The silence in his office stretched like a blade pressed against my throat. I sat frozen in the leather chair, my hands clamped together in my lap, willing my body not to shake. But it betrayed me anyway. My shoulders twitched with every breath, and my knees knocked faintly under the desk. He noticed. He always noticed. Those sharp eyes flicked up from the book he had so leisurely returned to. One glance, and it was enough to strip the air from my lungs.
Pathetic, his inner voice curled through me like smoke.
"Inner voice:Look at her. Shivering as if the chair beneath her is made of ice. Silly toad. A trembling little swamp ghost who doesn't know if she belongs to the living or the dead. I bit my lip hard, trying to stop my chin from quivering. My eyes burned, but I refused to cry in front of him again. The crazy psycho leaned back in his chair, silent, watching. The weight of his gaze pinned me more tightly than chains could have.
