I’m allowed to walk away when he disrespects me.
I pull my phone from my pocket, scroll absently, then stop when I see the time. I should eat. I should do something productive.
Instead, I lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling fan that doesn’t move.
Sebastian hasn’t knocked, which is surprising.
I’m grateful for that. Because if he did, I don’t know which version of me would answer—the one who wants to climb into his lap and feel safe, or the one who wants to ask him why safety always seems to come at the cost of my voice.
Mr. Pickles shifts closer, curling against my side like he’s chosen sides.
I press my lips into his fur and whisper, “We’re okay. We’re just… recalibrating.”
Down the hall, Drew’s laughter breaks the tension—sharp, incredulous.
I picture Sebastian standing there, arms crossed, jawtight, pissed at his brother for calling him out. Maybe even teaching him something new.
And despite everything, I hope he does learn something.
Because this isn’t working.
We aren’t a partnership.
Not today, anyway.
And that’s what I want. The thing my parents used to have. They were a team. Mutual respect. Two people who relied on each other.
As I stare blankly at the ceiling fan, it hits me that part of the reason my dad went off the deep end is because of what he had—and lost.
First, he drowned in grief.
Then, he searched for something to repair him.
And part of me wonders if I’m doing the same—mistaking intensity for depth. Grief for connection.
I care about Sebastian. The more time I spend with him, the more I fall for him.
But I don’t want a superficial relationship. I want something deep.
There are two big problems with Sebastian and me right now. First, he took away my agency today, silencing my voice when he took control like he knew what was best for me.
But the second is him. His heart is still locked inside a cage.
Until he trusts me enough to open up, our relationship will remain superficial.
With a sigh, I roll onto my stomach, staring at the closed door.
I didn’t slam it to punish him.
I slammed it to protectmyself.
And this time, I’m not apologizing for that.
49
SEBASTIAN
I don’t sleep.
