"What do you want me to do?" he asked.
The light flickered, causing shadows to jump. His hands hung at his sides, empty.
"Figure out what you're actually willing to tell me," I said. "Not what you think I can handle. Not the version you've edited to protect my feelings. The real thing. All of it."
"And then?"
"Then come find me."
I turned toward the corridor.
"Pickle—"
I stopped. Didn't turn around.
"I'm not running," I said. "I'm giving you a chance to choose. You can keep managing this alone, or you can trust me the way you kept asking me to trust you."
Behind me, I heard him take a breath. He didn't say anything.
The silence said everything.
"That's what I thought," I said.
I walked away.
The corridor stretched ahead like a gauntlet I had to survive.
My feet kept moving. Left, right, left. The concrete echoed my footsteps back at me.
I'd spent my entire life moving toward people. Chasing them. Talking too loud and caring too much, hoping it would be enough, knowing it never was.
This was different.
Figure out what you're actually willing to tell me.
I'd said that. Out loud. To a man who'd just confessed he loved me while explaining how he'd turned my anxiety into meme content.
The corridor curved. I followed it without thinking while my brain played highlight reels I didn't want to see.
My hands on the Zamboni bolts. The cartoon sound effects they'd add.
Adrian's face when he said, "Trust me."
Thunder Bay's Favorite Disaster.
I'd been right all along. Adrian confirmed every fear I'd ever had about myself. His footage would live on the internet forever. Strangers would share it without knowing that the person in the video couldn't sleep without checking locks three times, that he straightened napkin holders because his brain wouldn't shut up, and that he'd spent his whole life trying to be less exhausting but never figured out how.
I rounded a corner.
A janitor's cart came out of nowhere.
One second, I was walking with my head up, dignity intact. The next, my hip connected with metal, and I stumbled sideways, arms pinwheeling, mops and bottles clattering around me like the universe's idea of a punchline.
I caught myself on the wall. The cart crashed into a recycling bin.
The hallway was empty. No janitor. Just an abandoned cart waiting for someone to walk into it while falling apart.
Thunder Bay's Favorite Disaster.Even the universe was getting in on the joke.
