When the phone finally buzzed, my stomach flip-flopped again. The reactions he was triggering were undoubtedly something any normal person should have been concerned about.
Sasha: I’d say your friend is exhausted.
Sasha: And pretending she isn’t is costing her more than she admits.
God fucking damnit. Why did he know me so well?
Stalker.
Sasha: Nah. Just exceptionally well-versed in anything concerning you.
I snorted and immediately resented how warm it made my chest feel.
Everyone else seems to have a place they can land and I keep … hovering.
This time, the pause felt deliberate, as if he was choosing his words carefully instead of simply reacting.
Sasha: Sounds like eventually something will have to give. Either you or gravity.
I looked around at the boxes, the half-packed life, and the complete lack of a plan not involving swallowing my pride whole.
It’ll be fine. Just gotta do a little recalibrating, I guess.
Sasha: You don’t have to convince me you’re fine.
I sucked in a sharp breath. The reality of the one person truly seeming to accept and understand me being entirely faceless and inaccessible was borderline hilarious.
Leaning my head back against the wall, I held the phone in my hand. I was surrounded by cardboard boxes, bad decisions, and the creeping realization I didn’t know where I belonged.
This was all very likely a terrible idea.
It was dangerous, and Sasha was definitely not someone I should be showing this side of myself to. And yet, I couldn’t seem to help myself.
I think the weirdest part is if I vanished tomorrow, no one would be confused aboutwhereI went. They’d just assume I was “figuring things out,” because that’s what I always say.
If I disappear for a bit, it’s not because I don’t want to talk.
It’s just … a lot right now.
There was a long pause before his next message finally came through.
Sasha: I know. I’m not going anywhere.
I stared at the screen for longer than was reasonable. There was no pressure, no questions; he was just there for me.
That should have scared me more than the half-packed boxes and the empty bank account.
Because wanting to lean toward something — even words on a screen — felt like admitting I didn’t have this under control after all.
And I’d built my entire personality around pretending I did.
Chapter 20
Sasha
Itoldmyself—repeatedly— not to reread her messages, because I already knew what they said and because keeping them open on the screen felt like a weakness I didn’t usually indulge in.
I reread them anyway. Adelaide Romano was proving to be my ultimate weakness.