Flip the Colleague [Flip Zimmerman]

Ch 18: Fallout

You stepped out of the shower and into your bedroom, towel-drying your hair as you rummaged for something to sleep in. Sara was still at work, which meant you could wander the apartment naked without consequence—one of life's small, indulgent pleasures.

Your eyes landed on one of Flip's shirts draped over the chair by your desk. You smiled, scooped it up, and pulled it around yourself, humming softly at the familiar softness. You lifted the collar to your nose and inhaled. Butterflies stirred in your stomach, a chill tracing down your spine as you closed your eyes and pictured him.

The sound of your phone ringing snapped you back to reality. You walked over to your nightstand and bit your lip with a grin when you saw his name. You had saved his number under the pseudonym Baby Daddy; a homage to his nickname for you and your nickname for him.

"It's only been ten hours, Zimmerman," you teased as you answered, still toweling your hair with one hand. "Miss me already?"

There was a pause. You heard him swallow.

"Hey," he said finally. "We need to talk."

Something in his voice stopped you cold. It was unfamiliar—flat, heavy, like it had been rehearsed.

"Okay," you said carefully. "Everything alright?"

Silence stretched between you.

"Listen... I..." Flip faltered, the words catching in his throat. He shook his head, knowing if he didn't say it now, he never would. Dragging it out would only make it worse.

"We need to end things."

You froze, breath hitching so sharply it felt like you might choke on it. "What?"

"I can't do this anymore," he said, the words heavy and final. "I don't want to do this anymore." Even as he spoke, his chest twisted painfully, guilt and resolve colliding.

"Tell me you're joking," you whispered, still reeling, shock ringing in your ears.

"No," he said quietly. "It's how I feel."

His voice was different; flat, hollow, stripped of everything that ever made it him. It was as if he'd flipped a switch, shut something down completely. Was this what he sounded like when he closed himself off from feeling?

"Well... I don't believe you," you said firmly. Your voice surprised even you. Something was wrong. This wasn't the Flip you knew.

He scoffed, the sound sharp and dismissive. Of course, you were pushing back. Of course, you were making this harder. His chest ached as he forced himself to press on. He had to be cruel if that's what it took. He had to make it seem real.

"Look," he snapped, his tone hardening, "it doesn't matter what you believe. This isn't working, and I want out. Understand?"

You sank onto the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping beneath you. Your breathing grew heavy, uneven, as disbelief gave way to something hotter- anger, sharp and burning, pooling in your chest.

"No- no, I don't understand," you shot back, your voice cracking. "I was there earlier today, Flip. We were together. We had sex. You told me you loved me. So no... I don't fucking understand. Explain yourself." Your voice rose despite your effort to control it, emotion spilling over.

Flip didn't answer.

The silence was unbearable.

It snapped something in you.

"Say it," you challenged, your voice sharp now, daring him. "Say you don't love me."

You heard his breathing change, quicker, heavier, and it only confused you more. How could everything be gone just like that? Had you missed something? Were you imagining the last few weeks? The last few months?