[Clara's POV]
The next day, Clara woke up groggy and tired. She didn't sleep at all because she kept thinking about the night before — about how Nathaniel looked like he'd rather do anything else than touch her.
"I have to leave," she muttered, getting up from the bed.
She swung her legs to the floor and dragged her hand over her face. Her head was pounding from the lack of sleep. She moved around the room slowly, almost sluggish, grabbing her bag and jacket even though she wasn't dressed for work yet.
Leaving. Running. Or whatever she was telling herself she was doing.
She stepped toward the door, fingers curling around the handle… then stopped. She wasn't even sure where she thought she was going. This was her house. Well, Nathaniel's house. But she lived here. Running outside in pajamas, face puffy and hair a mess, wouldn't solve anything.
Clara let her forehead rest against the cold door.
"Get it together," she whispered.
