“I FUCKING HATE YOU BOTH!” I hear Neda yell out.

“I’M SORRY!” I yell back.

I try to distract myself by perusing the internet, but apparently, there’s no helpful step-by-step BuzzFeed article on how to soothe your older sister after you’ve just told her that you had a very brief and uncomfortable kiss with her boyfriend. Maybe if we get through this in one piece, I can be the person who writes one.

“Neda,” I call out, more softly this time. “I swear I never meant for you to get hurt.”

It’s the truth, but it’s also a lie. I’ve known all along that if I got what I wanted, then my sister was going to get hurt. So I just tried my best not to want it.

My phone pings loudly with the typewriter sound—the text alert I’ve assigned to Gideon—and almost immediately, my palms start to sweat and my heart races. The sound effect goes off so frequently and quickly that it almost feels aggressive. With every click and clack, I can almost sense his need to unload on me. The panic creeps up my spine, and I don’t know what to do. I can’t yell for my family, but I don’t want to go through another panic attack alone.

Breathe, I tell myself. It’s one of my least favorite pieces of advice when it comes to my anxiety—second only to “stop drinking coffee.” I could take deep breaths and stick to decaf, but the world would still be a terrifying pit of uncertainty, and death could still be right around the corner. You know what would really help my anxiety go away? If we made the world a better place, reversed climate change, and figured out a way we could all live forever. But for right now, I guess breathing is my best option. It takes a few long and slow inhales and exhales to stave off the panic, and once I feel a little bit calmer, I pick up my phone and check Gideon’s messages.

Gideon

WTF, Parisa.

How could you do this to me?

How could you tell your sister?

You’re such a bitch.

You’re the one who pursued me. I’m gonna tell Neda everything.

Maybe therapy has helped me evolve. Normally, a string of texts like this would have resulted in me lying on the floor in the fetal position, sobbing from shame. But Gideon actually did me a favor by lashing out. His texts make me realize that I did the right thing by being honest with Neda. It wasn’t just about absolving myself, it was about making sure my sister knew that she was with someone who didn’t deserve an ounce of her love and devotion.

I bang on her door three times—as loudly as I can.