Break Up

Inside Michelle's apartment, I allowed Nadia to settle on the couch while I ventured into the kitchen to fetch her a drink. I remembered Michelle always had a generous selection of beverages. Finding a bottle, I filled a glass, the ice cubes chilling my fingers. Setting the drink before Nadia on the table, her silence was palpable. I wished, not for the first time, that I could read her mind. But I was at a loss, uncertain of how to comfort her. My shoulder throbbed, a painful reminder of the gunshot wound I'd sustained.

"Drink up," I gently suggested. Perhaps, for now, it was the only solace I could offer. The soft couch beckoned, and I sank into it, feeling the weight of the day's events. 

Silence. 

"Who are you?" Her voice was barely audible, her gaze distant.

"Pardon?"

"Who are you *really*?" Nadia's tone shifted to one of fierce determination as she brandished her weapon, training it on me.