Chloe sat there for what felt like hours, her chest heaving, her body numb.
She didn't know how much time had passed - minutes, hours, maybe longer.
The apartment was quiet except for the broken sounds of her breathing.
She held her hoodie tight like it was a second skin.
She smelled like him - sharp cologne, clean soap, the faintest scent of whiskey, but the comfort it used to bring now twisted her stomach into her knots.
She pressed the sleeves against her face, trying to breathe through the ache cracking her open from inside out.
"It's not true." She whispered hoarsely through the fabric.
"It's not true. He wouldn't. He couldn't." She said softly.
The words spilled out again and again, frantic little prayers to no one at all.
But they didn't stop the memories from crashing over her - violent and brutal.
Damien's hands framing her face like she was something precious.
