Page 149 of Love Me Stalk Me
"I—" I start, then stop. Because I was about to apologize.
Again.
I was about to say, I'm sorry you felt that way.
I'm sorry? For what? For his feelings?
"I didn't mean to make you feel like that," I say carefully. "I just thought it would be easier to talk here. Privately."
Evan rolls his eyes. "Whatever." He drops into the chair across from my desk, slouching like he owns the place, like this is his office, not mine.
"What did you want to talk about?" He pulls his phone out of his pocket, already starting to scroll, showing me exactly how much this conversation matters to him.
I take a breath, the air filling my lungs with what feels like my last moment of peace.
Here I go.
"I think we should break up."
His head snaps up, his brow furrows, and then he laughs. A short, laugh of disbelief. "Oh my God," he says. "Are you on your period or something? You're being super emotional right now." He turns back to his phone, dismissing my words entirely.
I stiffen. But I don't let myself react. Not this time. "No. I just think this is right. We haven't beenworking for a while."
He puts his phone down now and narrows his eyes. "Oh, so this is my fault?"
I don’t respond, but that only causes his irritation to grow. "You think you're so fucking perfect, Izzy?" His voice rises.
"That's not what I?—"
"You're the one who's been pulling away. You're the one who's been acting weird. You don't even try anymore."
I watch him twist my words, flip the narrative, and make me the villain. Before, I would have crumbled under this pressure, second-guessing myself until I apologized for things I never did wrong. I would have believed I was throwing away something precious, something I was lucky to have at all.
But that pattern breaks today. I see through his tactics with startling clarity. The gaslighting doesn't cloud my judgment anymore.
"You're gaslighting me," I say, voice flat.
"Excuse me?" His words are slow as he leans forward, eyes narrowing dangerously.
"You're gaslighting me, Evan. Right now."
He laughs again, but it's forced. "Jesus, where did you even learn that word? From one of your little girl-boss self-help books?"
"I mean it," I say. "This is over."
His expression shifts. And suddenly, the anger is back.
Real anger.
Not just annoyance.
Not just manipulation.
Real, boiling rage. His face flushes crimson, a vein pulsing at his temple like it might burst.
He stands up abruptly and I tense, my heart starting to pound. Then he walks to the door. I think maybe he's leaving and this is over. But then, he locks it. I hear the metallic click as it slides into place, the sound of my escape route closing.
I take a small step back, the edge of my desk pressing against the back of my thighs. "Evan," I say carefully.
