Page 80 of Knot Their Starlet

She’d probably call me crazy.

And maybe she’d be right.

“None of that makes any sense.”

“You’d be surprised how much of it did,” Nancy says, leaning forward in her own armchair like she’s settling in for the session. “But why don’t you explain it to me?”

I don’t know why I keep on staring at my ceiling like it’s magically going to grow more interesting, but I don’t have the energy to do anything other than just stare.

Therapy is... hard.

I know it’s stupid, but there’s a part of me that really hoped I’d go in and instantly feel better. But better isn’t the adjective I’d use to describe how I’m feeling right now.

Hell, I don’t even know if I could describe how I’m feeling. I’ve done enough talking about my feelings for one day.

My phone buzzes beside my head. I brace myself, peeking at the screen with one eye open in case it’s someone I don’t want to talk to right now.

Beck

How was your therapy session?

I take a shaky breath. What feels like the first in hours.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m clicking on his icon and calling him.

I know I said I’ve done enough talking about my feelings for one day, but I also don’t want to be alone.

“Hey, you doing okay, Andi?” Beck asks. I can’t see his face right now, but based on the way he asked the question, I imagine a little line forming between his brows like he’s concerned.

Even if he’s not, I let myself imagine that it’s real. That he actually gives a shit about me—Andi, not Andromeda, not Gina Sterling’s daughter or Ezra Fletcher’s ex-girlfriend—unlike the rest of the world.

“My head is swimming,” I say, my voice muffled slightly from my face buried in my duvet.

“Ah, yeah, therapy can do that. Do you want to be alone right now?”

“Fuck no,” I grunt.

My apartment is my safe haven. Or at least, it’s supposed to be. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t lonely here.

After growing up in the house I did, silence is nice. But I think I’ve reached a point where it’s not peaceful anymore. It’s its own... thing. And not a good thing. I don’t think I like being alone.

“Why don’t you come over to my apartment? I can whip you up something. I’ve been working on my cooking skills since I presented.”

My thoughts stop in their tracks. Almost like there’s an audible record scratch sound effect.

“You mean your penthouse?” I tease. “My place is an apartment. Yours is... not.”

“Fair enough. That’s not an answer to my question, though.”

“I—” It’s like all my trains of thought resume, but at two-times speed and now they’re crashing into each other all at once. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Isn’t there something in the contract? That says we shouldn’t do unscheduled things like that?”

The devil over my shoulder starts rolling around, throwing a tantrum. There’s a part of me that just knows it’d be really nice to spend more time with Beck. All the time I’ve spent with him so far has been lovely.

But that’s just the problem.

“Fineee.” I can practically hear Beck pouting over the phone. “Then I’ll send Leo.”

“What? No, you don’t have to send Leo. He shouldn’t have to work⁠—”