Page 111 of True Blue

Meeting Petra almost feels like fate.

We spend the rest of the afternoon appreciating the art and giggling at the pieces we don’t understand.

She even asks me to stand in for a few test photos so she can play with the light and angles. It feels awkward at first, but Petra is so bubbly and encouraging that soon I’m doing subdued fashion poses while she directs me around the room.

And I feel myself letting my hair down—figuratively and literally—when Petra tells me to take my ponytail out and shake it free.

“Oh yes, darling, just like that—πανέμορφη!” she calls, making me genuinely throw my head back and laugh. She laughs too, then sighs dramatically. “Gisele, eat your heart out.”

“Thank you so much for this, Petra,” I say, pointing a stern finger at her. “Make sure these never see the light of day.”

“These are exclusive!” she gasps. “I would never share them. Promise…”

She holds out her pinky.

And my smile drops.

“I promise, honey.”

I flinch so hard from Teddy’s voice in my head that it’s embarrassing.

All the promises he broke.

How stupid I was to believe him.

I feel my breathing shorten, and Petra’s face melts into concern.

“Hey, hey,” she says softly. “It’s alright. What’s got you in a tizzy?”

“I would rather—er—not do that,” I stutter, feeling like an absolute idiot. Petra looks hurt for half a second, which makes me feel worse. “God, no, Petra, I’m sorry. Fuck—fuck—I don’t—shit, I’m sorry⁠—”

“Shh… Indie, it’s alright, love,” she murmurs, guiding me to a bench. She sits beside me and puts a hand on my shoulder while I force myself to breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Over and over until the burning in my chest stops.

I think I’ve been grieving Teddy for the last seven months already, but I’m reminded again that grief isn’t linear. Healing doesn’t run on a schedule. Distance is good. Escape is good.

But the hurt still lingers like a weight you don’t realize you’re carrying until something knocks you off balance.

“My ex-boyfriend used to do that,” I say finally, shaking my head to clear him away. “And he broke a lot of fucking promises, so…”

“Oh,” Petra says softly, then scoffs. “What a prick.”

Even with the pain still lodged in my chest, I laugh.

“Yeah,” I say. “That’s about right.”

A prick.

And also manipulated.

Both can exist at once.

As a doctor, I can recognize that Teddy was being manipulated by his mother. As an ex-girlfriend, I can recognize that he hurt me deeply, over and over again, and I feel so fucking angry and frustrated and irritated with him.

I love him, but I don’t trust him. I want him next to me, and I want him to stay away. I miss him, and I hate him. It’s confusing, and somehow, it’s not.

My head spins a little, and I rub at my forehead.

“Do you have any plans for tonight?” Petra asks.