Tuesday

Burdine woke up drenched in a cold sweat. She was home, safe, but couldn't shake the discomfort gripping her chest. She was supposed to be the boss, yet here she was, calling in sick to… herself. The irony wasn't lost on her. She wasn't physically sick, not in the way that demanded rest and chicken soup. No, this was the other kind. The kind where guilt and exhaustion made even thinking about a day off feel indulgent.

After a fit of crying and hurling pillows to the floor, she finally caved. What else could she do? Rain pattered against the windows. A bummer, but fitting. She stripped down and ran herself a bath. Not warm and soothing—icy, numbing. The kind that hurt so much it drowned out everything else.

She dipped her foot into the freezing water, sucking in a breath. Her toes turned pale, then plum-colored. Slowly, she lowered herself in, one leg, then the other, squatting down all at once to get it over with. The cold bit at her skin, slicing through her resolve.

"Holy shit, that's cold," she hissed.

Her breath came out in ragged gasps that echoed in the silence. It wasn't just discomfort; it was punishment. She dunked her head underwater, letting her hair swirl around her face. The strands coiled like seaweed, obscuring her vision. It reminded her of dark, suffocating caves she'd seen in nature documentaries—full of shadows, hidden monsters, and no escape.

Bubbles floated to the surface as her lungs burned. She held on for as long as she could, her heart pounding in her ears. But just as the blackness began to creep in, she heard it: a bark.

Her head shot up, water spraying everywhere.

Nothing.

It was just her, the rain, and the faint hum of her thoughts.

By the time she dried off and dressed, it was 10 a.m. Routine took over. She reached for her bottle of Citalopram, fumbling with the cap. Classic Burdine. When she finally got it open, she popped a tablet into her mouth and chased it down with a banana she'd barely registered grabbing.

Planting herself in front of the TV, she flipped through the channels aimlessly.

"Mr. Powell, is it true you've been an undercover spy for all these years?" a reporter's voice cut through her haze.

The screen showed Byron Powell—music mogul, talk show host, and apparently, secret agent—dodging questions as paparazzi swarmed him.

"Knew it," Burdine muttered, smirking at his flustered expression.

He climbed into a sleek car and sped off without a word. Coward. She changed the channel and promptly fell asleep.

When she woke up, the clock read 3 p.m., and the TV was still on the kids' channel. Bright, animated shapes danced across the screen, tugging her thoughts somewhere she didn't want to go.

She'd never been able to have kids. Infertility was a cruel thing, but knowing her past eating disorder had sealed that fate made it worse. She'd tried everything—treatments, consultations, hopeful experiments—but nothing stuck.

The bright lights of the TV blurred as her focus drifted. The meds were working overtime, turning her limbs heavy and her thoughts syrupy. She envied people who had children, or even those who could bond with them. Burdine had always been the odd one out—mocked by kids when she was younger, ignored by them now.

Her peculiar taste in fashion and décor hadn't helped. She adored Victorian fabrics, floral wallpapers, and antique furniture. At one point, her home had looked like a museum. But after her stint in rehab, her sister had redecorated it with sleek, modern furniture.

"She was jealous," Burdine muttered under her breath. "Jealous of my superior taste."

Burnice. Her perfect, golden sister. That bitch. While Burnice attended private school, made friends effortlessly, and basked in the spotlight, Burdine had been left to fend for herself. Her teenage years were a nightmare, full of ridicule from classmates who didn't understand her. The '80s had been relentless.

Her thoughts spiraled, faster and louder. The kind of internal monologue where she spoke but didn't listen. Memories clashed with present worries, overlapping until it was deafening.

It was loud. So loud.