In the aftermath of her twin sister's tragic death, Reagan Sinclair finds herself in a never-ending battle against paralyzing panic attacks and drowning in grief. Desperate to just survive each day, Reagan's world is turned upside down when Paris un...
Olivia: Hey, Paris. Can you take my patients tomorrow something came up. I promise to help around the Clinic throughout the rest of the week.
Paris: No problem. Is everything Okay?
Olivia: Not really but it will be.
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REAGAN WALKS IN WHEN I'm just about to start dinner, and She looks exhausted. She stumbles around while taking off her shoes and I notice that her clothes are rumpled on her body and there are bags beneath her eyes, puffy and red like she's spent a few hours crying.
“Hey, love,” she startles, eyes widening and hands flying to her chest.
“Jesus shit! You scared me. I didn't know you were home yet,” her eyes briefly meet mine before she looks away. She's been doing that since Elaine came to visit. She shakes her hair into her face, so I don't see the expression on her face while she bends to remove her shoes from the walkway. The demon cat, who was sleeping on a kitchen stool, hears her voice and wakes up. It stretches, yawns, and then makes its way over to where she stands. She lifts it and hugs it against her chest like a shield.
“What's wrong, love?” I ask, forming my hands into a fist so I don't walk over there and tug her into my arms like I want to, promising her that everything will be alright.
“Nothing, it's been a long day. Are you starting on dinner?” She's changing the subject, but I allow it.
“Yes,”
“Can you bake a cake?”
“For dinner?” she nods her head and tucks her lip between her teeth to hide the way it trembles. "Reagan-"
"I'm fine. Can you bake a cake?"
“Anything you want, Princess,”
“Can we make it together? Like you promised?"
“We can do whatever you want, Reagan. Go wash up, I'll be here when you get back," The smile she gives me feels like a victory.
"Okay," she mutters, nodding her head and taking the cat with her to her bedroom.
When she walks out of her room a few minutes later I know that she's decided to let go of whatever made her sad and instead focus all her energy on tormenting me. She saunters up to me with a little smirk on her lips and then jumps onto the kitchen counter, swinging her legs. “I'm ready for my lesson, Mr. Rothschild,” She says, her voice sugary sweet. An ache spreads across my jaw as I grind my teeth together, resisting the urge to look down. From the glimpse I got when she stepped out of her room, I know she's wearing shorts that barely cover her perky little ass and a cropped shirt that shows off the spots on her stomach. She's so fucking perfect, it makes me angry sometimes. I clear my throat and grab the sandwich I made when she was in the shower, putting the plate on her lap. She crinkles her nose.
