Willow didn't move for a long time after the door shut behind Zane.
She sat curled on the cold floor, robe wrapped tight around her, eyes burning and wrists throbbing in a rhythm she pretended not to feel. Her heart beat in strange, uneven pulses—like it kept remembering and forgetting how to function.
She had kissed Zane.
She had slept in his arms.
She had let him inside her in every way she wasn't supposed to.
And then she'd pushed him away.
Her ribs hurt from the whiplash of it.
Eventually, she stood. Mechanically. Like a puppet whose strings had been reset. She cleaned the kitchen, though there was nothing to clean. She washed her face, though her face was already bare. She brushed her hair until her scalp tingled.
Her head felt like it was filled with fog and needles.
Her stomach felt unsettled, a low, nauseating churn she blamed on stress.
Her wrists ached.
Her chest was a battlefield.
She needed to regain control.
