I’m self-aware enough to know that if I hadn’t walked away when I did—putting a solid barrier between Sebastian and me—I might’ve said something I couldn’t take back.
Mr. Pickles yowls in protest as I lower him onto the bed, his indignation vibrating through the room like he’s personally offended by the vibe.
“I know,” I tell him softly. “I don’t like it either.”
The guest room smells like linen spray and disuse. Everything here is neutral colors. An untouched space no one lingers in unless something has gone wrong. Which feels appropriate.
Mr. Pickles’s tail is puffed up, eyes bright and accusatory as he looks around. He circles the bed once, twice, then plops down with a dramatic sigh like a creature who has seen some things tonight.
“Horrible day,” I agree, moving beside him. “Shot. Needles. Masculine posturing. Honestly, you handled it better than the humans.”
He flicks his tail in what I choose to interpret as validation.
My chest still feels tight, and the house is too quiet. So quiet I can hear Drew’s voice sliding beneath the door.
Sebastian paces. I hate that I know the rhythm of his footsteps so well.
I lean back against the headboard and stare at the ceiling, replaying the vet’s office like my brain is determined to learn something new if it just runs through it one more time.
Silas showing up outside the vet’s office.
Sebastian stepped in front of me, saying, “I’ll do anything to keep you away from her,”echoing inside my head.
Part of me had leaned into it. But that part is inconvenient, loud, and already on probation.
The other part is tired.
Tired of being managed.
Tired of having decisions madeforme instead ofwithme.
Tired of being protected in ways that erase my agency and then being told it’s protection.
I stroke Mr. Pickles’s fur. He leans into my hand, rumbling like a tiny engine.
“Sometimes I wish I were a cat,” I murmur. “Life seems simpler.”
Muffled voices slip beneath the door. I hear Drew and Sebastian talking, but the only thing I make out is Drew yelling, “…the hell did you do now?”
I almost smile.
Sebastian’s voice sounds tight. Defensive.
Good.I hope Drew gives him hell.
Either way, I’m not ready to hear anything Sebastian has to say yet.
Mr. Pickles kneads the blanket like he’s settling in for a long stay. I watch him, my anger softening at the edges but not disappearing.
That’s the difference now.
Before, I would’ve soothed it away. Talked myself into understanding him instead of demanding he understand me.
But that’s the old me. The one who stalked and chased, begging for crumbs of affection.
But tonight?
I’m allowed to be mad.
