Fractured
Is that what I’m seeing?
I press my fingers to my temple, willing it all to stop.
Mum holds up a pair of boots. “These are cute, right?”
“Yeah. Super cute,” I nod and she gives me a knowing look.
“Harper, you haven’t even looked at them.”
I glance at the boots. They’re black leather with chunky heels and silver buckles. Definitely my style, or at least they used to be. But all I can focus on is the way the threads are tugging at my mind, each one demanding attention, each one louder and more insistent than the last.
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