Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Wendy
The argument with Cole and Ethan plays on an endless loop in my head, the words echoing louder in the oppressive stillness of my apartment.
Scraps sprawls across my lap, her tiny claws kneading the threadbare fabric of my sweatpants. She purrs in soft, rhythmic vibrations, her little body warm against mine. It's a soothing, calming action, but I'm too keyed up to let it relax me.
I stroke her silky fur, my hand moving on autopilot while my chest feels like it's been wrapped in barbed wire. My brain is running a marathon I didn't sign up for.
"Why do you care?" I mutter, not for the first time tonight. Scraps lifts her head, blinking at me with wide, curious eyes, as if she has the answer and is just waiting for me to figure it out. It's only been two short days, but this little kitten has crawled so deep into my heart it's insane.
But it's not enough to distract me from my dark thoughts. Do they pity me? The thought sends a bitter taste creeping up the back of my throat. Maybe they feel guilty—Cole, for what happened with Callum, and Ethan because, well... Ethan's just kind. Too kind. The type of person who would apologize for spilling your coffee, while making a joke about it too.
But guilt and pity? I can't stomach either of those.
My gaze drifts upward to the faint crack in the ceiling, the one I've reported to my landlord on multiple occasions. Not that it makes any difference. Living here is like shouting into the void—no one listens, and nothing ever changes.
Just like my life.
I press my forehead into Scraps's fur, squeezing my eyes shut against the sharp sting of tears threatening to break free. "No one's coming to save me," I whisper. The words are jagged, and torn from a place so deep I can barely name it. It's an old mantra, carved into my psyche like a scar. The truth. Always has been.
Scraps meows in protest as I shift on the couch, her little head butting against my hand for more attention. "Sorry, baby girl." I stroke her ears until her purring resumes, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging inside me.
The weight in my chest presses heavier tonight, though. Maybe because for the first time in forever, someone tried. Cole and Ethan may have overstepped—no, they definitely overstepped—but they tried.
The thought makes me swallow hard, a lump forming in my throat that's impossible to dislodge. I shove the feelings aside.
I'm tired.
Bone-deep, soul-weary, tired.
But I'll get up tomorrow and do it all over again. Because I have to.
The blaring of my alarm drags me out of a fitful sleep, the shrill sound slicing through the haze of exhaustion. I fumble to silence it, every muscle in my body protesting as I sit up.
My head throbs in time with my heartbeat, a dull reminder of yesterday's chaos. I glance at the clock, debating whether I should call in sick after all. The thought lingers, tempting, before I shove it away.
Missing work isn't a luxury I can afford.
Scraps bats at my feet, as she weaves around my legs, while I shuffle to the door, her meows insistent. "Alright, alright," I mumble, bending down to scratch behind her ears. She's already a needy little girl, and I can most assuredly relate.
Rushing through my morning routine, I give Scraps one last cuddle before tucking her away and heading to the front door.
When I open the door, I freeze.
A box, neatly wrapped in plain brown paper, sits on the welcome mat.
"What the...?"
I glance up and down the hallway, half expecting to see someone lurking, but it's empty. The building is eerily quiet, the faint hum of a neighbor's TV the only sound.
Kneeling, I pick up the box. The card taped to the top is simple, handwritten in neat, unassuming letters.
Just a little something to start your day on a positive note. No strings attached.
E & C
My throat tightens as I peel back the wrapping paper. Inside, I find a bag of my favorite chips, a small assortment of chocolate bars, and the coziest blanket I've ever felt. There's even a tiny cat toy—something I immediately know Scraps will adore.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the box.
It's thoughtful. Too thoughtful.
I step back into the apartment and place the box on the counter, trying to ignore the flutter in my chest.
The note said no strings attached. I will choose to take them at their word and not read too much into it.
The commute to the office is uneventful, and even though Priya was shocked at my initial appearance, after I assured her I was good to work, she returned to her efficient self and continued to oversee my training.
The day passes in a blur of emails, phone calls, and awkward exchanges with Priya. After another long, drawn-out silence where she stares at the bandage on my head, she clears her throat. "Wendy, are you sure you're okay?"
"Totally," I lie, forcing a smile. "It was nothing. And other than a slight headache, I'll be fine after a good night’s rest."
Her brow furrows, skepticism etched into every line of her face, but she doesn't press and I'm grateful for it.
What I'm not grateful for is how much I have to work to avoid Cole and Ethan.
They're everywhere—hovering near the break room, walking past my desk, their footsteps stopping just short of where I sit. But they're quiet. Almost like they're avoiding me, too.
The tension is suffocating, an invisible weight that settles over the office like a storm cloud. By lunchtime, my nerves are frayed, every glance in their direction sending my pulse racing.
By the time five o'clock comes around, I've never been so relieved to go home, and thankful that I don't have to work tonight.
I'll be missing the extra income, but I need the break right now.
I step into my apartment, letting out a relieved sigh. My body feels like it's been run through a meat grinder. Scraps greets me, pouncing on my legs with an exuberant meow, her tiny nose twitching as if to say, where the hell have you been?
"Oh, I missed you too, baby girl. I could have done with a few of your special cuddles today," I murmur, scooping her up.
My eyes land on the box, with the blanket hanging out. I hesitate, my fingers brushing the soft fabric.
No strings attached, I remind myself.
With a sigh, I grab the soft material and sink onto the couch. It's warm and impossibly soft, wrapping around me like a hug I didn't know I needed.
Scraps, too excited by the prospect of a human to entertain her, swats at the colorful blanket playfully before jumping into it. She gets herself tangled up pretty fast, and I giggle as I pull her out.
For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself relax.
Reaching over I grab one of my well-read paperbacks and settle in while Scraps plays with her new toy. However, before I can truly relax, there's something I need to do.
The glow of my phone screen lights up as I type out a text.
Thanks for the package. It was nice.
My fingers hover over the send button, trembling with hesitation. After a long moment, I groan and delete the message, tossing the phone onto the coffee table.
Talking to them through a screen feels too impersonal. If I'm going to say thank you, it'll be face to face. On my terms.
Scraps, finally tired out, purrs softly beside me as I stare out the window at the city lights. Their glow reflects off the glass like a million tiny stars, blurring into a haze of orange and white.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself wonder what it might feel like to lean on someone else. Just for a moment.
But hope is dangerous. And I'm not sure I'm ready for it.