Ninety Days To Break Your Heart

William froze. His hand hovered over her exposed skin, trembling.

The name hung in the air, more powerful than a physical blow. His hand, which was gripping her waist, went slack. His breathing was ragged, harsh in the quiet room.

He pulled back, looking down at her.

Mia lay on the sofa, her blouse torn open, her skin marked with red welts from his grip. Her eyes were wide, dry, and completely empty. There was no anger in them anymore. Just a terrifying, abyssal nothingness.

Horror crashed into William. It was a physical nausea. He scrambled back, stumbling over the coffee table, putting distance between them as if she were on fire. He looked at his own hands, seeing them as foreign, monstrous things.

"Mia, I-" His voice cracked. He reached a hand out, trembling.

Mia didn't flinch. She didn't move to cover herself. She just stared at the ceiling.

William looked at his own hands, revulsion twisting his features. He turned and fled. The door to the master bedroom slammed shut, the lock clicking-a futile gesture against the monster that was already inside with him.

Mia lay there for a long time. Then, slowly, painfully, she sat up. She gathered the edges of her ruined shirt.

She walked to the guest room. She locked the door. She went into the shower and turned the water as hot as she could stand. She scrubbed her skin until it was raw, red and stinging, but she couldn't wash away the sensation of being owned. Of being a thing. She applied a thick layer of concealer to the bruise forming on her lip, masking the physical evidence, though the internal damage remained untouched.

Morning came too soon.

Mia woke up in the guest bed. Her body ached. Her soul felt bruised.

She dressed in a black turtleneck, the high collar hiding the marks on her neck. She walked out into the hallway.

William was there. He was standing by the console table, staring at his phone, but he wasn't looking at the screen. He looked pale.

He looked up when he heard her. His eyes dropped to her neck, to the high collar. He flinched.

"Mia," he started. His voice was low, laced with something that sounded like shame. "Last night... I was drunk. I didn't..."

"Nothing happened last night," Mia cut him off. Her voice was glass-smooth, cold, sharp.

She walked past him. She didn't look at him.

"The papers are on the floor, William. Sign them."

"Mia, please, we need to discuss-"

"There is no 'we'. There is just a contract." She stopped and turned her head slightly, offering him her profile. "You were right. It's just business. So let's conclude the transaction."

She walked into the nursery and closed the door.

William stood in the hallway, alone. He looked at his hands, then clenched them into fists until his knuckles turned white.

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