Still, the resemblance between now and then is uncanny. So uncanny I’m having a hard time not throwing myself from the window as a means of escape. Running is an instinct, and I’ve honed mine to precision over the years. Sitting still is torture.
I throw my phone on the bed and pace to throw open the window. Partially for the fresh air and partially to remind myself that I’m twenty-five feet off the ground and I’d break my neck if I jumped.
“How did I get here again?” I mutter to nobody in particular.
I’ve never spent much time thinking about destiny, but now that I’m trapped in yet another loveless engagement—real or not—I have to wonder whether this isn’t just my fate. To end up forcibly married to someone who couldn’t care less about me.
There’s a bang on the other side of the wall.
