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“Why did you do that? You always hurt me, Sunday,” Not-Bellamy says, his voice bent and distorted.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

I slam my eyes shut, digging my gloved fingers into my temples.

Seeing twisted versions of my own reflection has happened a few times now, the nightmares regular enough that I’ve come to expect them. But this grotesque mirage is something else entirely.

When I open an eye, the vision stutters, but holds.

Jumping from my saddle seat, I snap my gloves off, throwing them on the floor as I barge out of the room and make a beeline for the front doors of the museum.

“Who’s raining on your parade, Sunshine?” Lara chirps me from where I’m slumped over the desk, nursing my third coffee of the day.

I hoped that a walk and coffee would calm me, but it didn’t work the first two times, let alone the third. I gave up trying to fix the mess I made of that specimen earlier and came in here to…I don’t know what. I don’t even know what I’ve been doing for the last hour.

“Earth to Sunny,” Lara singsongs again, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

I heave in a breath, sitting up and trying to make it look like I’m not spiraling into a pit of despair.

“Yeah. What?” I grumble, pushing the chair back and colliding with the precariously balanced folders that are stacked on the shelves. It instantly ratchets up my temper, thick rage sliding into my gut. If I clench my jaw any harder, I swear I’m going to chip a tooth.

I get up to move past her, but she blocks me, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I don’t think so. Sit back down.”

“Lara—”

“Sit. I’m not asking.”

I glare at her. “You pulling rank?” I sneer, unable to control the vile emotions that keep twisting around in my head.

“Damn right I’m pulling rank. You’ve been walking around like a cranky bitch.” Her voice is firm enough that I slam my ass back into the chair, avoiding eye contact at all costs but still running my mouth.

“I’ve just got a headache.”

She hums. “Sure. And smoking on the job?”

Motherfucker.

I slide my gaze back to her as hot shame creeps up my neck. I’m thankful that I decided to cover my skin in shadows, the evidence of my humiliation hidden beneath the ink.

Lara knows me well, can see through me when I start struggling. She was there the day I came into work a complete mess on Bellamy’s wedding day. I couldn’t tell her why I was like that, but she covered my ass anyway and made sure I got home safe.

“You are better than this, Sunny,” she says sincerely, placing her hand on my knee.

No. I’m not.

“Whatever it is, you can get past it.”

No, I can’t.

“You’re a good person. You don’t need to do this.”

You’ve never been a good person, though, have you?

The voice is nails on a chalkboard, scraping through my brain matter. I slam my eyes shut as I bounce my knee in an aggressive tempo, the chain accessory clipped at my waist rattling with the movement.

“Just talk to me.”