Page 90 of Before We Break

I shove down those dangerous thoughts and wait for sleep to take me, knowing my future lies elsewhere. This thing between us has an expiration date.

TWENTY-FOUR

ENDOMETRIOSIS IS A BITCH

♫ Gravity - Sara Bareilles

NOAH

Clio called in sick.

I shouldn’t care.

Why do I care?

She’s up two flights of stairs, but it might as well be another planet for how much I miss her. She’s chipping away at my sanity with each day that passes.

I have to resist the urge to check in on her.

She’s a grown woman.

I’m sure she’s fine.

The clock on the wall ticks ominously, counting down the agonizing seconds she’s not here with me, and my will collapses. I pull out my phone, fingers furiously tapping out a text before deleting it again.

Hey.

Delete.

Are you ok?

Delete.

Do you need anything?

Delete.

“Just go,” Gwen says on an exasperated sigh. “I’ll cover the walk-ins.”

I toss my phone onto the desk and lean back in my chair, folding my hands over my stomach. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. You’re actually pissing me the fuck off.” She points to the door. “Go.”

My footsteps echo off the high ceilings as I head for the stairwell, pausing to glare at Gwen. “I could fire you.”

“You won’t.”

I take the stairs two at a time and knock on Clio’s apartment door. Silence greets me, so I knock harder. As the seconds tick by, my worry takes on a life of its own, like icy tendrils coiling around me, threatening to suffocate me.

Fuck it.

I reach into my pocket and produce a set of keys. The lock clicks, and I shove through the door with determined strides.

“Clio,” I bellow.

When she doesn’t answer, I head to her room and rap my knuckles on the door, causing it to crack open. I peer through the opening, and my concern morphs into dread.

The curtains are drawn, casting the entire room in darkness. It’s not like Clio to shut out the sunlight. As I stride farther into the room, movement catches in my peripheral vision, and my gaze lands on a crumpled ball in the middle of the bed.