//CLARA//
The darkness had texture. That was the first thing I noticed. It pressed against my eyelids with the same insistence as a hand. I tried to open my eyes wider, as if that might help, but the black remained absolute. No thin line of light beneath a door. No distant window. Nothing.
As the fog began to lift, reality rushed back in, and it tasted like iron and regret.
God, Clara. You absolute, total idiot.
I had been so desperate to avoid a conversation about my own feelings that I walked straight into a buzzsaw. I'd ignored every red flag because I was being a total fucking wuss.
If I'd read that letter twice—just twice—I would've noticed it. I would have realized something was off before I walked straight into a trap like an absolute idiot.
Instead, I'd basically gift-wrapped myself on a silver platter for whoever wanted me out of the frame. Practically handed over the keys to my own kidnapping like a complete airhead.
