Page 46 of Falling Off Script

“Emily Parrish,” I mutter.

And then I freeze.

Where did that come from?

I haven’t thought about her in—days. Maybe. Not obsessively.

Just... normally.

I stare up at the ceiling again, like it might have a transcript.

Nothing. Just that same weightless, wrong-side-out feeling.

Like I missed something.

Or something missed me.

I stand. Espresso number three.

Maybe a walk.

Not because I care.

Just because I can’t remember the dream doesn’t mean it didn’t want something from me.

21. Emily

“So, first of all,” I say, flopping onto the couch like it personally owes me emotional backpay, “I know I skipped a session. And yes, I’m aware avoidance is not a strategy.”

Dr. Lisa gives me the therapist face. The warm, nonjudgmental one that sayscontinue, sinner.

She looks, as always, like she’s just returned from a wellness retreat where the robes are silk and the drama is subtle. Her silver-streaked hair falls in soft waves past her shoulders, framing a face that has clearly made a pact with time. High cheekbones, olive skin that glows without highlighter, and eyes the color of espresso behind stylish glasses—sharp, unblinking, and way too good at calling bullshit.

“I’m glad you made it in today,” she says, her voice low and smooth like she practices on NPR narrations. “What feels important to bring into the room?”

That’s classic Lisa. She doesn’t push. She invites. And damn it, I always RSVP eventually.

I sigh. “Okay, so... There’s this man I want to talk about. Let’s call him Adrian. I totally hate him. He’s like if a TED Talk and a cologne ad had a baby, and that baby was raised exclusively on Joe Rogan clips.”

She nods. “And what’s your relationship to him?”

“Public nemesis,” I say. “I did a reaction video to one of his clips—well, technically a takedown, but it was fair—and then we ended up on a panel together. And now the internet is betting on whether we hook up before the end of the year.”

“I see,” she says gently.

“And also,” I add, “he’s been showing up in my dreams. Uninvited. Repeatedly. Doing things to me that are... not appropriate for a woman who once called him a human equivalent of a gym selfie.”

Lisa pauses. “How long has that been happening?”

“Three dreams in the past week,” I say. I lean forward, voice low and panicked. “He’s winning in my subconscious, Lisa. This is psychological warfare.”

Dr. Lisa adjusts her glasses. She has the kind of calm that makes you want to throw a chair just to get a reaction.

“Tell me more.”

I hesitate. Then blurt, “Like, today he showed up wearing a tank top that said ‘I WIN’.”

“And?”

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