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I burst through the apartment door after what feels like the longest elevator ride of my life.

"Claire?"

No answer. She’s probably in her room, still too upset about my bullshit reaction to her confessing her love for me. I don’t blame her one bit.

"Claire?" I call again as I make my way down the hallway. Her door is open; that’s odd. She always closes it, whether she’s in there or not.

But when I peek into her room, she’s not there. I practically run around the house, and my heart sinks with each empty room.

I go back into her room, noticing her cell phone sitting on the bed. With that here, I have no way to contact her.

She’s gone.

CHAPTER FORTY

CLAIRE

My journal is balanced on my leg as I scrawl words on the lines faster than I can think. I’m pouring my emotions out however I can, because if I let myself sit and think for too long, I’ll break. I tried reading this morning, but when Mark had sat next to me at the table without saying a word, I couldn’t handle it.

He left the house not too long ago, but instead of his absence feeling freeing, it presses down on me, making the emptiness in my chest grow.

I write down everything that’s happened over the last few days, my feelings about my sessions with Dr. Lawrence, my plans to tell Mark how I feel only to accidentally blurt them in a moment of passion before being snubbed. How stupid of me to have let the words slip out before I could catch them.

I think the worst part is, I still held onto the hope that he might have loved me too. But he didn’t; hedoesn’t. He mayhave some feelings for me beyond our physical arrangement, but they’re clearly not enough.

I’ve spent my entire life minimizing my feelings for others’ comfort, so why couldn’t I have done that for a little longer?

I can’t help but wonder where he’s at right now, what he’s doing and thinking. Is he trying to figure out a plan to get me out of his apartment now that I’ve crossed the line? I have more than enough money now, thanks to him.

The thought of being on my own used to feel freeing, but now it just sounds lonely. I’ve become so accustomed to living with Mark that not having him around would feel like a piece of myself is missing.

My pen hovers over the page as I try to put the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions into words.

The knock at the door jolts me out of my spiraling thoughts.That’s weird. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if it’s Mark, if maybe he forgot his key or something. But the knock sounds too loud and measured.

Leaving my journal on the bed, I make my way to the door and open it to find two cops on the other side. My heart sinks in my chest. Did something happen to Mark?

"Um, hello."

"Hello, we’re looking for Claire," one of them says.

"That’s me. Is everything okay?"

"We’re actually going to need you to come down to the station for questioning."

My stomach plummets. "Questioning? About what? Is everything okay?"

"Just come with us, ma’am," the other officer says. His tone isn’t harsh, and his expression is slightly apologetic, but he’s firm in his request.

I want to argue and demand answers, but fear roots me to the spot. My mind races, trying to piece together what this could be about. If Mark was hurt, they’d have no reason to question me, and they’d likely tell me right now. They said they wanted to question me, which means they probably think I’m involved in something problematic.

Deep down, a nagging suspicion twists in my gut. I had hoped my family wouldn’t come looking for me, but after the emails, I wouldn’t doubt that this is their doing.

I slip on my shoes and follow the policemen, and it’s not until I’m being shut in the backseat of the car do I realize that I left my phone in my room.

The police station smells like stale coffee and cleaning supplies. My pulse pounds in my ears as I’m led through a maze of desks and uniformed officers. Everything blurs together until I’m being told to sit down in a plastic chair in a hallway.

"Wait here," one officer instructs.