Fallen Queen

~ C H A P T E R T W E N T Y F I V E ~

For the next few days, Wolfe instructs me to lay low. I don't know what's wrong; California doesn't sound as safe as it used to be. Wolfe is definitely hiding stuff- but again, I'm doing the same. I've always had a bad habit of overthinking things. My heart beats steadily, yet I can feel it moving my tablet every now and then. I can't focus on catching up with some of the data from the last few days, either. I need to create a model to explain the inflation and interpretation of business cycles to the strategic and marketing departments and my deadline remains at the end of the week- leaving me with only three days and no progress at all.

Anxiety thoughts are akin to driving around the block over and over, faster and faster.

It's pointless. Stop.

I feel tied down as the prison of my own thoughts takes me as an inmate. The overthinking is like a parasite; it's viral.

The link between the circular argument and biological assessment systems had long been condoned by scholars of philosophy and it represented a quantum leap in academia. It was the birth of "circular logic" as a respected field.

Shit that I blabber sometimes.

The ringing of the doorbell is what brings me out of a long trance of overthinking and circular arguments in my head. I sigh and get off of my bed and walk into the living room, peeking into the intercom. According to 'Young Master' Theodore, there are now ten guards posted around my residence, two in front of my flat and four more around Oakwood Complex itself and four others hidden between the people working around here. Dan sends me a quick text. It's Wolfe.

I open the door just the slightest bit and give him my panda eyes. He makes clear and quick work of his fingers and curls it inward. I made a face and let him in.

"I didn't mean you had to play Knock-Knock every time one of us dropped by," he mutters and plops down on the couch. I grind my teeth at his words and cross my arms. "No fun really when I've been locked inside my house, even though I'm a twenty three year old 'adult'-"

"Who asked you to go randomly fuck that guy's life in the ass?" He spat at me and then massaged his forehead. "I've told you time and again, Isa," he groans in an exhausted tone, "Your temper gets the better of you and look how much trouble you've stirred up for yourself."

"I just did what everyone else wanted to but couldn't," I mutter and sit down on the recliner opposite to him. He looks at me with a judging expression and I fidget under his stare. "I suffer from scopophobia," I murmur. He raises a brow questioningly, "Oh? That's not what you were saying when the masses of people stared at you as you looked at Nilsson like you wanted to taste his blood."

"I crave blood but even I have standards," I say, feeling insulted that he must think I wanted Nilsson's blood, "I can just demonstrate by biting my own skin. Like I said, I have standards. Anyway, I didn't regret looking at all that crimson," I shrug.

"You're weird, and I hope you get some help," he mutters inaudibly under his breath and I choose to ignore it- ignorance is bliss.

"What caused you to show up here, unwanted and uninvited?" I mutter, and it appears as if it is then that he remembers the purpose of him showing up, after all. He clicks his fingers and then shows two to me. "I'll be back in two," he stands up, stretches his arms and jogs outside. I find myself staring at the doorway curiously, and maybe with a guilty conscience.

A few minutes later, he's back- not just him, actually. There's an annoying screech.

A little bird, in a bold cap of golden feathers, comes into my view. It is inside a blue cage, screeching away to its heart's content. I put my hands over my ears and shout in irritation, "The fuck is that!?" He looks surprised and a wrinkle marrs his forehead, "It's a canary!" He shouts over the screeching.