Slowly, her breathing evens out.
"You did this before," I say carefully, searching for the right words. "What causes it?"
She leans her head back against the cabinet, her eyes avoiding mine.
"I’ve always struggled with food," she says, her voice soft and small. "I get these... cravings. I can’t stop them. It just spirals. And then the guilt comes." She shrugs, a sigh escaping her.
"What triggers it?" I ask.
She huffs a humourless laugh. "Careful, Eli. You’re starting to sound like a therapist."
The corner of my mouth lifts despite everything.
"I have a lot of triggers," she admits. "Sometimes it’s something small. Stupid. But usually, it’s when I’m emotional—good or bad. Big emotions equal food."
"What emotion led to this?" I ask quietly.
She finally meets my eyes. "I’m just overwhelmed."
I nod, hating myself for putting that weight on her shoulders.
Bringing her here caused this.
But... I said I wanted to see her spiral up close.
I wanted to understand.
Now I do.
Now I can make sure it doesn’t happen again.
And if it does…
I’ll be here to catch her.
“You’re not wearing your mask,” she says, after her tears dry.
I scratch the back of my neck, looking away momentarily. “You don’t seem shocked to see me.”
She smiles; the sight undoes me. She’s so beautiful.
“I realised it was you last night.”
Fuck. “The tattoos?”
She shakes her head. “No, although, they helped. It was your smell.”
I scrunch up my face. “My smell?” I sniff my pits. I don’t stink.
“Mmhm,” she murmurs. “When you hugged me, you smelt like cinnamon. It’s something I associate with you—Eli you, not stalker you.” Her brow furrows. “Though, I guess you’re one and the same.” Hurt flashes across her face—fleeting, but I catch it. “Why did you lie to me?”
My knees ache, so I lower myself fully to the floor, sitting next to her, resting against the cupboards.
“I didn’t lie.”
She points a glare at me. “There you go, lying again.”
I huff. “Okay, I told some small white lies. But most of what I’ve said is true.”