"You apologize a lot, you know that?"

I press my lips together. "Well, yeah, I⁠—"

He tilts his head. "Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"You say sorry like it's a reflex," he says, watching me. "Like you think you have to. Even when you didn't actually do anything wrong."

I open my mouth. Close it.

I scoff. "Jeez. Everyone in my life is trying to work on my self-esteem these days."

He deadpans. "Can't imagine why."

I huff, shaking my head. "First Amanda, then you, then Caleb."

Callahan furrows his brows. "Who's Caleb?"

I freeze.

Fuck.

Think. THINK.

I lick my lips, my heartbeat suddenly loud in my ears. "Uh...he's my therapist."

Nailed it.

Callahan nods, seemingly satisfied. "That's good. Is it helping?"

"Huh?"

"Therapy. You finding it helpful?"

I shift in place, panicking. "Oh. Yeah. Totally."

Callahan watches me, like he's assessing if I'm lying.

Which, technically, I'm not.

Because Caleb is kind of like a therapist.

A therapist that made me come last night in my drunken state—which is probably a massive violation of patient-doctor ethics or whatever—but Callahan doesn't need to know that. I clear my throat. "So, uh⁠—"

My phone buzzes, the sound jarring in the quiet apartment.

I glance down and grimace.

Evan.

Ugh.

Callahan notices immediately. "That him?"

I nod, biting my lip.

I hesitate, about to decline the call, but then I glance at Callahan.

"Sorry," I murmur. "Do you mind?"

He watches me closely and sits up a little straighter. The mattress shifts beneath us.

"Yes. I do. I don't like the idea of you talking to that asshole ever again."

I suck in a breath, because he says it so casually. Like it’s just a plain fact, like it’s completely normal to drop something that possessive into a conversation like this. Like he’s been thinking it for a while.

"But you should still make your own decision," he adds, leaning back, arms crossed. "Answer it. Or don't. But don't do it because you think you have to."

I stare at him, the phone still buzzing in my hand.

And for the first time ever, I hesitate before answering Evan's call. But my anxiety wins out, and the moment I do, Evan's voice explodes through the speaker.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME, IZZY?"

I flinch, pulling the phone slightly away from my ear and stand, trying to put some distance between Callahan and what I’m about to do. "Evan⁠—"

"You haven't called me back. You just ignored me. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?"

I close my eyes, exhaling slowly. Here we go.

"I wasn't ignoring you," I say, keeping my voice even. "I just⁠—"

"You missed your appointment yesterday!" he snaps. "And I had to reschedule it for this morning, but guess what? You didn't pick up your phone for that either!"

I rub my temple, stealing a glance at Callahan.

He's still leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. His track my reactions, assessing every wince, every shift of discomfort.

I try to act unbothered. I swallow, forcing myself to focus. "Evan, I⁠—"

"I'm coming to your place," he interrupts. "We're going to that appointment. No more excuses."

"I'm... not home right now."

Evan pauses. "Then where are you?"

I grip my phone a little tighter, the plastic case digging into my palm. "At the store. I had to handle some things for work."

Silence.

Then, flatly: "Fine. I'm coming to get you. We'll go to the appointment together. We should be able to make it before they close."

I turn back to look at Callahan. He hasn't moved. But something in his eyes is different. Something dangerous. He’s mad for me, and in a weird way, it gives me the confidence to be mad for me.

I shift my focus back to my phone. "No."

Evan scoffs. "What do you mean, no?"

"I can't," I say, voice stronger this time. "I have things to take care of for work."

"I'm just trying to help you, Izzy."

There it is.

The gaslighting.

The subtle manipulation.

"Why are you being so difficult?" he presses.

I close my eyes. Steady myself. "I have things to take care of for work," I repeat, still watching Callahan.

And then, suddenly, something inside me snaps. I don’t know what causes it. Maybe it’s the way Callahan’s expression hardens with every word Evan says, or the way I feel nauseas at the idea of being around Evan any longer, or the fact that I’ve been defending myself against this man for far too long.

Either way, the words come out before I can stop them.

"And actually, I don't want to go to that appointment."

Silence.

I exhale, my pulse racing.

"Because there's nothing wrong with my weight."

He groans. "I can't talk to you when you're like this."

And then the line goes dead. I stare at my phone, my chest rising and falling fast.

I don't know if I want to laugh or scream.

All I know is that Callahan is still watching me.

And I don't know what the hell he's thinking.

SHE HAS A BOYFRIEND. SHE ALSO HAS MY MOUTH ON HER.

CAL

Izzy's voice is steady at first.

She's trying to keep Evan calm, trying to manage him the way she's probably done a thousand times before.

And I hate it.

I hate the way she immediately shifts into damage control. Like his feelings matter more than her own. Like she has to explain herself for something that shouldn't need an explanation.

And then I hear it.

The gaslighting.

She looks at me.

She looks straight at me even as she tells Evan she can't go to the appointment. She holds my gaze as she repeats it. The chocolate brown of her irises darkens with resolve, her lashes fluttering with each blink.

And then she says it.

That she doesn’t want to go to the appointment.

A fierce satisfaction ignites in my chest. She's not just avoiding it. She's rejecting it. Because there's nothing wrong with her weight. Because there's nothing wrong with her body.

And when Evan scoffs, when he mutters that he “can't talk to her when she's like this” and hangs the phone up on her, I don't think I've ever wanted to hit someone more in my entire life.

She stares at her phone like she's still processing what just happened. Her thumb trembles slightly against the screen.

And I watch her, feeling a complex mixture of emotions rising in my chest.

Pride.

Satisfaction.

But also rage.

A protective fury.

Because the truth is?

She shouldn't have had to say that at all.

I exhale. "Took you long enough to say it."

Izzy blinks, startled by my words.

Her lips part like she's going to argue with me, but then she closes her mouth.

Because she knows I'm right.

She stares at the phone a bit longer, her thumb hovering over the screen like she might change her mind.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she lets out a slow breath and sets it down on the nightstand. The phone clatters against the wood, loud in the quiet apartment.

I watch her, waiting for the inevitable apology.

But for once, she doesn't say it.

Doesn't rush to explain herself.

Doesn't try to soften the blow for Evan.

A primal satisfaction settles low in my gut, something that whispers, Good girl.