Page 231 of Disarm
Survived another panel from hell. Boss gave me the “I don’t want your mom suing me” speech again.
How’s the love of my life?
I stop in the middle of the sidewalk.
For a second, the urge to tell him everything almost bowls me over.
My fingers hover, shaking. I can see his face in my head, eyes going wide and dark, shoulders squaring like he’s about to fighta ghost. He’d show up. He’d cancel whatever he has going and show up. He always does.
He shouldn’t have to.
Caleb
Day’s been… a lot. I’ll tell you later. Good news, you still get to pick my funeral flowers if stats goes badly.
Three dots.
Miguel
We’re talking later. You’re not getting out of that with flower jokes. Love you.
I swallow.
Caleb
Love you more.
My thumb hovers over his name again. On a different day, in a different mood, I’d send a “volume is loud” text. I’d tag it as a yellow or orange alert. Today, my pride—or maybe the eight-year-old who learned that needing things is dangerous—clamps my mouth shut.
You already told Dr. K, I tell myself. That counts. That’s enough.
Except.
I didn’t.
I consider emailing her. The subject line forms in my head on the walk back to the condo.
Subject: Update re: case study / news
Dr. K,
So, a fun thing happened today?—
I stop. Close the Notes app.
She’ll make that face. The one that’s compassionate and worried and sees too much. She’ll remind me that big news plus exam stress plus nightmares is not a small thing. She’ll suggest bumping up our sessions or checking in more.
I can’t. I don’t want her to rearrange her schedule around my latest plot twist.
I’m so tired of being the plot twist.
By the time I get home, my skull feels too small for my brain. Every sound is too loud—the door latch, the hum of the fridge, the pop of a car driving over the speed bump outside.
Miguel’s not home yet.
I end up in the shower, letting the water run hot enough that it should hurt. It doesn’t. Or if it does, it’s a good hurt, a sharpness that cuts through the fog.
Under the spray, my thoughts spiral tighter.
