Page 31 of Reverence

Most nights, it kept me awake simply because if the city refused to sleep, apparently, so did I.

I stood before the floor-to-ceiling window, entranced by the sea of lights stretching across the skyline.

Usually, my overactive mind was the culprit behind my insomnia.

It picked apart every thought, every conversation, every mistake until sleep became an impossible luxury.

Yet somehow, I slept peacefully beside him.

More than eight hours.

Straight.

That baffled me almost as much as it annoyed me.

Hours passed since we returned from our trip to Vista, yet I still found myself sitting in the same spot in my apartment, trying to make sense of everything that happened.

Ares and I hadn’t exchanged a single word since our argument.

He stayed in his lane, and I stayed in mine.

We didn’t need meaningless conversations, and, at this point, I actually preferred working in office.

At least there, we weren’t obligated to speak to each other or forced to keep an eye on one another in the field—because apparently, Ares didn’t think I was capable of looking out for him.

A decade passed without a single allergic reaction, and then, in the blink of an eye, everything went downhill.

That stupid heathen actually thought I was carefree.

That was the only way I knew how to cope.

Pretend everything was fine. Laugh when I wanted to scream.

Smile when I wanted to break something.

Convince myself that nothing could touch me because admitting otherwise meant confronting the truth.

And God knew I couldn’t do that.

Because if I stopped pretending to be optimistic, even for a moment, the demons that had always danced alongside me would finally have the chance to swallow me whole.

With each passing day, it felt as though I lost another piece of my sanity.

Being confined to the office was slowly chipping away at my soul. After spending the bulk of my career in the field, being chained to a desk felt like the ultimate form of torture.

Click. Click. Click.

I slowly turned my head toward the source of the sound, my eyes narrowing on Ares as he mindlessly clicked his pen.

The entire administrative team had filled the office that morning—one of the many joys of Mondays.

Printers whirred. Scanners beeped. Keyboards clattered. Paper shuffled. Staplers snapped.

Every single sound grated against my nerves, and the irritating man sitting beside me only added fuel to the fire.

“Stop,” I muttered, releasing an exasperated breath. Of course, he continued.

Click. Click. Click.