Page 142 of Disarm
Caleb looks at me, eyes wide. “And?”
“And I… didn’t have an answer,” I say.
Something flickers across his face—sadness, guilt, something in between. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“Hey.” I tap his knee. “None of that. This isn’t your fault. I signed up for the role. Took it. Wore it like a damn badge.”
“That doesn’t mean I didn’t take advantage of it,” he says quietly. “Even if I didn’t mean to.”
“Maybe sometimes you leaned a little hard,” I say. “But you got handed a brain that tries to kill you on Tuesdays. You’re allowed to lean. The problem isn’t you needing me. It’s me thinking I have to be the only one you lean on.”
He bites his lip. “So… what does this mean?” he asks. “In practical terms. Are you… going to stop answering when I call? Because I?—”
“No,” I cut in. “Absolutely not. Don’t even let your brain finish that sentence.”
Caleb exhales, his shoulders dropping a fraction.
“It means…” I think for a second, trying to pare Luis’s therapist-speak down into something that fits in my mouth. “It means when I get scared, I’m gonna try not to immediately go to DEFCON 1. It means maybe we figure out a rule, like if you’re going on an away game, you send me the word even if your phone’s at one percent.”
Caleb nods slowly. “I can do that,” he says. “That actually… helps me, too. Gives me something concrete.”
“And it means,” I add, “if I’m fried and you’re spiraling, I’m gonna tell you, ‘Hey, I’m here, but my brain’s also not great. Can we also loop in someone else? Maybe mom. Dr. Kaur. A hotline.’ Not drop you. Just… share the load.”
His eyes get shiny. “You’re allowed,” he says. “To say that. I don’t want to be the reason you… end up in a waiting room filling out the same forms as me.”
“I already filled them out,” I smirk. “We’re matching now. Cute couple activity.”
He laughs, a wet sound, and wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What did he say about my dad?” he asks. “Did you… talk about him?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Told him about Lawyer Dad wanting to have a little chat with us. He asked if I felt responsible for how your dad reacts.”
“You do,” Caleb says softly.
“Yeah,” I admit. “I do. That if he flips and cuts you off, that’s gonna be put on me. Even if it’s bullshit.”
“And what did he say?” Caleb asks.
“That it’s not my job to manage your dad’s feelings,” I say. “That I’m allowed to have limits in that conversation, too. We talked about setting some lines before we even talk to him. Stuff we’re not willing to answer, stuff we are. And the option to say, ‘We’re done for tonight’ if he starts poking at you like a lab experiment.”
Caleb stares at our hands. “That feels… illegal,” he says. “To tell my dad we’re done.”
“It’s not,” I say. “It’s called a boundary. They’re free. You should try them sometime.”
He snorts, the sound a little shaky. “You really think we could… hang up?”
“If he starts hurting you on purpose?” I say. “Yeah. I do. And if you freeze, I’ll do it. I’m not gonna sit there and watch him twist you up so he feels better about himself.”
His throat works. “You’re really not scared of him, huh?” he says.
“Oh, I’m terrified of him,” I say honestly. “But I’m more terrified of you walking out of that conversation believing his worst-case version of you.”
Caleb’s eyes shine again. He leans in, resting his forehead against my temple.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
“For what?” I ask.
“For going,” he says. “For letting someone… look at your wiring. For… not just white-knuckling it because you think that’s what loving me requires.”
