Why do they deserve the effort?
Are you waiting for permission? Fine, I’ll give it to you.
It’s not your job to make other people feel comfortable.
Ever considered telling them to fuck off?
No is a complete sentence, Gabi.
I continueto read his observations of my character, how I handle conflict, and what makes me anxious. To my dismay,they go on for the entirety of the journal, which I’ve been keeping all year.
When I finally reach a blank page, I see that he’s also left a drawing.
Romeo is a talented artist, and I’ve always admired his work, but this one cuts deep.
It’s an image of me alone, knees curled into my chest, looking like I have the weight of the world on my shoulders as I hold up a mask of my own face. Around me, he’s drawn an assortment of chaotic thought bubbles.
Did I smile enough?
Don’t make it weird.
Just act normal. This is fine. Everything’s fine.
Why are they making that face? Did I sound rude?
Eye contact, Gabi.
This is exhausting.
I can try harder.
I need to scream.
Time to go home and overanalyze this.
I wish I could just turn my brain off for a while.
It’s so painfully accurate,it feels like a sucker punch to the gut, and at first, I think this is a new low for him. But then I see the arrow, and I turn the page to find another image labeledGabi 2.0: System Update—You Don’t Owe Them Anything.
This time, I’m sitting cross-legged with Beppe in my lap while I read a book and drink a cup of tea. I’m happy and relaxed, and there’s only one thought bubble above my head.
Who gives a fuck what they think?
It feels out of character for him and oddly…sweet.
There was a time when Romeo knew me better than anyone. He understands the history with my family, and he knows I internalize my distress.
When I was young, I learned masking was the only way to survive in a family that didn’t care for me. A natural side effect of that was people-pleasing—because putting everyone else’s comfort and needs above my own avoided conflict.
In a way, it feels like Romeo is telling me I don’t have to do that anymore. But I can’t let myself fall into this trap. Everything Romeo does, no matter how puzzling, has a simple explanation.
He hates me, and he wants me to suffer.
I close my eyes and release a shaky breath, resisting the familiar urge to sink into a pit of despair.
When my phone buzzes on the nightstand, it offers me a welcome distraction. I pick it up, finding that I’ve missed some messages on Discord.
Eros415: Ignoring me?
