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He lets me go so I can stand up, but he moves to the edge of the bed. His feet hit the floor, and he sighs.

“Are you going to see other people?”

“Are you?” I hate the way it comes out, a breathy disaster.

“Should I?”

I bark a laugh and cross my arms over my chest. “Should I? What kind of conversation is this, Dillon.”

“You’re right.” His laugh is far from amused. He scrubs his hands over his face. “Fuck. I hate that I can’t just talk to you without having to worry about you running away. Or shutting me out. Or turning it into a fucking joke. You’re so damn young, and—”

“Oh, stop it. I’m not a child, Dillon.”

“You sure act like one sometimes,” he snaps. I step back, and he curses. “I’m sorry. I just… Emery, please.”

I step back more, my heart lurching.

“We agreed that we would talk when you got home, right?”

His jaw flexes, and he nods.

“So you do whatever it is you need to do while you’re gone, and I’ll do the same.”

“I don’t think I like that answer, baby.”

“I don’t think I like any of this, Dillon.”

He moves to stand, but I sniff and walk over to the window. He doesn’t stop me.

To: EBStyles

From: DMont95

Subject: about last night

I feel like I owe you an apology. Again. I don’t want to fight with you, Emerson. That’s the last thing I want to do.

I’ll miss you today.

My feet are propped up on the ottoman, wrapped in foot masks, my hair is slathered in an oil treatment, and I have a sheet mask on my face. I got my nails done after work and bought myself an iced matcha. I’m basically expecting all these things to fix my whole existence.

If that doesn’t work, I’ll try a wax and nachos tomorrow.

Eleanor presses her head into my hand from where she’s been on my lap, and I continue my petting of her wiry fur. We both ignore my tears, letting them soak into my hoodie.

I lean over, resting my head on the armrest and moving Eleanor closer to my chest next to me on the cushion. “I think I’m fucking this up,” I whisper to her, bringing her cold, wet nose close to mine. “What am I supposed to do, Ellie?”

Ironically, everything I’ve done to keep control are all the things that now make me feel like I’m out of control.

My self preservation has failed me. Epically.

I tuck her head under my chin, comforted by the rumble of her purr, and grab my phone. I scroll back down to the first email and start reading all over again.

I hate Tuesdays.

To: EBStyles

From: DMont95