A Torn in the Flesh

Wren

"Oh, you actually thought he cared about you. Lean, don't pity this bitch. Not like she would do anything."

She wrapped her hands around Raphael's neck and pressed kisses on his body, all while fixing her gaze on me like I was something she'd already stepped over.

This was the last thread of patience I had left. But just a little longer.

I needed to know when this started—when the two people I loved most decided I was dispensable. I looked into his eyes.

He looked at the wall, the floor, and Vivienne. Anything but me.

"How long, Raphael?" My voice came out steady. Calm like still water before something drowns in it. "How long has this been going on?"

He said nothing.

"Was I that bad to you? Where did I go wrong?" The question burned coming out. One tear slipped before I could catch it. I hated that they got to see it.

"Just be honest with me. Be a man for once."

He exhaled through his nose like I was boring him. "Would that even change anything, Wren?"

I stared at him. "I'm sor—"

"No." The word shot out. For a second I thought it was guilt talking. "No, you're not sorry. You're just caught."

He finally looked at me. What I found in his eyes was worse than anger. It was nothing. Pure, unbothered nothingness.

"You want the truth? Fine. Everything about you is exhausting. You love too loudly, you give too much, you never push back... you just take whatever I give you and smile. You made yourself so easy, Wren. So available. Like you were auditioning to be needed."

My mouth fell open.

"And somehow with all that bending over backwards—you still couldn't give me the one thing I actually wanted." His jaw tightened. "Figure that out."

"So that's your excuse," I said quietly.

"It's not an excuse. It's just the truth you didn't want to hear." He pulled Vivienne closer against him without even looking at her, like she was already just a habit. "We were keeping company, Wren. That's all it ever was. I don't know why you turned it into something it wasn't."

Three years. Night outs, holidays, and a shared bit of intimacy. All just keeping company? I stumbled against the doorframe and caught myself.

"I don't need to keep pretending. Let's just end this." No guilt. He pulled her further into his side. Vivienne tilted her head at me with the softest, most poisonous smile I had ever seen.

Something in me went very, very quiet. The kind of quiet that comes right before clarity.

"You know what—" I steadied myself on the doorframe. "No. You don't get to stand in my house. In my bed. With my blood. And then be the one who walks away clean. That's not how this ends."

"Wren, I just—"

"I'm dumping you. Say whatever you want, but from this moment, I ended this. I walked away. You don't get that from me."

"Yes, he is—" Vivienne started.

"I don't remember asking you." I didn't even look at her.

My mind was already moving a thousand ways to make sure they remembered this moment longer than I did.

"Since the two of you are so comfortable here, enjoy it. But when I come back, every trace of both of you better be gone. Clothes. Keys. Anything with your names. I want to walk back into this house and find nothing."

I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob, turned one last time, and looked at them—the two people I had loved without condition. Then I walked out.

Three steps down the hall, Vivienne's voice followed me.

"Not too soon, Wren."

I turned back. She was seething.

"I don't think I need to hold back. Since you know now, why aren't you fighting? And you know I'm your sister—"

"Half-sister."

"—It doesn't change the fact that you're responsible for me. I have nowhere to go. This apartment was a gift. I'm not leaving."

"You are, Vivienne. It was my gift, not yours."

"Oh please, spare me that. Either you stay with me or you move instead. Figure it out."

The exhaustion hit me like a weight. "Fine. I'll leave."

"Deal, bye." She blew me a victorious kiss with a devilish smirk.

With one last look, I opened the door and walked into nowhere.

*****

My feet moved down the stairs, through the lobby, past the security guard who looked up and then away—like he could sense that whatever was happening to me was not something he wanted to be near.

The door swung shut. Night air hit my face. I didn't go back for my bag. Going back meant seeing that apartment again, and I was done.

It started raining four minutes in. Cold drops slid down my scalp and into my collar. I didn't run. One foot, then the next. A taxi slowed, then pulled away when I didn't raise my hand.

I must have looked insane. I probably was.

I kept walking because stopping meant thinking, and thinking meant falling apart on a public street. I checked my wallet in a doorway—enough for a meal, not enough for a room.

I stood there for a long moment.

Then my feet, making decisions without me, turned left. Toward Harrow & Steele.

I tried to talk myself out of it. I reminded myself of every cold, unreasonable thing that man had done—his mouth on mine, his teeth, the sharp bloom of pain, the way I'd hit him and run like my life depended on it. I had slapped my boss across the face this afternoon. Walking back toward his building, soaking wet and homeless, was arguably the worst idea I had ever had.

My feet didn't care.

The building came into view—glass and dark steel, upper floors still lit. Of course, he was still there, working at an hour when normal people had gone home. The lobby lights were warm through the glass. I stood across the street for a moment, hair flat against my face, water dripping off my jacket. Then I crossed.

The revolving door was heavy. I pushed through. The warmth hit me like a wall—clean, familiar air.

I took three steps toward the elevator.

"Ma'am." The security guard stepped out. "Building access is restricted after hours. Do you have your ID pass?"

I patted my jacket. Nothing. It was upstairs on my desk. I'd run out the side entrance and hadn't—

"I work here. Wren Osei, executive assistant, fourth floor. I don't have my card."

"I understand." He wasn't unkind. That made it worse. "Without verification, I can't allow access. If you'd like to call someone who can come down—"

"I don't have—" I stopped. I was not going to cry in this lobby. Not in front of this man. Not after this day.

"I work here," I said again, quieter. "I just need to—"

"Miss Wren."

Standing a few feet from the elevator doors was my boss. Leander.

A cold spike of fear and something else... relief?—shot through my chest. His eyes traveled over me soaked, shaking, broken—and for once, he didn't look cold.

He looked at me like he was seeing someone else entirely.

Shit.