Painted

Chapter 17

A/N: You seemed to get quite excited over the new chapter, so I've decided to spoil you with the next one, since I just finished editing. Enjoy!

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Tuesday morning the shared office space buzzed with the usual hum of productivity, but something in the air felt different today. It wasn’t just the weight of deadlines or the usual rush to finish tasks. It was Torfan. Ever since she’d arrived yesterday, her energy had permeated every corner of the room, her confident charm drawing the attention of everyone she interacted with.

Sarocha could feel it. She hadn’t known how much it would sting to see Torfan in Rebecca’s orbit again. She hadn't known how much of an impact the woman’s presence would have on her. But now, seeing Rebecca and Torfan casually laugh across the table over some light comment about their university days — their shared history, their comfort with each other — was like a blade slipping between Sarocha’s ribs.

Sarocha’s fingers tightened around her coffee cup, the heat of it doing nothing to ease the gnawing sensation in her chest. She forced herself to meet Torfan’s gaze when the woman flashed her a friendly smile across the room, but it was a smile laced with an energy Sarocha wasn’t quite sure how to fight. Torfan’s presence, her easy confidence, the way she seemed to belong — it made Sarocha feel as though she were a bystander in her own relationship with Rebecca.

But no, she couldn’t let it show. Not here, not now. She forced a smile back and turned her attention to the presentation at hand, even as her mind simmered.

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As the hours wore on, Rebecca found herself growing increasingly exhausted. It wasn’t from the workload — that had been manageable enough — but from the subtle war she could feel brewing between Sarocha and Torfan.

She could see it in Sarocha’s increasingly terse responses, in the way her body language stiffened whenever Torfan spoke to her or, worse, when Rebecca and Torfan exchanged a laugh or shared a memory.

At first, Rebecca had tried to laugh it off, convincing herself that this was just a temporary flare-up. But it was clear, as the day progressed, that the tension wasn’t going anywhere. It was like an invisible cord was pulling at her from two directions: Torfan, with her effortless charm, was drawing Rebecca in, but Sarocha’s silent withdrawal, her thinly veiled irritation, was pushing her away.

Rebecca had never felt more torn. She cared about Sarocha — deeply, intensely — but Torfan was serving up memories and emotions she hadn’t expected to experience again. The past was coming back with a force she wasn’t ready to deal with.

As they sat in yet another meeting, Rebecca couldn’t help but glance between the two women. Sarocha’s jaw was clenched, and her posture was stiff. She was trying so hard to remain calm, to keep the façade of professionalism. But Rebecca could read her, knew her well enough to see the cracks in her armor.

And then there was Torfan, who seemed to have no idea about the storm she was stirring. Her easy laughter filled the room, her jokes effortless. Every word she spoke seemed to land perfectly, hitting the mark with the team. And Rebecca? Rebecca was caught between them. Trying to keep things balanced. Trying to stay true to the person she was with Sarocha while not losing herself to the familiarity and pull Torfan seemed to have on her.

She was getting tired. Mentally, emotionally. She was becoming afraid of what might happen if this tension kept stretching — afraid of what it would mean for her relationship with Sarocha.

Slipping into a comfort zone with Torfan had been relatively quick and easy. The chemistry between her and Rebecca had always been natural, uncomplicated. Rebecca enjoyed Torfan's humour and tended to feel a little lighter when hearing her laughter. However, Rebecca had to question herself and whether a simple working friendship was worth the trouble brewing between them and Sarocha.