Page 151 of Impulse Control
An unknown number.
My stomach flipped.
I shouldn’t answer.
I did anyway.
“Hi,” a voice said.
Soft. Bright.
That accent that made everything sound like sunlight.
“Hi,” I managed, too quickly, too breathless.
“I know you’re always running,” she said, almost amused, like she could hear it in my silence. “But I’m standing outside the café nearyourmétro stop.”
My stop? How did she know it wasmystop? My pulse went sharp. “Why?”
A pause. A small laugh.
“Because,” she said, “I’m trying something new. Asking for what I want.”
The street around me blurred slightly, like my brain couldn’t decide what to focus on.
“What do you want?” I asked, voice too tight.
“I want you to sit for ten minutes,” she said. “That’s all. Ten. No drink. No rain check. Just… you. Me. Sitting. Existing.”
My chest tightened painfully.
Ten minutes.
Dominic wanted five.
She wanted ten.
René wanted ten images.
Mischa wantedmeas the project.
My calendar wanted obedience.
I stood on the sidewalk with the cold air biting my cheeks as my whole week tilted toward something.
My phone buzzed again.
Dominic calling.
Two incoming at once.
Two directions.
Two versions of me.
I stared at the screen until it felt like a test I’d failed before I chose anything.
And then, because my body apparently had its own priorities?—
