It's So Izzy

Rory's pov~

My chest feels tight, my heart hammering as if I've just run a marathon.

Veronica.

She had always been more of a shadow than a person. Someone who lingers in the background of his life like a faded tattoo he can't quite scrub away. And now, she's here, real and intimidatingly perfect.

The sound of their voices carries faintly through the thin walls, but I can't make out the words. It's maddening. I press my ear to the door, straining to hear anything that might give me a clue about what's happening.

They're not shouting, at least. But the low, even tones of their conversation somehow feel worse than a screaming match. There's an intimacy to it, like they're two people who know exactly how to hurt each other but have decided not to-for now.

I pace the room, running my fingers through my hair. Every worst-case scenario plays out in my head like a highlight reel. What if she's here to get him back? What if he wants to go back? What if he already regrets... us?

I try to shake the thought, but it lingers like a bad taste in my mouth.

Minutes crawl by like hours. Finally, I hear the front door open and close, followed by silence. My heart leaps into my throat.

I wait a beat, then another, before stepping out of the bedroom. Izzy's sitting on the couch, leaning back with his eyes closed and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He doesn't acknowledge me right away, and for a moment, I just stand there, taking him in.

"What did she want?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intended.

He opens one eye, then sighs, flicking ash into the tray on the table. "Nothing you need to worry about."

The nonchalance in his tone sets me off. "Nothing I need to worry about? Are you kidding me?"
"Rory..." He rubs his temples like I'm already exhausting him.

"No, don't 'Rory' me! She just shows up out of nowhere, and you're acting like it's not a big deal?"

"Because it's not," he snaps, sitting up straighter. "She needed to talk. That's all."

"About what?"

He hesitates, and that hesitation feels like a slap. "Just... stuff. Old stuff. It doesn't matter."

I cross my arms, my nails digging into my skin. "If it doesn't matter, then why couldn't I stay in the room? Why did you have to have your little private moment with her?"

He stares at me, his jaw tightening. "Because it wasn't about you, Rory."

"Oh, so now I'm just not part of your life? Is that it?"

"Jesus Christ," he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. "You're twisting this into something it's not."

"Am I?" My voice cracks, but I barrel on. "She walks in here like she owns the place, like she still owns you, and I'm just supposed to sit back and smile and pretend like it doesn't bother me?"

He stands up suddenly, towering over me. "You're making something out of nothing. She's my ex. Ex, Rory. That means past tense. Get it?"

"Then why does it feel like she still has a piece of you?"
The words hang in the air, heavy and accusatory. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of guilt in his eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it came.

"You're being ridiculous," he says flatly, his voice colder than I've ever heard it. "This isn't about her. This is about you. You're insecure, and instead of dealing with it, you're dumping it on me."