I sat at the desk, staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of me. My fingers brushed over the pencil Sylus had placed beside it, but I couldn't pick it up. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater and my shallow breaths. My chest felt tight as I stared at the paper. It was supposed to be easy, wasn't it? Just one line. One small step back to who I used to be.
I grabbed the pencil. The weight of it felt foreign in my hand, as if I were holding a blade instead of a tool. I brought it to the paper, the sharp tip hovering above the pristine white surface. My heart pounded, and my fingers began to tremble.
But I couldn't do it.
Every time I tried to lower the pencil, the memories came rushing back: Alexander's face, his hands, his voice telling me I was nothing without him. The humiliation, the shame. The way I had willingly given him everything, only for him to destroy me.
