Emotional Crisis

I should have left.

That was the logical thing to do.

Go home.

Shower.

Drink enough water to recover from the alcohol-induced disaster that was apparently my life.

Instead, I spent another fifteen minutes standing in Ross's apartment pretending I wasn't mentally replaying every single thing he'd just said.

*I told you I'd been trying not to.*

The words refused to leave my head.

Trying not to what?

Like me?

Want me?

Think about me?

All three possibilities were equally capable of ruining my ability to function.

I hated that.

I hated that Ross had somehow managed to completely dismantle my emotional stability without even touching me.

Well.

Without touching me *much.*

My wrist suddenly felt suspiciously warm.

Which was ridiculous.

A hand touching my wrist should not have the power to alter my brain chemistry.

Yet here we were.

I shoved my arms into my jacket.

"You're staring into space again."

I looked up.

Mark stood near the couch watching me with mild concern.

Fantastic.

A witness.

"Am not."

"You absolutely are."

"Mind your business."

He smiled.

The annoying kind.

The knowing kind.

The kind people used when they knew something you desperately wanted them not to know.

Unfortunately, everyone in our friend group seemed to have mastered that expression.

Especially lately.

Mark sat beside me.

"How's the hangover?"

"Manageable."

"How's the emotional crisis?"

I nearly inhaled my own saliva.

"Excuse me?"

"The emotional crisis."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sarah."

"Mark."

He stared.

I stared back.

Neither of us blinked.

Finally he sighed.

"You know, denial only works when literally everyone around you isn't watching it happen."

"Oh, that's comforting."

"Just saying."

I groaned.

Mark laughed softly.

Unlike Dennis, who laughed like a deranged hyena, Mark always sounded warm.

Easy.

Safe.

He'd always been the person people talked to when things got complicated.

Which was probably why I found myself asking a question before I could stop myself.

"Do you think Ross hates me?"

Mark looked genuinely startled.

Then horrified.

Then amused.

All within three seconds.

"Sarah."

"What?"

"That might be the dumbest thing you've ever said."

I frowned.

"Wow."

"No, seriously."

"Rude."

Mark leaned back against the couch.

"I've known Ross for twelve years."

"Twelve years?"

"Unfortunately."

A voice from the kitchen yelled, "I HEARD THAT."

Mark ignored him.

"As I was saying, twelve years."

I crossed my arms.

"And?"

"And if Ross hated you, half of us would already be dead."

I blinked.

That seemed excessive.

Mark didn't appear to think so.

"Last month Dennis accidentally called you annoying."

"Dennis calls everyone annoying."

"Ross didn't speak to him for two days."

"What?"

"He claims it was unrelated."

I stared.

Mark stared back.

Neither of us said anything.

Then realization hit.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Very much yes."

My stomach did something alarming.

Because suddenly dozens of little moments started connecting.

Ross always appearing whenever someone bothered me.

Ross somehow noticing when I was upset before anyone else.

Ross remembering things I said months ago.

Ross watching.

Listening.

Paying attention.

The realization felt dangerous.

Like standing too close to the edge of something.

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to jump or run.

Before I could decide, Dennis entered the room carrying enough snacks to feed a small army.

"Good news."

"No," Mark said immediately.

Dennis looked offended.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"If it starts with good news, I don't trust it."

Fair.

Dennis dropped onto the armchair dramatically.

"I have obtained evidence."

I immediately became suspicious.

"What evidence?"

His grin widened.

Never a good sign.

Ever.

"Photographic evidence."

Oh no.

No no no.

Absolutely not.

"Dennis."

"Oh yes."

"Dennis."

"Oh yes."

My soul attempted to leave my body.

Ross walked into the room carrying another cup of coffee.

The second he saw Dennis's expression, he looked concerned.

Which honestly said everything.

"What did you do?"

Dennis held up his phone triumphantly.

"I documented history."

Ross closed his eyes.

Mark groaned.

I considered fleeing through a window.

Dennis opened the photo gallery.

Then turned the screen around.

And my entire body froze.

It was from the party.

A picture taken sometime late at night.

The image was slightly blurry.

Crowded.

Poorly lit.

But the people were obvious.

Ross.

And me.

My stomach immediately dropped.

Because I wasn't just standing near him.

I was practically attached to him.

One hand gripping his shirt.

The other wrapped around his arm.

Looking up at him.

Smiling.

Actually smiling.

The kind of smile I didn't realize I wore around him.

The kind that made things painfully obvious.

"Oh."

The word escaped before I could stop it.

Dennis looked far too pleased.

"Interesting, right?"

Nobody answered.

Mostly because everyone was looking at the photo.

Including Ross.

I risked a glance toward him.

Big mistake.

Huge mistake.

Because he was staring at the image too.

Not embarrassed.

Not uncomfortable.

Just... looking.

Like he was seeing something he'd already known.

The room suddenly felt too warm.

Again.

This was becoming a recurring issue.

Dennis swiped.

Another photo appeared.

And another.

And another.

Every single one somehow featured the same thing.

Me.

Near Ross.

Talking to Ross.

Looking at Ross.

Touching Ross.

My humiliation evolved into a higher state of existence.

"I hate this."

Dennis cackled.

Mark looked sympathetic.

Ross looked thoughtful.

Which was somehow worse.

"Interesting pattern," Dennis said.

"Die," I replied.

"Fair."

The final picture appeared.

And this one completely destroyed me.

Because it wasn't me looking at Ross.

It was Ross looking at me.

The image had captured a random moment.

Nothing dramatic.

Nothing obvious.

I was laughing at something off-camera.

Ross was standing beside me.

And his attention was entirely on me.

Not the crowd.

Not the party.

Not the conversation.

Just me.

The expression on his face made my heart forget its job.

It wasn't intense.

Wasn't possessive.

Wasn't dramatic.

It was worse.

It was fond.

The realization hit so hard I almost looked away.

Almost.

Then I noticed something else.

Ross had gone completely still.

The room fell quiet.

For once, even Dennis seemed to realize he'd accidentally stepped into dangerous territory.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

I could hear my own heartbeat.

Ross slowly lifted his eyes from the phone.

And looked directly at me.

The same way he had in the photograph.

The same way he'd been looking at me for months.

Like I was something important.

Like I mattered.

The air disappeared from my lungs.

And suddenly I understood why pretending had become so exhausting.

Because the truth had been sitting right in front of me all along.

And for the first time, neither of us was looking away.

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