Page 133 of Role Play
“Complicated?” Daphne snorts, tucking one leg beneath her as she settles back into the couch. “Girl, our senior calculus final was complicated. This is a whole new zip code of disaster.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. Leave it to Daphne to find the perfect imagery for my catastrophe.
“So what are you going to do?” she asks, her voice gentler now, tracing the rim of her wineglass with a manicured finger. “I mean, about tonight and…everything.”
“What can I do? I signed up for this. I don’t have the right to demand he change his entire life for me.”
“Maybe not,” Daphne says carefully, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with maternal tenderness. “But you have the right to decide what you can live with.”
My fingers trace the pattern on the throw pillow, following the loops and swirls like they might lead me somewhere better than here. The fireplace emits a gentle, electric glow, a poor substitute for real flames but warming nonetheless. The shadows it casts dance across the wall, a choreography of light and dark that mimics the war in my heart.
“I can’t live with this,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “The thought of him with someone else—” My voice breaks, and I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat. “It’s killing me, Daph. I keep imagining it—his hands on someone else, his lips, his body. I keep wondering if he likes it. If he’s gentle with them the way he is with me. If he says the same things. If he means them.”
“Did you tell him that?” she asks, her fingers now making small, comforting circles on my knee.
“No.” I shake my head, causing a tear to escape and slide down my cheek. I brush it away angrily. “How could I? ‘Hey, I know we’re not officially dating, but could you give up your livelihood because I’m jealous?’ I’d sound like every possessive, controlling girlfriend cliché in the book.”
“Or maybe you’d sound like someone who knows her own boundaries. Someone who values herself enough to ask for what she needs.” Daphne takes my hands in hers, her skin warm against my cold fingers. “Look, I’ve watched you shrink yourself for years. Take up less space. Apologize for existing. Shrivel under every single trollish criticism. But, Sora, this isn’t about controlling him. It’s about being honest with yourself. This isyourlife. You need to live it in a way you won’t regret. That means silencing some things, but roaring others into existence.You’ll get more out of life the very minute you decide youdeservemore.”
The truth of her words hits me like a physical blow. I’ve spent so much of my life trying to be small enough not to inconvenience anyone, flexible enough to bend around other people’s needs without breaking. I’ve made an art form out of accommodating.
“What if honesty costs me everything?” I whisper, voicing my deepest fear. The words hang heavy with implication. There’s always the chance that everything I’m feeling between me and Forrest was fabricated. He promised me book-worthy moments. And I got them.But were they just stories?Are his feelings for me fiction or fact?
“What if dishonesty costs you yourself?” Daphne counters, her gaze unflinching. “Besides, this isn’t just about Forrest anymore, is it? It’s about Dakota too.”
At the mention of Dakota’s name, my chest tightens. Her sweet face appears in my mind—that tiny-toothed smile, those eyes that light up when I enter a room. The way she called me “Mommy” by accident, the memory still fresh enough to make my heart ache with a mixture of joy and terror.
“I think I love her too,” I say simply, the words inadequate to express the depth of feeling that’s developed in such a short time. “I wasn’t prepared for that. For how fast it happened.”
“Yeah, well, your ovaries are ripe. You would’ve fallen in love with his pet possum if he brought that along. This was really just a perfect storm, babes,” Daphne says with a sad smile, squeezing my hands. “You’re in love. The real, messy, terrifying kind. Not the sanitized version romance novels sell.”
A montage of shitty reviews runs through my mind. Notmylackluster reviews, but the ones that would come out if Forrest and I were a love story on page.He’s a cheater—one star.Reformed playboy, I hate that trope—one star.Naive, pick-me heroine—one star.
But then it hits me all at once…
I’d do for Forrest what I’m not allowed to do for my books. I’d stand up, clap back, and fervently defend him. I’d ask everyone who doesn’t understand or can’t relate to kindly sit down and shut up, because it doesn’t matter how they feel about my love story. It matters how I feel. It matters what I want. I’d rather live a life in denial, full of hope, than allow the critics of the world to drench my books with their cynicism.
My story. My life.
“I have to stop him,” I declare. I scramble for my phone on the coffee table.
“Thankfuck,” Daphne exhales.
There’s a momentary gleam of hope as I dial, preparing a monologue in my mind about how I’m in this with him. We’ll figure it out together. I might be able to cover a portion of Dakota’s tuition. I’ll write more books. Hell, I’ll take a job in finance if I have to, and write on the side. Whatever means necessary to keep our little odd ohana from being ripped apart.
Except his phone is off.
“Straight to voicemail,” I mutter, shocked, as if the phone grew hands and slapped me across the face. “And I have no idea where he is.”
“Glitch,” Daphne says, her voice suddenly authoritative. “Try again.”
And I do. Two more times for good measure. Each call goes straight to voicemail. Forrest shut his phone off…because he’s busy.
Daphne knows what images are going through my mind without me needing to paint a word picture. I slump back into the couch, defeated. “Shit,” I whisper. “What was I thinking?”
“You’ve survived one hundred percent of your bad days, babes. You’re going to survive this too,” Daph says, but the pained expression she’s wearing vehemently disagrees. It almost looks like her heart is breaking as well.
Outside, a light rain begins to fall, pattering against the windows like hesitant fingertips. The brownstone creaks and sighs, a living thing holding its secrets.
