Chapter 12

The weight of depression showed heavily on her body. A body she was once proud of now formed bile at the back of her throat as she traced her finger over her figure. A frown formed on her face as she forced herself away from the mirror, the sight too much to bear.

She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Turning up the hot water till her skin burned. She craved the heat; she loved the way it felt on her. Steam fogged the glass chambers.

Clara remained there longer than she had intended. She let the warm shower hit her body, her head tilted forward as the water soaked her hair, flowing down her skin. Her hands traced over her arms, washing away the last remnants of her makeup and inside her, she hoped it would wash away the pains, the shame.

But before she knew it, the sob returned. This one was different, deeper.

She sank to the floor of the shower. She pulled her legs together, curling herself into a tight ball at the corner. The water poured and soaked her as it filled the chambers. Her shoulders trembled as she hugged her knees, whispering to herself through gritted teeth.

“I should’ve known better.”

“I was stupid to trust him again.”

“He didn’t care then and he doesn’t care now.”

Images of her wedding day flashed behind her closed eyelids, her dress, the altar, the space where he should have stood.

He chose Luci back then.

And maybe, he still did so tonight.

Clara stayed in the shower so long that the heater automatically went off. The water soon turned cold. She didn't flinch like the temperature could cool the storm inside her.

When she couldn't take the cold any longer. She got out, wrapping herself in a towel and dried her body slowly. She stepped out of the bathroom, lazily selecting a dress from her wardrobe.

She finally decided on a loose t-shirt and shorts. She made her way to her bed afterwards, taking a heavy sit and staring at the phone on the couch not too far away.

Her mind was too unsettled to sleep, so she tried mindlinking again.

She got no response.

"Jace!" She called, but nothing.

"Jace!!!" She called louder, but nothing.

She fell back again, her chest rose and fell heavily as she held back another sob.

"Ahhhhh!!!!!!!"

She finally let out the scream she had been holding for hours now. Her chest felt somewhat lighter now, almost like that was what she needed.

But it wasn't enough; she needed to hear his voice. She shot up with renewed strength, reaching for her phone and dialling his number again.

But still no response.

She did it again and again. All straight to voicemail.

She let out a bitter laugh and threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and landed on the rug with a loud thud.

She curled up under her blanket, hugging it tightly around herself like it would shield her. Her eyes stared at the wall, but she didn’t see the paint.

She saw only his face.

Meanwhile, back at the Blue Jade Estate.

Jace stirred restlessly. His head pounded heavily inside his skull.

His brows furrowed as he tried to open his eyes, but even the dim light of the room stung as he shut his eyes tightly. He groaned and rolled onto his tummy, placing a hand on his head. His throat felt dry, and his tongue tasted bitter.

His memory was foggy, like someone or something had wiped parts of it off.

“What... the hell happened?” he muttered hoarsely.

The last thing he remembered was getting ready. He had been standing in front of the mirror, holding the flowers he picked for Clara.

Clara.

The thought came to him immediately that he was to meet her.

His heart skipped a beat as he pushed himself upright quickly, maybe too fast. He stared around as his environment seemed to be spinning for a moment. He supported his weight with his hands on either side of the mattress.

His stomach tightened harshly, and the bitter taste soon formed bile, threatening to come out as he gagged. He closed his eyes, lowering his head as he tried to get a hold of himself. The feeling... this feeling wasn't strange to him. He had experienced it before; in fact, he experiences it every time he wakes up from drinking too much the previous night.

The only problem this time was that he couldn't recall drinking at all last night.

A while passed, and he slowly gained control over his mind and body. He raised his head and released his eyes, looking around at the various objects and features of the room, which he quickly discovered was his.

He looked down at his hands, noticing the familiar soft texture of his mattress. How he had gotten here remained a mystery to him.

"Arrggghhhh," he groaned as he lifted his hand to his head. The pain slowly vanished. Not too far from his feet lay his suit jacket, and on the floor, just in front of his door, were his trousers, lying messily. His shoes were by the corner of the bed, one lay upside down while the other faced the wrong way.

None of it made sense to him except the clothes themselves. He remembered selecting this particular suit for the dinner with Clara; it was his favorite suit and most fitting for what was to be a big night in their fragmented relationship.

But he felt everything went wrong. He looked around urgently, searching for his phone, but it was nowhere to be found.

He glanced up at the large clock on the wall.

10:12 PM.

Could it still be the same night?

He blinked forcefully, placing a hand on his both hands on his head.

"Fuck," he cursed, reaching for the clock on his bedside table.

10:12 AM.

The correct time wiped out any hope of a reconciliation. He had missed it.

He had missed the date.

A deep chill ran down his spine.