78–On his bed.

EUDORA.

I was awake when someone slipped a book under my door.

My first thought was that Zena hasn’t given up on me like she made it seem the last time she was here.

For a brief moment, I laid there, contemplating whether to go for the book, fighting between the inquisitive and the rational part of me.

In the end, the inquisitive one won but first, I listened for footsteps and when I could make out none, I got off the bed and went for the book, flicking its first page open.

The only person who could give me a book was Zena but it was also weird, what kind of book it was. It wasn’t the usual one we both read and enjoyed. It was some sort of self-help book and its title was even more weird.

“Kicking trauma’s butt with style!”

It was a typical Zena thing to do but she also didn’t know what I had gone through. Isn’t that why she was at my door, day and night, requesting for answers? Did she know already? Or was it so obvious that I had gone through the hardest phase of my life?

I re