Chapter Two
The Count
The kitchen still smelled like last night’s coffee.
Anna stood barefoot on the cold tile and stared at the cabinet, remembering she had just closed it not even twelve hours prior. She reached to close it,
She didn’t slam it.
She didn’t sigh.
She simply pressed it shut until the latch clicked, tension coiling through her hand and tightening her thoughts, but she held it there anyway.
One.
She whispered the number so softly even she barely heard it.
It wasn’t the first time she’d counted.
Lately she’d begun noticing her own rituals—the way her jaw tightened before she bent to pick up the socks abandoned half an inch from the hamper.
“Close enough,” he always said.
Her fingers hovered over them.
Not yet.
Instead, she opened the junk drawer and dug beneath rubber bands, old batteries, and takeout menus until she found the stub of a pencil.
On the back of an expired receipt, she drew a single line.
Then another.
Two.
Three.
Her breathing settled into the rhythm.
The apartment breathed with her.
The refrigerator hummed.
A car rolled past outside.
The bathroom light glowed down the hallway.
He’d left it on again.
Her eyes drifted toward it.
Four.
The word left her lips without emotion.
Like she was reporting the weather.
She tried to remember when she’d started counting.
Not noticing.
Counting.
There was a difference.
Noticing happened by accident.
Counting felt deliberate.
Counting felt like preparation.
She didn’t like what that suggested.
In the bedroom, his side of the closet hung half open, one shirt sleeve caught in the folding door.
She walked over and stared at it.
Her chest tightened.
Not with anger.
With something duller.
Something worn thin.
Five.
The number felt heavier than the others.
She pressed the pencil too hard.
The lead snapped.
She stared at the tiny piece resting on the receipt.
The room seemed to hold its breath with her.
Then, without meaning to, her pulse quickened.
Six.
Seven.
Quieter now.
Faster.
Not on paper anymore.
Inside her.
Each heartbeat carried another number.
Each number echoed like soft footsteps somewhere down a dark hallway she couldn’t see.
Her breathing tried to steady.
But the count began to control her.