wood, relying on my ears alone.

The door shut, and then there were footsteps, which stopped briefly in the living room before continuing toward me, and then they stopped again, right at my side. Cold fingers touched my neck, under the far side of my jaw, startling me into moving away and pressing my ear to my shoulder, hiding the area of skin he touched.