I pressed my fingers to my temple, as if I could physically clamp the noise down. It only shoved it sideways, making room for another voice to come through.
You’re running out of time, Emma.
The room tightened.
My phone buzzed against the counter, the sound sliced through the fog, sharp and bright. I turned it over.
Read: How did it go today?
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Of course, he’d reach out exactly when I was least able to answer. Because that was how the universe worked, wasn’t it?
“How did it go,” I echoed, a brittle laugh tearing free. “It went beautifully. Everyone loved me. I’m getting a pony.” My voice cracked on the last word.
I shouldn’t answer. I wasn’t sane. Wasn’t the pretty contained version of myself that he knew. Better to let it sit, to come back when I’d patched myself together. Tomorrow I could make a joke about Falkirk nitpicking numbers, turn it into banter. Keep him in that safe, tidy box where he thought I was competent and amusing and a little intense, but in an attractive way. Not like this.
But my hand moved anyway.
I didn’t remember unlocking the screen. Didn’t remember finding the keyboard. The next thing I knew, a single word glowed back at me in blue.
Me: Horribly.
“No.” Heat flushed up my neck. “No, no, no.” I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth as if I could stuff the admission back in.
Too late. The tiny “delivered” check mark sat there, calm and final.
Everything seemed to warp around me. My fingers dug into the edge of the counter until my knuckles ached.
Stupid. You’re so stupid. He didn’t sign up for this. He wanted witty documentaries and food debates, not… this.
Ping.
Read: Oh no. What happened?
He doesn’t actually want to help,the chorus hissed.He wants proof. He wants a story to tell later. “You wouldn’t believe this woman I talked to. She was a complete disaster.”
I looked down at the glow. One part of me wanted to pour everything out—the investors, the way Davidson’s smirk had lodged behind my eyes, the feeling of being picked apart piece by piece.
Another part screamedshut up, shut up, shut up. And that voice was loudest, drowning out all the others.
Me: It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t understand.
Harsh. Dismissive. The kind of line to end conversations.
Good, some broken piece of me thought.That’s better. Push first. Mark the exit. If he leaves now, it’ll hurt less.
Ping.
Three dots flickered across the screen, vanished, came back.
Read: I’d still like to try.
Something inside me lurched.
He’s lying, the chorus sneered, scrambling to regain footing.He likes the idea of trying. He likes the version of himself who is patient and kind. He doesn’t want you; he wants to feel like a good man. To use you.
Pressure sat heavy on me.
