My whole body locks up as if staying perfectly still will somehow make this situation not real.If I don’t move, maybe the fabric of reality will shift, and I will be back in my room, blissfully unaware of whatever thehellthis is.
Anna, don’t just stand there like an idiot.You need toleave.
You need to walk away, right now.Immediately.Stop hesitating, for fucksake.
But I don’t.
Because my traitorous brain is still making connections, and every single one of them is worse than the last.
The stupid letter and contract.
The check.
The way he was acting earlier.
The way he looked at me.
The wayIreacted.
Theshower.
A pulse of something hot and electric shoots down my spine, and I slam the lid on it so fast, I nearly give myself whiplash.
Absolutely not.
I amnothaving this reaction.
Not to him.
He is the villain in this story.He is the reckless, arrogant bastard who stole my song and shattered my trust—the one person I swore I would never, under any circumstances, let get under my skin again.So why is my body acting like it didn’t get the memo?The fucking bitch.
The heat in my face burns like a warning light, flashing DANGER, DANGER, DO NOT PROCEED.
Move, Anna!
I need to burn this house to the ground.
I need to?—
The water shuts off.
Oh,shit.
But instead of walking away?—
Instead of saving myself?—
Instead of doingliterally anythingthat makes sense?—
I freeze.
Why?
How the hell am I supposed to know?
What kind of moronic self-preservation instinct is this?!
Move Anna.Now?—