After returning from the clinic, Kathrine shut herself inside her room.
She did not turn on the lights. She did not call anyone. She simply sat there, staring at nothing, feeling everything at once. Exhaustion clung to her bones, heavy and suffocating, but worse than that was the hollow numbness spreading through her chest.
She felt dead inside.
She wanted to scream. To march straight to Roseline and demand answers. To grab her by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her. Everything Ester had said echoed endlessly in her head, fragnts of a story that felt foreign and deeply personal at the sa ti.
But she could not.
Because she rembered none of it.
No matter how hard she tried, there were no images. No faces. No emotions attached to those words. Just an aching blank space where sothing important should have been.
Who was this man, George? And why couldn’t she rember him?
The question haunted her.
She had left the cell abruptly, her steps unsteady, when she could no longer bear to listen to Ester. Every sentence had sounded unreal, like a badly written lie, yet the certainty in Ester’s voice had shaken her more than the words themselves.
Nothing made sense.
Even her visit to Jason’s clinic had brought no relief. It had been her first session with him, and while he had listened carefully and taken notes, there had been no imdiate answers. No breakthrough. Just calm questions and the promise of another appointnt.
She had walked out feeling just as lost as when she walked in.
"Am I losing my mind?" Kathrine whispered, pressing her fingers hard against her temples.
The uneasiness returned, creeping into her chest like a slow poison. Her heart began to race, each beat heavier than the last, until it felt as though sothing invisible was squeezing it tight.
Then suddenly, a sharp sound broke the silence.
Sothing fell.
Kathrine gasped and jolted upright, propping herself on one elbow. Her eyes narrowed toward the balcony, locking onto the shadow cast against the curtain. Her breath hitched, her body going rigid.
Before she could react, the door burst open.
"How many tis do I have to warn you not to disappear on , Kathrine?"
The furious voice sent a jolt straight through her.
"Kathrine—"
She barely had ti to sit up fully before Ethan stord into the room. His presence filled the space instantly, raw and overwhelming. Her heart slamd violently against her ribs as he crossed the distance between them in seconds.
"Ethan—wait—"
Too late.
In one swift movent, he grabbed her wrists and pushed her back against the mattress. The bed dipped beneath his weight as she gasped, shock freezing her limbs. His hands pinned her arms above her head, not hurting her, but firm enough to make it clear he was not letting go.
Her breath ca out uneven, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "What are you doing?" she whispered, more startled than angry.
His eyes burned as he looked down at her, frustration and fear colliding openly on his face. "Do you have any idea what you put through?" he demanded. "You vanish without a word. No calls. No ssages. Nothing."
"I left you a note," she said weakly.
"You needed to tell ," he snapped, then stopped himself, his grip loosening just slightly. His jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply. "I thought sothing happened to you."
The room fell into tense silence, broken only by their uneven breathing.
Kathrine stared up at him, her heart still pounding, confusion and vulnerability swirling inside her. She could see it now, beneath the anger. The fear he had been trying to mask.
And suddenly, the weight of everything she had been carrying felt too heavy to hold alone.
"Then punish ," she said suddenly.
The words slipped out before Kathrine could stop them.
Ethan froze.
"What?" he breathed, genuinely caught off guard.
She did not explain. She did not take the words back.
Instead, Kathrine lifted herself just enough to curl her fingers into his shirt and pulled him down. Her lips t his before he could form another thought.
The kiss was different from the ones they usually shared. There was no teasing familiarity, no quiet warmth. This one was raw, uneven, almost desperate. As if she were clinging to him not for pleasure, but for grounding. As if letting go would an falling apart.
Ethan stiffened for half a second, shock coursing through him. Then he felt it. The tremor in her hands. The urgency in the way she pressed into him, seeking sothing she could not put into words.
It made his chest ache.
"Kathrine," he murmured against her lips, his voice rough, conflicted.
She kissed him again, harder this ti, as if afraid he might pull away. As if she needed to feel sothing solid, sothing real, to convince herself she was still here. Still sane. Still whole.
Ethan let out a slow breath and finally responded, his hands moving to cradle her face instead of restraining her. The anger he had carried into the room dissolved, replaced by sothing heavier. Helplessness. Fear.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were glossy, unfocused, filled with a storm she was trying desperately to hide.
"This isn’t punishnt," he said quietly. "This is you hurting."
Her lips parted, but no words ca.
He rested his forehead against hers, his grip gentler now, grounding instead of controlling. "You left a note," he continued softly. "I read it a hundred tis. I tried to understand. I really did."
Kathrine swallowed, her fingers still fisted in his shirt.
"But when you didn’t answer my calls," he admitted, his voice dropping, "when you disappeared... I couldn’t just let it be. My heart wouldn’t."
Her shoulders trembled.
"I didn’t know what else to do," she whispered at last.
"I know," he replied imdiately. "That’s why I’m here."
He kissed her again, slower this ti, deliberately easing the desperation out of it. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his chest, letting her feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
She clung to him, her breath finally evening out as the tight knot in her chest loosened just a little.
"I t Ester today," she said slowly, looking up, and Ethan sensed sothing was about to co that would leave him as confused as Kathrine.
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