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“Appa,” I say.

“Robby, why did you leave?”

“Are you okay? Did something happen?” I ask, ignoring her question.

“No…I mean, I’m fine. Nothing happened,” she answers. She sounds irritated, and it only confirms that I fucked up. Again.

“Why were there cops at your house? Are you turning me in even after…”

Appa interrupts me. “Is that what you think? No, God, no. A concerned follower saw bruises on my arms and called for a well-check.”

“Why do you have bruises?”

“Um, hello, you the other night?” Rook really needs to fucking die already. “Anyway, it’s fine. I told the cops that I have a boyfriend, and we like it rough. They asked if I wanted to press charges, and I said no. I didn’t mention your name. It was all a formality.” I stare at her watered-down iced coffee as she speaks. “Can you come back?” I exhale as the pressure lifts and look up at the ceiling.

Thank you, Father, for your forgiveness.

“No, you come here. Are you okay to drive?”

“Yeah, whatever, I’m fine.” She sighs into the phone. “Robby?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

We hang up, and I immediately map her address to mine. Twenty-eight minutes. The longest twenty-eight minutes of my life. I pace between the living room and kitchen, overthinking everything about this morning. Is she being honest? I fucked up over and over, and I doubt ‘she let me’ will hold up in court if she wants to flip this onto me.

But I finally snap out of it.

No, you have to trust her…and clean up your damn house.

I was in such a rush to get over to Appa’s this morning that I left dishes in the sink and my workout clothes from this morning strewn across my bed. It’s ridiculous to tidy up, but I don’t want her to think I’m a slob either. I load the dishwasher, rinsing as I go, take my worn clothes to the hamper, and clear off the counters. I keep my house decently clean, but I still leave it cluttered, especially by the end of the work week.

A quiet knock raps on my front door. I check my garage camera feed, and only Appa’s Mercedes is out front, parked next to my car. I let out a deep breath and open the front door.

“Oh, Robby!” Appa rushes in and throws her arms around me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I can’t believe you don’t trust me more than this.” She pulls back, looking up at me through eyebrows furrowed with disbelief.

“Can you blame me?” I try to keep my voice quiet to hide the anxiety that’s been pressing on my chest.

Appa reaches up and cups the side of my cheek. “Robby, I love you,” Appa says with her blue eyes steady on mine.

“Apps…”

“And I know you love me, too,” she adds, and a flicker of a smile plays on her lips. “I never needed Rook…I needed you.” As I exhale, the weight continues to lift with every breath. Appa—my dream girl. My six-year crush. Loves me. “Just tell me you love me, too.”

I pull her into my arms, placing my hand on the back of her head to hold her to me. I close my eyes and breathe in her familiar vanilla scent. “You know I do…I love you, Appa, more than you’ll ever know.”

That night, with Appa sleeping in my bed, I toss and turn beside her. I usually sleep like a baby next to her but not tonight. Because ‘ Rook has to die’ keeps flashing through my thoughts. I slip out of bed, leaving Appa sound asleep. I pull the comforter up to cover her shoulders and step into my closet to grab my gray cotton robe from its hanger. I hardly wear it, but I’m glad to have it for my plans. I reach into my watch box for the metal barbells I wore when I filmed…or when I visited Appa as someone else. I swap my usual silicone jewelry for metal. I’d love to keep them out for good, but I think she likes them too much. I walk past the bed, briefly glancing at Appa to confirm that she’s still asleep before walking down the hall to my filming room.

For the last time, I turn on my lights to create my signature lighting profile and put my phone on the tripod, pressing record like I’ve done so many times before.

This time is different.

After a deep breath, I stand in front of the tripod. I usually do a few pushups or something before I record to get my abs warmed up, but it’s not necessary this time. I swallow the bile trying to rise in my throat and loosen the belt of my robe. It falls down to pool on the floor, leaving me in my boxers. I rarely filmed in my underwear, and I’m going to crop the video where the band of the boxers meets my lower abdomen to squash any comments that I was naked.