Chapter 133
~ Clinton ~
The door to my apartment clicked shut behind me with a hollow finality that echoed through the empty space. The city lights outside the windows cast long, fractured shadows across the floor, but they did nothing to chase away the darkness clinging to every corner of my mind. I couldn't shake the weight of the last twenty-four hours—the gun pressed to my skull, the bat cracking against my head, the gravelly voice promising that one more step into Octavia's accident would end me. Exhaustion pressed down like a physical force, yet sleep remained a distant stranger. Instead of collapsing onto the couch, I paced the living room, phone already in hand, and dialed Trudy. She picked up almost immediately, her voice warm and familiar, a lifeline in the storm.
"Hello, Clinton," she greeted, the sound of her smile carrying clearly through the line.
"Hey, Trudy. Have you reached here?" I asked, sinking onto the edge of the sofa, the leather cool beneath my palms.
