And again, until my stomach is empty, my throat is raw, and my chest is numb. I do it until the shame over how much I ate disappears, replaced by the euphoric feeling of emptiness. I do it until my eyes burn and my vision is blurry. Until my legs feel weak when I stand.
With a quick brush of my teeth and a rinse with some mouthwash, I climb under my covers, pulling them over my head. If the world can’t see me, then maybe I don’t exist. And if I don’t exist, then maybe I’m not as big of a disappointment as I think I am.
My phone dings from where it’s set at the foot of the bed. I don’t make any move to grab it. I already know who it is, and he’s the last person I need to talk to right now. So, instead, just like I did when I was a teenager, I drift off to sleep with a tear-soaked pillow and an ache in my heart.
Chapter Eleven
Bodhi King
It’s been four days since the incident at the restaurant.
I haven’t left my bed other than to use the bathroom.
Haven’t showered, haven’t eaten anything more than ice chips and some Saltine crackers when my stomach ached so bad, I couldn’t bear it anymore.
I’ve skipped class.
My phone’s been off the entire time. I told Giselle I had the flu and asked her to cancel all my clients for the week.
It’s been four days, and my mind is a dark, desolate place I can’t escape. When I finally fall asleep, the past haunts me. Everything I thought I worked through, everything I thought didn’t plague me anymore, returns, teasing me and taunting me until I awake in cold sweats with a racing heart.
It’s been four days, and I see no end in sight…
Chapter Twelve
Jules van der Meer
Today has been one thing after another, non-stop chaos since the minute I walked into the building this morning. I’m gearing up for a complex, high-profile case, and I’ve been inundated with a myriad of documentary evidence to sift through. A case hasn’t hurt my brain like this one has in a while.
Not to mention, everything else plaguing my mind too. This hasn’t been a good week, professionally or personally. My plate is so full, and it feels as if everything I’ve worked so hard to carefully hold into place is seconds away from shattering around me.
My eyes flit to my phone sitting beside my keyboard on my desk as my mind thinks back on all the unanswered texts waiting for me. All my failed attempts at communication. The dead-end roads I’ve paved for myself. I seem to have this uncanny ability to push everybody away. Everybody that matters, that is.
As he always is lately, Bodhi is front and center. It’s been over a week, and he still won’t respond to any of my texts or answer any of my calls. I know I should give it a rest. I know I should let him go and move on.
But Ican’t.
He’s woven his way under my skin, wrapped around my will, and dismantled all my rational thinking. And all I can think of is how to get him to let me in.
What can I do to make him see? Let his guard down for me.
Just as I’m considering picking up my phone and obsessing over the messages again, a knock comes from my closed office door.
Sitting back in my chair, I yell, “Come in.”
Stepping into the room is Douglas Cane, a fellow judge and friend. We went to law school together and graduated in the same class. It was very small-world ironic that we both ended up in Raleigh together.
“Hi, Julian,” he greets, closing the door behind him. He takes a seat in front of my desk, smoothing a hand down his olive-green tie. “How’s it going today?”
“Oh, you know, living the dream.” I laugh, wincing at how forced it sounds. “How’re things with you? How’re Pam and the kids?”
“They’re good. We’re good,” he mutters. “Did you hear about Stephen Montgomery?”
“As in, Officer Montgomery?”
He nods.
“No, I haven’t heard anything.”
