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He’s named the imbalance.

Bentley84: I don’t want to make this complicated.

Clint laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“You ever notice how when guys say that, they usually mean they don’t want to make it harder for themselves?”

The words strike with humiliating precision.

I sit back from the laptop.

Bentley84: I wish I could give more.

The second I send it, I regret it.

Clint’s eyebrows lift. He looks away. Runs a hand over his head.

“I’m not trying to freak you out. I just thought maybe—” He stops. Shrugs. “Maybe you could turn your camera on for a second.”

My pulse kicks so hard it almost hurts.

“No,” I say aloud.

The cursor blinks.

Bentley84: I can’t.

Bentley84: I’m sorry.

“I’m not asking you to do anything. You don’t have to get naked. You don’t even have to talk. Just—” He exhales. “Just let me see who I’m talking to.”

I could do it.

He would see Paul.

My stomach turns.

Bentley84: I’m sorry.

Clint goes still. The silence that follows is worse than anger.

“Okay.”

I type too quickly.

Bentley84: It isn’t you.

Clint gives a faint, tired smile.

“Yeah. I know that line.”

Bentley84: I mean it.

“I believe you.”

I lean forward, desperate now, though for what I can’t say. To keep him. To end it. To make him understand without telling him the one thing he would need to understand.

Bentley84: Clint