Page 176 of Obey

From where I sit at the counter, I can see everything I dragged out of the penthouse before sunrise.

Two suitcases stand beside the couch, one still half-zipped because I stopped caring halfway through packing. Garment bags hang from the back of Trey’s dining chairs. Cypress’s carrier is wedged beneath the window beside three reusable shopping bags full of shoes.

His old scratching post leans crookedly against the wall, and he has not touched it.

Apparently, once a cat has experienced custom-built luxury, particleboard and carpet remnants become an insult.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I mutter. “I understand you’ve been displaced from your penthouse.”

Cypress blinks at me, then screams again just as Trey walks into the kitchen carrying a bright blue plastic storage bin. He looks at Cypress, looks at me, then towards the pile of my belongings taking over his apartment.

“Well,” Trey says, looking from me to the cat. “One of you is handling this transition with dignity.”

Trey sets the bin on the floor and crosses to the refrigerator. He’s wearing gray sweatpants, a faded college T-shirt, and the expression of a man who has been trying to make me laugh since I showed up at his door with swollen eyes and enough luggage to suggest I was fleeing the country.

He pulls out a carton of eggs.

“How do you feel about breakfast?”

“Not even a little interested.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, that’s not an acceptable answer in this house.” Then he turns on my cat. “And you. I cannot build you a cat penthouse; I rent. Best I can offer is a cardboard box near the radiator and one of those little hanging window beds.”

Cypress stares at him with naked contempt.

A laugh escapes me, small and thin. But it’s the first one since my world was tilted on its head. Trey glances over his shoulder, satisfaction flashing across his face before he wisely pretends not to notice.

“Today, we’ll be preparing heartbreak eggs. They’re like regular eggs, except aggressively seasoned and served with a side of legally questionable revenge.”

“Trey.”

“What? I said questionable, not actionable.”

“Trey, I’m fine.”

He turns off the burner and comes around the counter to stand in front of me. “No, you’re not, Slo, and you don’t have to pretend to be either. Not here.”

That’s all it takes.

My vision blurs, and I hate the immediate sting of it. Hate that one second I’m sitting upright and breathing, and the next my whole body just gives up on the idea.

“I really thought—” My voice breaks as the first sob tears out of me so violently it almost feels like choking. Trey steps between my knees and pulls me against him before I can finish.

“I know, baby,” he says.

“I trusted them.”

“Of course you did.” Trey holds me tighter.

“They made space for me. A room. That ridiculous condo for Cypress. They kept telling me I belonged there.” My throat tightens. “And the whole time, they never trusted me.”

Trey says nothing for a while. He just lets me cry into his shirt, one hand cradling the back of my head while the other rubs firm, grounding circles between my shoulder blades.

Eventually, the sobs lose their force. They turn into shallow, uneven breaths that scrape on the way in. Trey reaches for a paper towel from the counter and presses it into my hand.

“This is disrespectful,” I say, my voice muffled against his shirt.

“What is?”