It's almost five when I start packing my stuff up. I'm straightening out the contents of a folder when Carter's face appears in the doorway, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Hello. Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Of course."

"Can we speak in the conference room?" He lowers his voice. "It's about Commonwealth v. Malone."

Memories swim in my head, blurry and surreal. It wasn't long ago but it feels like eons. A glimmer of enjoyment because my boss gave me some real case work to research so soon after being hired, the pride when I found out I would be assisting on a depraved-heart murder trial. And then, later that same night, the complete reversal when I had one of the worst nights of my life.

The last evening I was with Matt. Plunged underwater. The complete helplessness of being able to do nothing against the binds tying me down, gasping as I surface, the sharp intake of air filling my lungs before I'm pushed back under. The desperation of realizing too late, that no matter what, I want to live. When he finally untied me and pulled me out I threw everything up, sick to my stomach because I wasn't naive or stupid, I was purposefully careless with my life. I feel nauseous again just thinking about it.

I school my features into an impassive expression. "Certainly." I follow him into the conference room and he shuts the door behind me. He doesn't sit, steepling his fingertips on the frosted glass tabletop, there's a file open on it and he's rapidly scanning the pages. "What would you like to know?"

"I wondered if you could provide more details on a few things." He points to a line under the conditions, and starts showing me different sections. It was a gruesome case, a hazing at a frat party that ended in the death of a freshman. It took them months just to locate the witnesses, let alone convincing them to testify. Even then, it was difficult to ascertain guilt, because so many people were implicit and were all trying to protect themselves or each other. The victim was part of the hazing, and at the end of thirty-six hours of increasingly sadistic requirements he had died.

Carter moves quickly from one section to the next, but it was an extensive proceeding and we're not even halfway through before he's glancing at his watch. "Why don't we have a meeting later in the week, and we can go over your progress."

"That sounds great." For once I'm not just being polite to Carter. I'm actually looking forward to it, he's brilliantly smart and for the first time, today he's been engaging.

My hand is already on the door to leave when he says, "Can I talk to you about Carrie?"

I turn back. He looks so uncomfortable that I can't help having sympathy for him. "I know you saw us, and I have no one to talk to about this…" He puts his fist up to his mouth and clears his throat.

"I'm not sure how I would be be able to help you," I say as gently as I can.

"I know. I know." His dirty-blond hair is falling across his forehead, and he puts his papers It's almost five when I start packing my stuff up. I'm straightening out the contents of a folder when Carter's face appears in the doorway, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Hello. Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Of course."

"Can we speak in the conference room?" He lowers his voice. "It's about Commonwealth v. Malone."

Memories swim in my head, blurry and surreal. It wasn't long ago but it feels like eons. A glimmer of enjoyment because my boss gave me some real case work to research so soon after being hired, the pride when I found out I would be assisting on a depraved-heart murder trial. And then, later that same night, the complete reversal when I had one of the worst nights of my life.

The last evening I was with Matt. Plunged underwater. The complete helplessness of being able to do nothing against the binds tying me down, gasping as I surface, the sharp intake of air filling my lungs before I'm pushed back under. The desperation of realizing too late, that no matter what, I want to live. When he finally untied me and pulled me out I threw everything up, sick to my stomach because I wasn't naive or stupid, I was purposefully careless with my life. I feel nauseous again just thinking about it.

I school my features into an impassive expression. "Certainly." I follow him into the conference room and he shuts the door behind me. He doesn't sit, steepling his fingertips on the frosted glass tabletop, there's a file open on it and he's rapidly scanning the pages. "What would you like to know?"

"I wondered if you could provide more details on a few things." He points to a line under the conditions, and starts showing me different sections. It was a gruesome case, a hazing at a frat party that ended in the death of a freshman. It took them months just to locate the witnesses, let alone convincing them to testify. Even then, it was difficult to ascertain guilt, because so many people were implicit and were all trying to protect themselves or each other. The victim was part of the hazing, and at the end of thirty-six hours of increasingly sadistic requirements he had died.

Carter moves quickly from one section to the next, but it was an extensive proceeding and we're not even halfway through before he's glancing at his watch. "Why don't we have a meeting later in the week, and we can go over your progress."

"That sounds great." For once I'm not just being polite to Carter. I'm actually looking forward to it, he's brilliantly smart and for the first time, today he's been engaging.

My hand is already on the door to leave when he says, "Can I talk to you about Carrie?"

I turn back. He looks so uncomfortable that I can't help having sympathy for him. "I know you saw us, and I have no one to talk to about this…" He puts his fist up to his mouth and clears his throat.

"I'm not sure how I would be be able to help you," I say as gently as I can.

"I know. I know." His dirty-blond hair is falling across his forehead, and he puts his papers It's almost five when I start packing my stuff up. I'm straightening out the contents of a folder when Carter's face appears in the doorway, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Hello. Do you have a minute to talk?"

"Of course."

"Can we speak in the conference room?" He lowers his voice. "It's about Commonwealth v. Malone."

Memories swim in my head, blurry and surreal. It wasn't long ago but it feels like eons. A glimmer of enjoyment because my boss gave me some real case work to research so soon after being hired, the pride when I found out I would be assisting on a depraved-heart murder trial. And then, later that same night, the complete reversal when I had one of the worst nights of my life.

The last evening I was with Matt. Plunged underwater. The complete helplessness of being able to do nothing against the binds tying me down, gasping as I surface, the sharp intake of air filling my lungs before I'm pushed back under. The desperation of realizing too late, that no matter what, I want to live. When he finally untied me and pulled me out I threw everything up, sick to my stomach because I wasn't naive or stupid, I was purposefully careless with my life. I feel nauseous again just thinking about it.

I school my features into an impassive expression. "Certainly." I follow him into the conference room and he shuts the door behind me. He doesn't sit, steepling his fingertips on the frosted glass tabletop, there's a file open on it and he's rapidly scanning the pages. "What would you like to know?"

"I wondered if you could provide more details on a few things." He points to a line under the conditions, and starts showing me different sections. It was a gruesome case, a hazing at a frat party that ended in the death of a freshman. It took them months just to locate the witnesses, let alone convincing them to testify. Even then, it was difficult to ascertain guilt, because so many people were implicit and were all trying to protect themselves or each other. The victim was part of the hazing, and at the end of thirty-six hours of increasingly sadistic requirements he had died.

Carter moves quickly from one section to the next, but it was an extensive proceeding and we're not even halfway through before he's glancing at his watch. "Why don't we have a meeting later in the week, and we can go over your progress."

"That sounds great." For once I'm not just being polite to Carter. I'm actually looking forward to it, he's brilliantly smart and for the first time, today he's been engaging.

My hand is already on the door to leave when he says, "Can I talk to you about Carrie?"

I turn back. He looks so uncomfortable that I can't help having sympathy for him. "I know you saw us, and I have no one to talk to about this…" He puts his fist up to his mouth and clears his throat.

"I'm not sure how I would be be able to help you," I say as gently as I can.

"I know. I know." His dirty-blond hair is falling across his forehead, and he puts his papers down to push it back. He runs the palm of his hand over it several times, compulsively smoothing it. I wait expectantly, but he doesn't say anything else and when the silence becomes too awkward, I make a motion toward the door. He immediately reaches for the handle but doesn't open it, pausing first to look down at me. At this close proximity, his grey eyes are tumultuous, though his voice is soft and even. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For letting me confide in you. I want to shout my feelings from the rooftops and instead I'm relegated to doubt and self-loathing."

"That sounds like a difficult situation," I say cautiously.

"I should end it," he says with a shrug. "But I can't seem to do the right thing. Has that ever happened to you?"

I make an innocuous remark and offer him one last smile as I hurry away. Is it possible that he would want to talk to someone so badly that he would tell a total stranger such personal things? I sit down in my empty office and look over at Rachel's desk, across the hallway from mine. Folders and papers are scattered haphazardly across the surface, she left her bag carelessly tossed beside the chair, and there's a crowded assortment of pictures in a mishmash of colorful and quirky frames, a reflection of her cheerful exuberance. We don't know much about each other, but after only a few lunches I would confide in her. Sometimes, time is elusive, you meet someone and it's like you've known each other forever. But that's definitely not the case with Carter, I've always felt uncomfortable around him and we've never shared so much as a coffee.

I quickly finish clearing off my desk, scooping a few things up to bring with me. My phone is blinking so I switch it on to scan the messages.

how was last night?

Who is this? I reply.

i sent you the handcuffs. hope you had fun xxx

I hit the power button, instinctively blacking out the screen and the words glaring up at me. How could we have used the handcuffs and not realized that they weren't from Lucas? He was picturing us together and we played our part, his cuffs around my wrists, the gift he left right outside my door. I swallow back a wave of nausea, violation crawling inside me. Staring unseeingly at my bare white wall, I shiver uncontrollably. I clasp my hands together, twining them tightly, trying to stop the shaking. My mind is racing from one scenario to the next, each one more implausible than the last, visualizing every nightmarish intention that he might have.

I put off leaving. Trepidation is already eating away at me from the thought of being out on the street where anyone could be watching me. Part of me wants to stay at the office as long as possible, letting myself pretend that everything's fine while I'm surrounded by familiar faces. But everyone's going home one by one, switching the lights off until the work spaces are looming with shadows and the hallways are deserted. I picture the dark mass of foliage in the park that will be waiting when I hurry to the train, my footsteps echoing around the empty stairwell of Rector Street Station, threatening figures in the dark allies that I'll need to cross.

Slowly, I begin to pack everything into my bag, wondering what Lucas is doing, I haven't heard from him yet today and I don't know if we're still seeing each other tonight. I'm going to have to tell him, but I have no idea how he's going to react.

"Hi," I say when Lucas picks up the phone, "I've been thinking about you."

"What about?" The low intimate sound of his voice is calming, swallowing up some of my worries.

"Whether we're still seeing each other tonight. I'm just leaving work."

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Do you want to wait for me downstairs?"

The elevator doors are already closing when Rachel dashes in. "Hi!" she says breathlessly. "I missed you today, and I saw you getting on the elevator at the end of the hallway, so I made a run for it."

"It was weird without you to talk to," I say, smiling back at her. "Where were you all day?"

"Well for starters, a new case that I have to tell you about because we're going to be working on it together. And then I met my mom for lunch, I love her but she really doesn't understand how cities work. She brought me literally five boxes of her canning, which I have nowhere to put, there's no cupboard space in my apartment. And I had no way to get it home, so she ended up driving it to my place."

"That's great that you got to see her!" I say in a voice that's slightly too loud. "How long is she here for?"

"A couple days, and by the way I promised her she could meet you."

"Wow, that would be so nice," I say, completely flattered that she told her mom about me.

She turns to go out the revolving doors. The lobby is empty besides the two of us, even the security guard has stepped away from his desk. Outside, the headlights of passing cars cast a sepia glow, flickering off the sheen of rain on the pavement. Glowing orbs are reflected in the glass, smudges of light that illuminates my pale face next to Rachel, who looks completely nonchalant. I don't want to wait alone, but I also don't want to scare Rachel off with my problems, which are nothing like my mom making me too much canning. "Umm Rachel?"

Her head is down as she roots around in her purse. Pulling out her MetroCard she turns back toward me, her expression open, without any fear or suspicion. "Yes?"

"Do you mind waiting with me for a few minutes?"

"Yeah of course," she says, immediately concerned. "Is everything alright?"

"I hope so." I make a weak attempt at a reassuring smile. "Maybe ex problems."

"The one who sent the truffle?"

"No actually, things with Lucas are going great. It's someone I dated before that."

"Is someone coming to pick you up?"

"Yeah Lucas should be here soon, you're right I'm being totally silly."

"Of course you're not," Rachel exclaims, grabbing my arm and squeezing me against her. "I'm going to wait right beside you."

Rachel doesn't ask for any more details, she wants to wait for our lunch date tomorrow when she can get the whole story. Instead she continues telling me about her mom without missing a beat. Her eyebrows rise when Lucas pulls up in his Lamborghini. "Huh," there's a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, "well if you want to talk about that too..."

"Thanks for waiting with me." I give her a hug and run outside through the misting rain. Then I'm next to Lucas, the door shut tight behind me.

We sit in the restaurant on the first floor of his apartment, eating spaghetti bolognese while I tell him about the text. I shouldn't have been nervous. His anger is a vindication of sorts, I can see it circuiting under his controlled exterior.

"I can see why Matt is the obvious answer," Lucas says. "But why would he be sure that we'd use the handcuffs?"

"Maybe he wasn't," I say, but Lucas doesn't seem completely satisfied.

"When I saw him, he was acting possessive of you. Then the next thing he does is send handcuffs to you so that you can use them with another guy?"

"I know that doesn't make sense. What if he was sending them, expecting me to be reminded of him."

"So he's delusional."

I shrug. "Who knows, maybe."

Once we're finished eating, he suggests that we unwind with a drink. We move to some more comfortable lounge chairs in a corner. The room is like Lucas's, open and modern, with lots of glass and a few big statement chandeliers. I sink into a chair, the deep cushions swallowing me up. Stress is compounding inside my head, the tension tightening around me again. Lucas's questions broke the sense of security I've felt since he picked me up. I hate that Matt is once again intruding on my time with Lucas, pushing himself into our evening.

Neither of us speaks for I don't know how long, I'm lost in dark thoughts without a clear idea of how much time is passing. Lucas takes my hands in his and massages them, kneading my palms with his thumbs. There's a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I had an unforgettable experience once, at a monastery in an area so remote that you can only get there by foot. My cousin grew up with me and he was slipping through the cracks. I felt this crushing weight of responsibility. My head was a mess, I had that feeling when what you have to do seems impossibly big and hopelessly out of your control. He had left us for good, I knew we weren't going to get him back. It seemed as if I walked through the forest for weeks. When I finally got there, stepped into the rooms of ancient smoothed stone, built precariously into the face of a cliff... the air felt saturated with something so vital, it's as if it had its own heartbeat."

Lucas's low, smooth voice washes over me, allowing me to drift along on his narrative. I'm spellbound, because he's describing with such vivid detail an experience of his life. I can see by the intentness of his face that this is a private thought, something emotional that shaped him as a person.

"In the evening when Vespers began, the sky was still light. We would sit on the ground, the chants echoing off the stone surfaces until everything vibrated with it. By the end the night would be black, except for the candles and the starlight. If you stepped over to the windows it was impossible to have any sense of where you were in the world, except that you were in the middle of the sky."

I don't know what to say, or if I should say anything. Even though he's saying this to me, it's like I'm witnessing something too personal for anyone else to be part of. But I want to know more, I'm craving details about the whole circumstance. "Did being there help you figure things out?"

"It helped clarify my thoughts. There was a room of texts that had been preserved from the Dark Ages. I'm not religious, yet it was the most inspiring place I've ever been. To picture them transcribing texts, preserving them even though they were persecuted and their knowledge was being burned, when it was considered wrong. It made me think differently about what truth is, and how far I would go to shed light on it."

He's stopped rubbing my hands and we sit, our fingers still linked together. It's as if we're a million miles from nowhere and I'm looking at him naked for the first time.