Page 156 of Impulse Control
“You don’t even have to look,” she said, almost gently. “I can see it.”
I didn’t argue. I glanced down anyway.
NOOR – PORTFOLIO REVIEW NOTES
FRANKIE – ALBUM COVER IDEAS
MISCHA – TERM PROJECT: FIRST SET
RENÉ – 10 IMAGES DUE FRIDAY
My chest tightened as if the words were hands.
I locked my phone and set it face down. The gesture felt more symbolic. It also felt like a lie. But it was something.
“I have to go,” I said, too quickly.
Her expression didn’t shift. “Okay.”
I stood, slinging my camera bag back over my shoulder like armor. My chair scraped too loud against the floor. It sounded like urgency.
She stayed seated, watching me with maddening calm.
“Thank you,” I added, because I didn’t know what else to do with the fact that she’d asked for me and gotten me.
“For what?” she asked.
“For… making me sit,” I said, and a bitter laugh tugged at my mouth. “You’re terrifying.”
She smiled. “I’ve been called worse.”
I hesitated, fingers tightening on the strap. “I’m not trying to?—”
She held up a hand, the same gesture René used, the same clean interruption.
“No justifying,” she said, and the echo of René made my stomach flip. Then her tone softened. “I’m not mad, Rachel.”
The use of my name hit like a jolt.
I froze.
She didn’t look smug about it. Didn’t look like she’d been waiting to deploy it. She just looked… tired of pretending the thing we both knew wasn’t real.
My mouth went dry. “You?—”
She tilted her head. “It’s on the call sheet.”
Right.
Of course it was.
It had been there, printed in black ink, available every single time I’d looked away. I felt oddly exposed, like she’d caught me doing something childish in public.
“I—” My voice snagged. “I didn’t?—”
“I know,” she said, and her smile gentled. “You don’t want to name me.”
The way she said it made it sound like she understood exactly why. Like she’d done the same thing in reverse—keptmeas a concept instead of a person so she didn’t have to carry consequences.
