Notyou’re overreacting.
Read: First, I’m angry on your behalf. They’re treating you like a lever they can yank, not a human being leading an entire company through a brutal landscape.
My bottom lip trembled.
Read: Second, I need you to hear this: Their timeline is not the same as your worth.
Read: You walked into two rooms today—theirs and Falkirk’s—and held your ground. Even if it didn’t feel like it. That alone is not “nothing.”
Read: Third, the voices. I hear them, too.
I clamped a hand over my mouth. He heard them, too?
Me: You do?
Read: Of course. I think everyone does in their own way.
A tear slipped down, then another. They felt different now, less like acid, more like relief.
Read: And as for telling me to leave you alone—I’m still here, aren’t I?
My lips curved, tears pooling in the corners. Salt coating my tongue.
Me: I don’t know what to do.
Read: Get used to it?
A dry laugh escaped.
Read: I know today hurt. I know those voices in your head are loud. I can’t silence them for you. But I can sit here and remind you they’re not telling the truth.
Read: Would you consider letting me do that in person sometime? Not tonight. Just… soon. To sit across from you, share food that isn’t Trix, and be real humans instead of well-punctuated paragraphs.
Meet.
The word sparked a different kind of panic. Images flashed unbidden: me at a restaurant table, tugging at my dress, him seeing me and masking disappointment; his words disinterested but polite.
Every failed date, every backhanded comment, every man who’d told me I was intimidating or too busy or not “feminine” enough piled up.
A voice rang in my mind.I’m not going anywhere.Read’s voice, or at least what I’d imagined it to be.
Deep.
Confident.
And true.
He’d seen me raw. He’d watched me lash out. He’d read words I hadn’t planned to send, confessions I’d never offered anyone. And still:I’m not going anywhere.
If I said no, it would be because of fear, not because he hadn’t earned a chance.
My fingers curled more tightly around the phone, and I jumped into the unknown.
Me: I think… I’d like that.
A pause, long enough to spike adrenaline.
Read: Thank you. You have no idea what that means to me.
