Gulf of Lies

Chapter 1 | The First Cut

The sight of blood brought a sudden wave of nausea rippling through Leah's gut. It took another second for her brain to recognize the source of the wound. By that time, adrenaline had already coursed through her body, activated by a primal fear response. She took several deep breaths to calm herself and allow her rational mind to catch up.

The sharp slice of paper across skin, the rush of pain, the welling of blood—even in the modern world, paper cuts were the worst dangers of an office job. Leah stretched to pull a tissue out a box on the corner of her desk, then pressed it firmly to the torn skin of her palm. She winced as the pressure brought a new burst of pain.

Leah spun her chair, planning to wash her hand in the bathroom down the hall. With her mind already thinking two steps ahead of her body, she failed to rotate far enough to free both legs. As she pushed herself to stand, her knee slammed into the bottom of the desk.

"Son of a biscuit!" she cried out, tears welling in her eyes.

She collapsed back into her seat, clutching the tissue even tighter against her injured hand and elevating the foot connected to her throbbing knee. Everything seemed to be going wrong that day. Heck, nothing had gone right in weeks.

"What's wrong?" Frances asked.

It was probably the first time in hours Leah's coworker had looked away from her laptop. Her face was scrunched up in concern, and her green eyes looked huge behind oval glasses.

Leah sighed. "Just me being a klutz again."

She pulled the tissue away from her palm, tugging when it stuck to the bloody gash. It didn't look to be actively bleeding anymore, but she still needed to clean it up. Intrusive thoughts—about MRSA or any number of bacteria finding their way into the wound, disseminating throughout her body, infecting every inch of her—were already clouding her mind.

Leah got up, more carefully this time, and limped to the bathroom. Once the hot water and antibacterial soap coated her hands, she started humming the tune to "Mary Had a Little Lamb." It was a habit ingrained from childhood. Unlike when she was a child, she repeated the song multiple times to extend the length of the wash.

She closed her eyes and focused on her breaths to avoid counting the number of times she sang. You are in control, she told herself. It had been a tough month, and she couldn't afford to let the stress ruin the progress she had made in the past year.

Drying her hands, she emerged from the bathroom with her thoughts back in order. The pain in her knee had dulled but sharpened with each step she took back to her desk. Frances was still looking at her with concern when she eased down into her chair.

"Do you need some Advil? Or maybe an ice pack for your leg?"

Leah smiled at her friend's kind offers. After almost a year of working together, she felt like she could call Frances a friend. Most of their time together had been spent in the cramped office of the small publishing company they worked for, but a few after-work meals and drinks had shifted their relationship away from strictly professional.

She didn't have many people she could call friends, especially after she moved to Virginia. There were a handful of people from college that she had kept in contact with, but meeting people in a new city had been difficult. With her quiet, introverted nature, going to work was about the most socialization she did in her life.

"Advil would be nice," Leah conceded. "I can ice it when I get home."

The word 'home' caught in her throat and brought a pang to her heart. The one-bedroom apartment where she currently lived had never felt like home, not compared to the house she grew up in. Since her relationship with Carlos had ended less than a month ago, it felt even more like a hostile environment now.