The footage played on my screen. The crowd roared as the punches landed. My palms were sweaty again. And somewhere deep inside the professional, cardigan-wearing therapist I wanted to be…
Something twisted.
Not with fear. Well, not entirely. But with quiet, unsettling but unmistakablewant. Which, to be clear, wasnot ideal.
At all.
I closed the video, locked my screen, and let out a sigh. I shook my head and shoved my phone in my pocket as I sat alone in the room with my thoughts, which were, in no particular order:
One, I should up my life insurance.
Two, therapy is a scam.
And three…
God help me, I might be into him.
Several minutes had passed, so I knew I wouldn’t run into anyone—especially Colt—in the parking lot.
I wasn’t sure whether fear or nerves wanted to avoid him.
After I checked my pocket for keys, I reached over for my coffee but realized I’d left it in the breakroom. The clock above the door ticked as I stood and walked toward the hallway which had emptied out.
Motion lights woke a moment too late, and the EXIT sign glowed next to the vending machine which provided its own little hum. No voices, or shoe scuffs.
Only me.
The staff lounge sat around a blind corner with its sad little badge reader by the door jamb. Participants were never allowed back here, so we always had to badge in. I pushed the door with my shoulder, and it yielded. No swipe, just a soft sigh and no click.
Inside, the room was dark until the motion sensor finally found me. Fluorescent lights came up quick and hard. My eyes hadn’t yet adjusted and for a second, I saw only the sink and the microwave. Next, my cup by the faucet.
Then I saw Colt.
He stood where I usually stand, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed.
Calm.
As if the room belonged to him and I was the one who’d wandered in by mistake.
I didn’t move because I couldn’t. Participants weren’t permitted here, ever.
I glanced back and saw the fob reader blink amber, then I saw a thin beam of hallway light around the rim of the door. The latch hadn’t caught.
The building had lied to me.
Colt stood there, wordlessly. The only thing between us was the dripping faucet. I opened my mouth to speak, my mind scrambling for words. Something banal, innocent. Safe.
Before I could think of anything, he locked eyes with me.
“You went back to it.”
My throat went dry. “What?”
His voice was low. Gravel and threat. “The video. You replayed it.”
I should’ve lied. But with one step forward from Colt, the lie died in my mouth and withered on my tongue.
He didn’t touch me or raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
