I text my father.
Me: Five o'clock today. Dr. Mercer's office. It's important. I need you there.
Three dots appear almost immediately. Disappear. Reappear.
Dad: Okay. I'll be there.
I close my eyes, head tipping back as triumph ripples through me. It's quiet, contained, but potent. Every piece clicks into place, and suddenly the entire night makes sense.
The obsession.
The sleeplessness.
The way my thoughts refused to settle.
This was why.
I open my eyes and look around my apartment, at the faint morning light creeping in past the shades. Everything feels charged now, like I've nudged the world onto a track it can't get off.
Five o'clock.
I did this.
And the realization doesn't scare me at all.
The quiet doesn't last long. My body shifts into motion, the mirror loses its hold on me, replaced by momentum and the hum running just beneath my skin.
I shower fast, with the water hot enough to fog the glass, and the steam feels like it's sealing something in rather than washing anything away.
I'm buzzing, wired, and untethered. When I open my dresser, my hand doesn't hesitate. I go straight for red.
The lingerie isn't practical or even comfortable. But that's the point. It's silk and lace and intention, the color deep enough it borders on dangerous. I slip it on slowly, watching myself this time, aware of how deliberate the choice is.
Red for him.
Red for tonight.
Red for the part of me that refuses to be subtle anymore.
I take a photo before I can second-guess it, not of my face, just my carefully framed body, cropped tight, the red unmistakable against my pale skin.
My thumb hovers for half a heartbeat before I send it.
Me: Can't wait to see you tonight.
The message lands, and my pulse spikes like I've thrown a match onto gasoline. I don't wait for a response, and that seems important too. But then I send more.
Me: I've been up all night thinking of you pushing inside me. I keep hearing your groan, rumbling in your chest while you hold me down to take more of me.
Me: I'm shaking, Red. I'm shaking so badly for you. You aren't even here, and I'm wet and trembling and counting the seconds until I see you, Dr. Mercer.
I dress for work like it's an afterthought, black layered over the secret I'm carrying underneath. The contrast makes my mouth curve when I catch my reflection.
Except for my shaking lips and hands, I look normal. Responsible. Exactly the way everyone expects me to look.
They have no idea.
I'm so wired, I can't drive and don't trust my legs to walk that far. So I jump in an Uber.
