Page 110 of Impulse Control
He never did.
He just handed me a list and said, “I need these by Thursday.”
No tone. No inflection. Just certainty.
My punishment was over.
He trusted my output.
I told myself that meant I was valued.
I didn’t examine what it meant that I felt relieved.
The nameless girlwas already on set when I arrived.
It didn’t feel staged. It didn’t feel intentional. It didn’t feel like the universe was being cruel or poetic or anything remotely dramatic.Iwasn’t that important.
She was just… there. Leaning against a wall, laughing with one of the stylists like she’d always belonged in the background of my day.
Like she’d never left.
She noticed me at the same time I caught sight of her.
And she smiled.
Not surprised. Not awkward.
Just warm.
Just easy.
“Hey,” she said, like we were picking up a conversation we’d only paused.
“Hey,” I replied — and was mildly unsettled by the fact that my body reacted before my brain caught up.
She didn’t mention the rain check. She didn’t tease. Didn’t flirt in any way that felt pointed or strategic.
No, she just stayed close while I adjusted my camera settings, watching my hands like she was genuinely curious how the whole thing worked.
“So,” she said, soft and bright, that lilting Australian accent making even the most mundane words sound like they belonged in a travel ad. “Big weekend? You’ve got very strongI run on coffee and poor decisionsenergy.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “That bad?” I couldn’t even remember if I’d bothered with makeup that morning. I had showered — that much I was confident about — and I was pretty sure I’d brushed my hair before pulling it into a loose, messy ponytail that counted as effort in my current state.
“Bit,” she said cheerfully. “But in a heroic way. Like you’re about three deadlines away from a dramatic montage set to indie music.”
I smiled despite myself and glanced back at my camera, adjusting the strap like I needed something to do with my hands. “And you?”
She leaned her shoulder against the wall, crossing her ankles, entirely unbothered by time or expectations. “Oh, I had the most unhinged audition yesterday.”
“That already sounds promising.”
“They had me pretend I was madly in love with a man dressed as a cactus.”
I blinked, fingers still working the dials on my camera. “A… cactus.”
“Full costume,” she confirmed. “Green felt. Big googly eyes. The whole vibe was very low-budget desert rom-com.”
I adjusted the lens, checked the light, then looked back at her like my brain was still buffering. “What was the role?”
