Falling at Her Feet

Zachary Quinn suddenly develops a fondness for going to a massage parlor after I'm discharged from the hospital—I was in an accident.

He excitedly tells me that the masseuse there has the best skills he's ever experienced. "They even have free food and fruits! I bring my laptop there with me to work when I get tired at the office."

I don't know why he's telling me these things. He knows my father got caught cheating at a massage parlor. I hate those places.

It's only later that I learn the relaxation he describes isn't what I imagined. He's long since gone bad in places that I can't see.

The day I was discharged from the hospital after the car accident, Zachary Quinn brought something up out of nowhere.

"I found a great massage parlor recently. We should try it together sometime. I go there now and then when I need to unwind."

I froze. Of all the things he could've said, I never expected him to mention that place. The place that I loathed with every fiber of my being.

Zachary didn't seem to notice anything. Instead, he casually held my hand. "I know you have a thing against massage parlors, but you can't just assume they're all the same.

"Not everyone's like your dad, you know. You have to trust me. I only love you. Besides, holding onto stuff like that isn't good for you."

But forgetting wasn't an option.

Not when I could still hear my mother's ragged screams echoing in my head. Not when I could still see my father, red-faced and furious, shouting obscenities.

Not when I could still picture the woman tangled up in the sheets, hiding as she was too ashamed to show her face.

Those memories still yanked me out of sleep in a cold sweat.

"And what if I never stop hating that place? What if I never move on?" I asked.

Zachary just smiled and ruffled my hair. "Then don't. You don't have to go."

Something inside me snapped. I pulled my hand away under the pretense of tucking my hair behind my ear.

He just went on. "If you won't go, I'll just go by myself. Come to think of it, I've been so busy these past few days—I haven't had the time."

I clenched my hand into a fist, and my nails dug into my palm. My voice was flat when I finally responded, "Do whatever you want."

Zachary grinned and pinched my cheek. "What's with the attitude? Are you mad because I didn't stay with you at the hospital?"

I couldn't even muster a smile.

He hooked his pinky around mine, but I ignored him. Undeterred, he leaned in, aiming for my lips. I turned my head at the last second, and his kiss landed on my cheek instead.

"I'll cook you something nice later to make up for it. You know, anger gives you wrinkles. Don't be mad at me anymore, alright?"

To Zachary, this was a passing conversation that could have been forgotten in minutes. But to me, it was a tidal wave crashing through everything I thought I knew.

He had never been the type to share these little details of his life, too.

Then, his phone buzzed. I glanced at his back as he moved around the kitchen, then—almost without thinking—let my gaze drift to his screen.

A message from Tiffany Larson popped up.

"It's been three days. Should I still wait for you today?"

The second I saw that familiar name, my breath caught in my throat. The thing I had feared most was no longer a possibility. It was real.

I took multiple deep breaths to force myself to calm down. After doing so, my hands trembled as I reached for his phone and typed in the passcode.

Even though I was mentally prepared, seeing it with my own eyes still sent a sharp, undeniable pain straight through my chest.

As the last illusion between us shattered, all I hear was silence.