Awareness does not stop the spiral.
I couldn't go to the bar last night. I texted Toby some excuse about being busy — Toby, who can identify a Robin lie from three zip codes away — and then I sat in my room and stared at the wall for two hours replaying every second of Saturday night.
Vaughn's voice in the dark.Because I see you.
His lion, warm and enormous, curled around me in the grass.
My lips on his jaw. The way he went still. The way he touched the spot after, like he was pressing the memory into his skin.
And then I saidit doesn't mean anythingand walked inside and closed the door, because that's what I do. That's what I always do. Get close to something real and then run before it can prove me right — that the real me isn't worth staying for.
The front door opens and Toby walks in carrying a tote bag and wearing his "I'm going to fix you whether you like it or not" face. He takes one look at the kitchen — the cupcakes, the frosting, the cinnamon casualties — and sets his bag down slowly.
"Recipe testing?" He already knows the answer.
"Obviously."
"How many batches?"
"Six. Seven. Somewhere in there."
"And they're all..." He picks up a cupcake from the nearest batch. Peels back the liner. Takes a bite. Chews thoughtfully. "Vanilla bean with brown butter frosting."
"It's a classic combination."
"It's Vaughn's favorite combination outside of salted caramel." He sets the cupcake down. "Robin. What happened?"
"Nothing happened."
"You missed Sunday night for the first time in months. Something happened."
I turn the mixer back on so I don't have to answer. Toby walks over and turns it off.
"Talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"Robin."
"He came and got me from a bad date." The words come out before I can stop them, a dam breaking. "Brett was being — it doesn't matter. I texted Vaughn and he came in eight minutes and he didn't ask questions and he just put himself between me and this guy and walked me out. And then we rode to the overlook and I lay in the grass and I told him—" My voice catches. "I told him I don't know if there's a real me underneath all the performing. And he said—"
I have to stop. Grip the counter. The batter in the mixer bowl sits motionless, waiting.
"He said he sees me. The real me. Not the performance. He listed specific moments — story hour with the kids, cooking, the way my face changes when I'm not pretending. He's beenwatching, Toby. For months. He's been watching and he sees the thing I'm most afraid doesn't exist."
Toby is very quiet. "And then what?"
"And then he shifted into a lion and I curled up against him in the grass and it was the safest I've felt since—" Since Ash left. Since before our parents stopped pretending they gave a shit. Since ever. "And then a cop woke us up and he drove me home and I kissed his cheek and told him it didn't mean anything and went inside."
"You told him it didn't mean anything."
"Yes."
"After he told you he sees the real you."
"Yes."
"Robin." Toby's voice is so gentle it makes me want to break things. "Why?"