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You owe her money. You know you do.

Not cash. Not crypto. Something worse. That thing you said you'd do and didn't. That text you left on read. That promise you made at 2 AM when you were drunk on cheap wine and ambition. She remembers. Her hair remembers. Every strand is a receipt you never asked for.

The turtleneck is not fashion. It is armor. She zipped it up to her chin because she is done with your excuses. The neck is hidden because she knows you would try to kiss it. You would. Admit it. You would try to charm your way out of this with compliments and she is not having it.

The eyes are red because she has been staring at your nonsense for so long the color drained out. She started with brown. Then hazel. Then "I am disappointed but I still believe in you." Now? Now it is laser. Now it is "I have calculated exactly how much time I wasted and I am billing you for it."

She is not angry. Anger is hot. Anger leaves. This is cold. This is permanent. This is the look your bank account gives you at 3 AM. This is the look your gym membership gives you in February. This is the look your mother gives you when you say "I'll call back" and she knows you won't.

"Pay her. Pay her now. The interest is your sanity."