stormy @frankensteinsicarus - Tumblr Blog

Mar 12

Second reason (pt. II)

Summary : You take a week off your new job, amidst admiring the life you've built after leaving the secret service. Part 2 of Second reason that no one asked for. Few years later.

Pairing : RE4 Leon! × Fem Reader

Tags : (sighs) angst, unreliable narrator, hurt/comfort, slight smut, moderate strong language, OCD descriptions, PTSD, disordered eating, animal death (mention), depression, alcoholism, fertility issues, paranoia, stalking, dub-con (if you squint real hard), family planning, emotional cheating.

Word count: 20.3k

A/N: This is just something that crawled out of me for no reason at all, I kept getting those random questions about the story in my head and wrote some answers down.

Special thanks to @writingwisterias for encouraging this, @purplerosebouquet for the original request. @coeurbrule, @badwer @marymustdie, @cheesywedgy for motivation and everyone who liked the first part, it means A LOT actually.

Zero point two meters, zero point one meter, zero point one meter, zero point one meter, stop- stop- stop- stop- stop-

Road rage was not something you exhibited often, but when it happened, it was mostly caused by your own inability to park. Or as you liked to convince yourself, the inability to park of others. Maybe if people were a little more considerate, you would have zero problems getting into the spot, but since every other driver assumed their Nissan deserved two parking spaces instead of one, you had to go an extra mile (sometimes literally) just to get out of the vehicle and go on with your day.

With your evening, in this case. But it was an important evening, nothing extravagant, but your boyfriend was about to leave for a long work trip in the morning and wanted you to spend a night at his place. He’d be waking up earlier than you, so you couldn’t block his driveway with your car and had to park nearby, which was a problem. You were used to dropping your car off by your apartment complex where you had a designated spot just for you, that didn’t block anything for anyone because it was designed this way. This is how things were supposed to be, designed to be easier.

You killed the engine and let out a frustrated huff through your nose. You had a perfectly good day, nothing got in the way of your routine, but you kept noticing a collection of small irritating details getting bigger and bigger on the top shelf of your mind. It started with your morning coffee leaving an aftertaste akin to sewer water, continued throughout the day with your pens not cooperating and a damn flash card taking too long to load your presentation, which caused you to stand in front of students (who were not much younger than you, so the pressure to be at least presentable was high), then your heel bent weirdly at one point, the sensation of unsteadiness that lasted a second, caused you to feel…, well, unsteady, for the rest of the day. On top of it all you met an annoying colleague in the hallway at work, right when another colleague, who did not like the one you were talking to, was walking by and saw it; now she will assume you were the one who fed that guy information that cost her a position at the department, when all that pest wanted to chat about was the cafeteria changing the type of chocolate they put in their cookies. You were not friendly enough with the girl you now had to win back at your side, so it was vexing. And the damn parking. You almost forgot about how you had to prove to the café manager that Riley was a service animal at noon, and while it wasn’t a big deal, it surely added to the pile.

Riley was patiently waiting for you to finish actively hating on everything under the sun so you could go out and meet your boyfriend with a smile on your face and an easy-going attitude that he deserved to witness before departing. Your boyfriend, your fiancé, it was complicated.

You rubbed small circles above your eyebrows and got out of the car, Riley happily following you down the suburban street. So much space everywhere, yet you couldn’t park anywhere because it just wasn’t allowed and it wasn’t how it was done. The gates made no sound as you opened them, you sent Riley to play in the yard with a quick command and entered the house with a spare key you rarely used, but since you were late as it was, you didn’t think to wait longer.

You greeted your boyfriend with a small kiss, falling into his toned arms, smiling at his dissatisfied noises as he kissed you more. The dinner that he had prepared went cold, but it was destined to regardless of your tardiness, since your greeting kiss would’ve led you to the bedroom in every possible scenario.

You only remembered the dinner, as you were drying your hair with a towel sitting on top of a large soft bed, hunger crawling its way into your stomach after a very passionate welcome. It seemed to be the case with him as well, but, perhaps, a hunger of a different kind.

“Don’t!” – you smiled and shifted away, he matched the smile and began to pull you in with one hand, tugging the robe with another, kissing the bared shoulder, “I’m so serious, Jim, I have an expensive lotion on.”

“I’ll buy you more” – he kept placing kisses all over your shoulder, moving to the collarbones, - “You smell so good”.

“It’s the lotion,” – you tried your best to keep your smile from growing bigger, - “it’s expensive.”

He laughed into your neck, - “You sure? Let me check,” – his lips sucking in sensitive skin, awaking the arousal, hands disrobing you to get a hold of your chest, pinching a nipple with just enough pressure to make sure you won’t be falling asleep without another round, - “Yeah, seems expensive.” – he affirmed, voice hoarse behind the humor.

After the second shower, you both sat in the kitchen, eating cold dinner with your hands.

“This is good,” – you put a slice of something that looked like a sweet potato covered in sauce in your mouth, closing your eyes as you tasted different spices. You still didn’t get accustomed to his vegan cooking, but hunger made everything enjoyable; there was a possibility it was actually good for a change.

“As long as you keep in mind that it was better hot,” – Jim said, - “I will take this compliment.”

You let yourself melt into the relaxing atmosphere. It was rare you got to do something like this, both busy at work, and when you weren’t you had a million arrands to run. Today though, even the thought of your little date stealing precious time from your sleep didn’t disturb the tranquility.

The upcoming week promised to be turbulent at best. Jim would be gone, attending some conference he was sent to, you had to drive Riley to the vet and leave her there for a few days, since she needed a checkup and you had to finish renovating your apartment before selling it, all the chemicals not safe for a dog. Jim kindly proposed that you could stay at his place and renovate later, get a week off work and deal with the apartment during the day, coming back to his place in the evening. But you knew he didn’t like the idea of Riley being inside the house, you had to make him comfortable with the reality of living with a dog when he was present, so there won’t be any resentment down the line; generally speaking, it was a nice offer, but it wouldn’t change much, it would just complicate everything.

You’ll get a week off, may be more, leave Riley at the vet clinic, work on the apartment in peace and when he comes back, you won’t have to burden him with your problems.

The sun was softly pressuring your eyes to give in and open, gradually shinning brighter and brighter, light muffled by see-through curtains. You woke up alone, your boyfriend already departed, his red car nowhere to be seen along with the suit he prepared for the conference. It felt strange being in his house without him. Something you’ll have to get used to since you’ll be moving in together soon.

Weekends were the worst, because they disrupted a routine. It’s harder in a new environment, ‘It’s going to be harder without Riley’ – you thought to yourself, rubbing your eyebrows. Overnight moisturizer grinding into little pellets; the sensation gave you something to focus on without letting too much thoughts in too early in the day.

You were ready for this. It’s been three years since you started therapy (EMDR worked wonders). Ready to spend time alone without Riley, ready to move out and move in, ready for a new day. Your anxiety about it was the biggest saboteur, since you never had issues when you weren’t deeply aware of the impending doom. But acknowledging it alone didn’t help. You had to be cautious, but not too cautious, not so you start listening to every sound your ears could pick up.

Jim had a very clean looking kitchen that was always messy for some vegan reason. It was always something scattered around, some peas in the corners of every surface, little rice grains, grey looking powder. He always mentioned how it’s dry thus not a big deal and that when you actually cook your food with multiple ingredients it’s bound to happen. It truly wasn’t a big deal, cleaning it up was peaceful in a way. He also preferred ‘real tea’ so he boiled water in one of those steel kettles on a gas stove. It made an alarming whistling sound when water came to a boil, so you put up the whistling part. That wasn’t a sound you’d like to hear.

The truth was, it wasn’t just Riley and Jim’s conference trip that set you off to be this aware of your surroundings. You dealt just fine with small changes in the routine and different environments, despite what your therapist suggested, it even helped to feel more in control.

Big changes are what irked you the most. First time it happened two years ago, when you decided to quit working at the rehabilitation center and applied to the university, not the best position but you needed the minimum of three years of experience on top of your degree to submit your thesis. And you haven’t even started working on figuring out what your project was going to be about. Imposter syndrome did not help one bit. It would take years to work on, write, apply and submit. If you wanted a PhD by late thirties, you had to get yourself together now. So, there was no time to waste working at the center, even though the job was rewarding, you liked helping people you could relate to, your own triggers kept you from getting too involved, which was necessary.

Besides everything, sheltering yourself was not the best strategy, so you quit. Getting used to a new job was somewhat challenging, but you got through it. This time the big change creeped in slowly: your boyfriend decided to propose.

Well, it wasn’t a big gesture, and according to him wouldn’t change much. You met at the rehabilitation center where you worked before quitting. He was a physiotherapist, seven years older than you, a good family, patient when it came to people, strong hands, thick dark hair. Asked you out on the spot, you hesitated, but figured you needed a distraction from a harsh breakup anyway. Well, the breakup wasn’t harsh, but you had a hard time dealing with consequences.

Jim was patient with you and soon you found yourself in a symbiotic relationship, he was always there when you needed to discuss something, he wasn’t possessive and gave you space. So, he understood when you hesitated accepting his proposal. You were still in your twenties; you were comfortable with the relationship that you had. But his family was pressuring him, and he told you that it didn’t mean that you had to get married. A shut-up-ring but for his family, as you joked. It made sense; he was in his thirties with a demanding job. His final argument broke through your defense – “Do you consider leaving?”. You did not. Then why does it matter, since marriage was a goal eventually anyway. Not now, but eventually. This is what the proposal was, just an ‘eventually’. The ‘we’ll get married down the line, someday’ message to his family, to everyone.

It started to dawn on you that you were the last to get that message. At first you didn’t pay it any mind, everything stayed the same; you didn’t even wear the ring. But soon you noticed your thoughts circle back to the idea every time you noticed something that stood out.

You kept thinking ‘I’ll have to live with this forever’ every time you saw the mess in his kitchen. ‘This is going to be about our kitchen.’ Someday. That ‘someday’ was the real reason for your anxiety. You thought about raising kids with him, would he insist on them being vegan? He never cared about your eating habits, offered to try his food, different alternatives every once in a while, but nothing extreme. But it would be different with kids. You weren’t proud of your thoughts, but a habit of scaring yourself in preparation for the worst remained your most trusted ally.

You thought about kids before, just after you got away from the secret service slavery. Sitting at the doctor’s office; you recall the regret of having a memory from high school of the day you first learned that you lost your period from intense exercise. Back then it made you feel better about yourself. You found some twisted pride in knowing that your student athlete career (that landed you a spot at the university) closed the door for a quiet life. Like the universe accepted your choice to never have a proper family. The consequences only revealed themselves later in life. You felt cheated.

It wasn’t like you wanted kids at the time as well, but sometimes you caught yourself wondering. So, you followed every recommendation like the most obedient soldier; took all the pills, strict dietary plans, check-ups. There was so much comfort in gaining the possibility back, like the universe leading you back to that hallway, full of doors to open. It wasn’t about kids, it was about having a choice, having a future you can still bend.

That fixation faded once your ex walked out on you. Or once you threw him out. Depends on how you wanted to view the story in the moment of reminiscing. But it didn’t matter, because you were not reminiscing. What mattered is that you got out of the frenzy and the subject of having kids never entered your mind again.

The subject of having kids never entered your mind when you got together with Jim, you did not think of it throughout your relationship. Mainly because it was too early. But now when you were technically engaged under the premise of agreeing that you did not want to break up in the future anyway, that meant that any kids you will have will be with him. Makes sense? And that was not something you were prepared to even think about.

It wasn’t that he wasn’t a good candidate, but God, even thinking about him as a candidate was weird. Thinking of anyone as a ‘candidate’ was weird. It was weird thinking about kids. You felt like a teenager who was harassed by older relatives at the family function. But those older relatives were your own thoughts, and you were not a teenager anymore, despite feeling like one sometimes.

Jim was nice, attractive and healthy. Good hairline, straight teeth, amazing personality, stable job, big family. Built a perfect relationship to set an example. You just needed time to grow comfortable with that thought. Reality was a bit more complicated than him being decent as an individual, unfortunately. Would he insist on his family being involved in the lives of your children? The mere idea of that was suffocating; it’s not that you disliked them, but you were not comfortable with handling relationships with someone outside of the people you picked. And you did not pick them. His family liked you. You suspected they were having their issues with you, but no one is perfect and no one is going to like everything about you anyway.

When he told his parents that you were engaged, they looked happy. Later you overheard him talking about you to his mother, Jim said that he’s glad she’s happy because you’re truly the best girl, and she agreed, said “She knows how to play the role”. That comment rubbed you the wrong way, but you knew she didn’t mean it like that. His mother disliked your past in the ‘military’, disliked how career oriented you were, and despite all of it, she accepted you. Refused to be mean from the start and gave you a chance. You were grateful for it. After all, she’s just a mother who wants the best for her child. You would want the best for your kids as well. Would you want them to have a life like this? Would you want them at all?

A strong smell pulled you out of these thoughts. Stinging metallic smell of burned plastic and copper, bitter. The damn kettle, you forgot that you put the whistling part up, and now all the water boiled out without a sound, leaving an empty metal kettle with a plastic handle heating up under direct fire. Burning up.

Wrapping the handle in the towel, you swiftly put soot covered metal in the sink. The sound and the smell making your heart race faster. You had to open the window to let the smoke out, the smell out, you needed to get out. You needed Riley. Had to go to the vet, stick to your plans. Immediately. Now.

Got dressed, got Riley, got in the car, got to the clinic, signed the papers, said goodbyes, back in the car, the smell isn’t gone. There’s no smell in the car, it’s in your head. The smell of the heated iron, the smell of bullet shells. Did iron smell like blood because of..., well, iron? Or was it just your brain dragging the nasty sweet-sour smell of blood out of your memory and tying it to the one of heated copper? Was it even copper? Fuck, you had to open your car windows. You immediately felt panic set in, car windows had to be closed. Why weren’t they closing fast enough? Open windows weren’t safe. Your windows weren’t even bulletproof anyway so it didn’t matter. You had a regular car. Because you were a regular person. You took deep breaths. You, a regular person, sat in your regular car, and took deep breaths. To calm down, because there was no point in panicking. Nothing would happen. Nothing bad was going to happen to you.

Riley was stressed leaving you in that state. Well, Riley didn’t leave you, you left Riley. Your poor girl didn’t have to stress about being a bad friend. It was all on you, you wished you had a way to let her know. But you had to stick to the plans, otherwise you’d lose it.

You were not coming back to Jim’s place. Did you take the kettle off the stove? Fuck, hopefully, you did, because you were not coming back. You did. You had to, you had a good reaction and you always did the right thing in the moment, the haziness usually kicked in after the fact. It wasn’t foolish to trust yourself with this. You did everything right, and you were going to your apartment to deal with the renovations.

The apartment used to feel like home before you decided to renovate and sell it. Even before any attempts to change how it looked, it just lost its magic the second you set your mind. Now it wasn’t hard to tear off wallpapers and throw out some old furniture. It was all easy now - and that wasn’t easy. It was scary how simple discarding something meaningful was to you. Like it didn’t hold any significance anymore. You noticed this trend some time ago.

It was the most annoying state of mind, when the silence unnerved you, made you listen to every little sound, but music made you anxious because of the idea that you might not hear something. What was it you waited to hear? It was ridiculous, there was nothing to look out for, no danger, yet you found yourself on the verge of another episode. First one in a long while. That wouldn’t work, you had to pick up Riley earlier. Rent a place. Renting a place won’t work - new environment - new corners to get used to, new furniture that casts new unfamiliar shadows that you mistake for movement. Jim had to be back. You would never tell him that.

You promised to yourself to never involve Jim in your problems, he was a part of the life where no problems of that caliber took place. Normal life. Peaceful life. Civil life. He didn’t deserve this, he worked with many veterans at the center, he had no business dealing with another one at home. You would never do this to him.

You liked Jim for not knowing what it’s like to chase shadows and gasp for air amid nightmares, you had a fair share of experience dating someone who knows. Someone who knows and understands that problem too damn well. Didn’t work out.

You were not ruining something good for a quick relief, some temporary comfort, a couple of nice words that won’t change a thing; you’d work on it yourself and give the best version to the person who gives you the best version. This is how things are supposed to be.

You learnt the hard way how important trying to be the best person for each other was. Watching your ex drive himself straight into fucking alcoholism, refusing help. It’s not always simple, but you could do your part. For now, your part was not bugging your boyfriend with your problems. Your boyfriend, your fiancé, fuck.

There was no way to give the ring back without it changing something fundamentally in the relationship, and changing something was not at all what you wanted. That was the main thing, you did not want to change anything. And he promised nothing would change, but things did change. For you, they did. It’s frustrating being mad when there’s no one to blame. You couldn’t even blame yourself. It made sense. What could you do? Tell him that you wanted to leave the door opened? Considered breaking up in the future? It wasn’t true. You did not want to break up. You just didn’t want this. Wasn’t ready for the thoughts of forever just yet. And he understood that, he promised it’s just a formality.

Besides Jim being great and your relationship being fulfilling, there was no way you’d ever put yourself through getting to know another person again. The idea of learning something new about someone new made you nauseous. Letting someone in? That wasn’t an option. You figured it never worked anyway. We all play our roles in the lives of others.

We play a role of a friend, a daughter, a co-worker, a girlfriend… A wife, a mother. “She knows how to play the role”. That was a complement. It took you a lot to get it right. Before that, you let people in. It was all a blur, a co-worker, a lover, a friend, a client even… You thought people could handle each other. That someone could accept all of you. Maybe it’s the case with kids, when you’re just experiencing the world and trying to see other people for what they are. Every corner of their mind sparks interest. But grown-ups had boundaries and roles. Roles and rules to adhere to.

It sounds bad, but it isn’t really. Couldn’t be. How could it be bad if it worked? You wouldn’t tell things you tell your friends to your kids. Same thing.

At least tomorrow you wouldn’t be alone, a couple of plumbers will be occupying the bathroom and you’ll feel the obligation to be social. Maybe you should call up your friends, fill up the rest of the week. You took the sleeping pills you haven’t touched in a while and closed your eyes, wishing for a better morning.

It was a shameful secret, but sometimes, despite your education, you believed you had some magic powers. If you wished for something hard enough, it happened just the way you wanted to. And your magic powers proved themselves right the next day, when Jim called you up and said that he’s coming back earlier. Didn’t even have to ask him.

Your mood through the roof; the ‘roof’ like the sound that Riley let out as soon as she smelled you coming in, her soft black fur in your face, wagging tail hitting your shins. That joyful little Labrador made everything better. Your friend, the guardian of your peace. Her vet annoyed at your inconsistence: you made a deal you’d leave Riley for longer and they didn’t finish whatever they had planned. They’d manage to do it all in a day, but since they assumed they had the time… It was okay, you’d bring her back later. Riley was a trained service dog, so she needed intense check-ups. Since she was given to from the special service K9 unit, they were extra strict with it. She was more than that to you, so you’d do it anyway. You’d do anything to keep her happy and healthy – a thought ran through your head as you ruffled her cute ears, black eyes staring at you in adoration.

You assumed the same look of adoration was on your face as you listened Jim talking for what seemed to be hours about the conference. Apparently, he got in an argument with someone and won. The argument was very public and he got noticed by some guy who wanted Jim to talk about the importance of physiotherapy and an active lifestyle for office workers at some event at his company.

“So, I will be needing lessons from you.” – he joked.

“Oh, I teach kids”

“They are teenagers. Young adults even”

“Well, that’s way worse!” – you were laughing, energized by his enthusiasm.

“Oh, you don’t like to teach them? Imagine how I feel,” – he hugged you and looked at your face, timing the kiss.

“And what’s that’s supposed to mean?” – you raised your eyebrows, understanding perfectly fine that he was, once again, teasing you about being younger.

“Well, I deal with you.” – the smile was warm in every muscle in his face, it was hard trying to keep up with the fake argument, so you just laughed and let him land that kiss he was hovering.

“I missed you, don’t leave me again.”

He pecked your pouted lips – “I won’t. Only for this event.”

“The event is out of town?” – you let the worry in your tone seep out, and bit your tongue.

“Yeah, this Tuesday. Just for three days. You could come?”

“What? Why three days? What are you going to do there for three days?” – you immediately hated the way you sounded, like a clingy paranoid housewife. It wasn’t that. You weren’t that.

“A day to fly in, the day of the event and a day to fly back.” – he’s sympathetic, - “You could come.” – swaying you around a little.

“I can’t, I have work.” Shit, why did it have to happen like that?

“Didn’t you take your days off?”

“Yeah, no…” – you took his arms off of you, trying to shake the stress off, - “I still have to deal with the load I took home… And my apartment… And Riley.”

“We could take Riley.”

“She has a vet in two days.” – you sighed as Jim hugged you again, kissing your temple.

“And when do you have a vet?”

He made an exaggerated pained sound as you elbowed him, smiling, - “Next month? I don’t know. I saw Clara recently; she didn’t see a point in meeting sooner.”

You assumed he was talking about her. He could’ve meant the doctor he put you on to, the one who removed scars with that laser, but you didn’t want to talk about that. You had a nasty scar on the side of your body, a deep stab wound. You didn’t mind it, but Jim assumed it triggered you somehow. Clara was your therapist, a skinny thin lady with condescending lips. You figured she pursed them in an understanding expression way too much so they turned into that shape with age. Made a mental note to never do that yourself.

“Well, as long as you’re going. Next month or whenever… How’s everything with the apartment?”

Now was his turn to listen to you rumble about how you dropped the curtain poll and other boring details.

You were truly happy that Jim got this event thing, sometimes he felt trapped at the center, working at the same building every day. It was good for him to get away, you just didn’t want to deal with him being away. It was your problem to deal with, not his. You wouldn’t make it his problem. You were better than that.

But the days grew shorter and shorter and soon you found yourself waking up alone. Jim bought a new kettle, didn’t even get mad that you ruined the old one. Told you that you could drop the curtain poll here as well and he wouldn’t care. It was comforting, but you still didn’t feel like he meant it. He meant it of course, but he didn’t know yet what he meant to mean. You couldn’t even dare bring Riley inside. She was running free in the backyard and stayed at the building you referred to as a ‘summer kitchen project’. It wasn’t a summer kitchen yet, but it wasn’t anything else as well. Maybe one day Jim will turn it into a little guest house. Or a proper kitchen. Maybe you will do it together.

The thought plagued your mind once more. And it was heavy. Why was it heavy? Everything was fine. It was too early to think about those things anyway. Why think of them? But was it too early? You said yes to a goddamn ring, it wasn’t just a pinky promise. His parents knew.

He wasn’t close to his parents. They turned him into an overachiever, expecting nothing but the best, and soon he figured out that the best was never enough. They always wanted him to do better. So, he distanced himself. You liked that about him, he set boundaries. He never disrespected them, but he didn’t let them in into his life, so they couldn’t affect it. He used to laugh at their assumption that they had a grip on him. He told them what they wanted to hear, and did as he pleased anyway. You noticed how it was changing as well. ‘She’s just my mother’ (with an eyeroll) started turning into ‘Well, she is my mother’. Were you about to walk into a trap?

It’s just you. And your trust issues. He never did anything to hurt you, never deceived you. All he did was being supportive, and even assured you he wasn’t leaving with a promise, a ring. And you were paying him back with doubts. Maybe his mother was right after all, he needed someone less turbulent.

But you were less turbulent. You grew to be so much less turbulent, you had to stick to a routine not to choke on another panic attack. It used to be much worse, you had to acknowledge your progress. That’s what Clara always raved about. All the work that you put in building this life, it paid off. Panic attacks weren’t the issue, it was this state of heightened anxiety that felt like a tunnel vision on everything at the same time. Your mind turned into this quiet buzzing, like something was about bout to happen and you had limited time to fix it. How much time? What would happen? What were you supposed to do? When will it end? Would it?

It was hard to see it sometimes, but the bigger picture was clear. You’d figure out the project you wanted to work on, you’d finish it. All while getting the required experience with your university job, write your thesis, defend it. Get your PhD title and your life would be over. Done, you meant. Your life would be complete. Complete, that’s the word.

And the rest will follow. Steadily, just like the life you were building: steady, peaceful, fulfilling.

You planned on taking Riley for the leftover tests only, but got told that they will need her to stay at the clinic, might need a transfer to the providing organization; found something worth ‘looking into’. They had that look in their eyes when they said “It’s nothing serious, we don’t think”, that look like they were just saying it, you knew that they were lying.

She was not your property when it came to documents, K9 trained for the secret services. They only let you have her when you promised to return to ‘work’. You didn’t. And now that something happened, they’d take her away. Was it your fault? Did she absorb too much poison from your emotional state?

You sat in your car, trying not to let any thoughts in. Everything you ever wish really hard for always happened, so you had to think really hard about the good things. “It truly is nothing serious.” It’s good that you do these check-ups. It’s probably something other pet owners wouldn’t even notice for years until it’s too late, but you had a privilege to detect it early, so everything was going to be okay. Had to be thankful.

Should you call Jim? You couldn’t. You wouldn’t disturb him before an event that’s very important to him. He probably will tell you that everything will be fine anyway. And you knew it. You could tell it to yourself all the same. There was no need.

Your throat dry, like your body sucked up all the moisture in order not to cry. You couldn’t cry. Crying would mean you’re dealing with something and you were not. Because Riley would be okay. For fucks sake, you were smart. Crying was just crying. A complex emotional and physiological response that serves a function, various functions even. You were overwhelmed, not fucking grieving. It’s things like this that made you feel inadequate about your expertise sometimes. You were smart when it came to other people and textbook cases, yet toyed with all this magical thinking when time came to process your own shit.

You let out a frustrated sigh and rubbed your eyebrows, not caring about the makeup. You wouldn’t ever care about anything anymore if something were to happen to Riley. Shut up.

Nothing would happen. You got Riley even before you officially quit your job at the secret service, during the hospital leave. She was with you through everything, the only one that saw the path you had to take to be okay again. As okay as you were.

No one else stuck around, it wasn’t like there were people to stuck around to begin with, but still… A job like this can be isolating, so isolating you resorted to dating your partner. You did not think about those times, nor him; Clara agreed it did no good. Triggered a lot of destructive thought patterns and got you out of the loop.

You never intended to date him, it just happened. You knew it wasn’t a good idea and didn’t care, so you got exactly the ending that was due. It was good at first, too good. You could sleep when he was around. Falling asleep next to him was easy, because that’s what you did during the missions. You knew that if he lets you sleep, it means it’s his turn to be awake, and he’d be watching out for anything and everything. It worked in many ways. Sometimes you’d wake up in cold sweat, alarmed by the memories punishing you in your nightmares and you would see him next to you, sleeping. And that meant you were home. Because he’d never sleep in any other situation, you could trust him with that. You felt safe enough with him, an important transitional period. It wouldn’t be right to go cold turkey on that part of your life, having a familiar face around made it easier.

But then you started seeing each other less. He got entangled in missions above your understanding, he never talked about those, never talked about any of them; it wasn’t right for you to hear it and well, it was classified. And every time he went away your anxiety would feel fresh, and every time he came back your anxiety would feel fresh again. You couldn’t see him in the state in which he returned sometimes; bruised, bloody, swollen, that shell shocked dissociated look. You were used to it before, now it reminded you of something you’d rather forget.

He noticed the way it was affecting you, but didn’t find any better solution than not seeing you straight away; waiting a few days till the horror gets out of his system; and drinking during these days, evidently.

He never listened when you confronted him about his problem. At first, he hid it pretty good. Only drinking on the day of his arrival, sobering up the next day and then you’d meet up. But soon enough he started drinking to the point of sleeping through the entire day you were supposed to meet, claiming that it was just exhaustion. It wasn’t just exhaustion. And finally, he’d drink when you were together, to keep his mind sober, as he claimed. To deal with a hungover. When you confronted him about being hungover in the first place, he’d act like it was his God given right to drink when you weren’t seeing each other, so you made it clear it wouldn’t work. He had to find a way to deal with the problem. And alcohol wasn’t the problem. The ‘job’ was.

There was no way for you to get better with him around, there was no way for him to get better reintroducing himself to danger every other week. You were caring and kind and you begged for so long, before you snapped and gave him an ultimatum. He could go on another mission, but you wouldn’t wait for his return. It was his choice to make. His alone. You were not a bad person for doing that.

He didn’t choose you. Somehow you always knew he never would. You lied when you said you wouldn’t wait for his return, you waited. You waited for his return, wished for it. At some point the realization hit: that wishing for his return so hard against his will might work. And he might return, but not in the way you intended, it struck you like a lighting. What have you done? He’s going to return in a body bag. That’s generous, he’s going to return as a pile of ashes. So, you had to stop thinking about it.

Only saw him once after he left. Riley snuffed him out in the crowded street after your open lecture. It was more than a year ago. Neither of you wanted to talk, but Riley was too excited, so you talked for a while. He refused admitting he was seeing your lecture, despite his motorcycle, that he now used to move around, being parked outside the lecture hall. Looked somehow older, maybe the lines on his forehead deepened, maybe it was the look in his eyes, detached, maybe it was the fact that he went few days without shaving. Or sleeping, by the looks of it, eyebags almost red. It was all so unlike him. He used to have it all under control, was the one you relied on. It felt wrong seeing him like this, like he was taking away something from you.

Took so much strength not to act like a nagging ex. You wanted to ask all these questions: whether he was drinking, whether he was getting help, whether he knew it was wrong, whether he had someone to take care of him. But you weren’t his mother. Had to keep it in check. He was your ex-boyfriend. Essentially, just a stranger who knew too much. Boundaries.

Never saw him after that, never thought about him, went on with your life, built something great for yourself. Your life was real, without constant death looming in the corners. Your mind went to Riley and you hated your brain for it.

What if you never see her again? What if your little girl turns to ashes and this is all you’re going to hold in your hands when you touch her again? Your ex-partner appeared in your head once more. It’s the same disgusting thoughts, it’s never about anything other than your brain and it’s patterns. You had to stop, before you lost vision, hyperventilating in the car, like you saw ghosts.

What if it’s a sign? What if it’s the price for the new life you’re about to start? All your thoughts were about to come true. Your new life, and the sacrifice in the shape of two plastic bags half-full of ashes to finally let you go and live out your dreams. And the smell. Earthy smell of ashes. You started seeing black. You never wanted it. The idea of those warm black paws… Those hands that held you… All turned into dust.

You opened the car-door, breathing in the air through the mouth, in and out, desperately; and just walked out.

You had to call Clara, talk to her about it. She’d reassure you it was all in your head; but you already knew it. It was the problem. You were scared that whatever’s in your head always found it’s way to become a reality somehow, and this is why you didn’t want to acknowledge these thoughts. You’d never share it with anyone, you’d never make them any more real than they were. And they weren’t. None of it was real. You needed to fall into routine. Something to occupy your hands and your head.

Working on your apartment wasn’t helping much, everything made you think about how you’re getting rid of not just things, but also every other aspect. You loved clinging to things and thoughts. It kept you grounded for a while. There was no way to check up on Riley, they’d lie anyway. They’d lie and tell you everything is good; they already did that. If this sacrifice is tied together, this means your ex… This means if he’s okay, then Riley is also going to be okay. That made sense.

There was a way to see if he was fine, without coming in contact, had to be. Maybe you should call up some past colleagues and ask around, find a way to make it seem normal. There was no way to make it seem anything but deranged. So, your mind switched from thinking about to Riley to this.

It felt like something to grip onto. An indicator you could check. If he’s alive and well, then Riley is going to be alive and well. This is how the universe worked today.

The thought simmered in your head for the entire day as you painted the wall in your room white, so you cave in, got your old phone out, charged it, tried to find any contacts that could be useful. Try to ignore the way the phone makes all the memories smell.

You came up with a legend, rang up a girl who used to work in the archives, she wasn’t useful. Didn’t talk. Well, she knew how to keep information, that’s like, her job description or something.

You needed someone less loyal, who wouldn’t see any malice in an ex-employee asking questions. Because there was no malice, it was just small talk. Called up a guy who worked at the storage facility. He was in the mood to talk. You weren’t sure he remembered you, but he was honored an ex-agent called him up to chat randomly. You told him about how you were at the airport another day and had to carry your luggage, which made you think of all the work he’s done for you. Thanked him in a long speech, and as you were wrapping up the call, asked around. Just a polite ‘how’s everyone doing’ type of thing. ‘Please just straight to the point,’ you thought to yourself, all this talk made you nauseous. You just wanted to hear any random fact about that one person. That’s it. But the guy never mentioned him, made you work for it. You ask a couple of questions about other people he didn’t mention. Come on, sound nonchalant and make it look natural. Will it be less suspicious if you ask about him after getting your answers about three random people prior? Three is too text-book, make it four. Make sure to ask about someone else as well afterwards, so it doesn’t sound like it was the goal. Make sure your voice doesn’t give it away when you mention his name. It’s easy.

The interrogation was supposed to leave you feeling at peace, but what you learned left you confused instead. Confused in your own feelings. Irritated, enraged…, upset? What do you mean that motherfucker quit?

Peeling the carrots was relaxing, skinning that orange vegetable. Small white lines becoming more and more transparent before disappearing, strong refreshing smell. What else is orange in the room? One of the buttons on the TV remote was orange before you threw the TV out, that black mirror of the screen made you anxious, so it had to go. Jim’s place had an orange towel, not much of color at your place. You had an orange eyeshadow in one of the makeup pallets, one of those colors no one ever used. You only used natural ones, to make you look presentable, but still respectable and serious. Why would he quit? Found something worth leaving it all behind for? Someone? Good for him. Would be good for him, if it was the case. Probably wasn’t. Probably quit to drink more.

You couldn’t imagine him doing anything other than what he was doing. He was out of place anywhere else. He was the kind of person who was so reliable in stressful situations, but an absolute mess in a day-to-day life. You wondered if he knew how to pay taxes. Always had the government do everything for him, they basically groomed him and he was too comfortable. And the motorcycle? With the drinking? A recipe for a fucking disaster. A recipe, right. You needed another carrot. You were stressed beyond reason as it was, here he was giving you another headache. You threw the carrot into the sink. You already peeled enough actually.

So, he quit four months ago. And you’re just getting to know about it. Like that, from some random guy. No one even bothered to tell you, like it didn’t matter. Did they consider even for a moment that maybe you knew something that had to be accounted for before letting him go? How did they even just let him go? You went though a lot of bullshit to finally quit, your trauma playing a factor. Did they catch him drinking on duty? He always said it wasn’t this simple when it came to quitting, so what changed?

This fucking salad wasn’t turning out great. And you weren’t even hungry anymore. Jim was about to be home in few hours, you had to eat or else you’d be forced to eat the cow vomit he called food.

This was wrong, mean thoughts. Jim didn’t do anything to upset you. If you didn’t like his food, you should take the matters in your own hands and cook for him. Find vegan recipes online. You could find anything online.

You could find anything online. A couple of thoughts ran through your head, conflicting with each other. You were not about to stalk your ex.

Anyway, vegan food didn’t have to be nasty, Jim was just in too deep and got used to it, you didn’t have to suffer. You’d cook up something decent. He’d be glad you’re committing to the bit.

The recipe. To the store. To Jim’s place. To the kitchen. Fuck the carrot salad. Fuck all of this.

“This. Is just. Amazing” – Jim annunciated, taking another forkful of the mushroom gravy pie with garlicky kale mashed potatoes, - “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

‘Oh, you have no idea’ – a spiteful thought ran through your head.

“Well, you tell me,” – you smiled instead.

“As far as I’m concerned,” – he stood up, grabbing your waist, - “You’re perfect.” – placed a kiss to your temple. Why is always the temple?

You almost pushed him away, before recognizing that your annoyance wasn’t directed at him, you actually liked how he hugged you, you tried to relax into his arms.

“It’s going to be okay, Riley’s gonna be fine,” – he placed another kiss to your temple. Who the fuck asked him to mention Riley? He never even let her in the house properly, what does he know about anything? You let out a suppressed scoff and inhaled sharply. It wasn’t his fault; you were just on edge.

“Thank you.” – for nothing. That mean person in your head just couldn’t shut up. Shut up. “I’m sorry, last couple of days were crazy. I’m glad you’re back.”

Be the best version of yourself for others. Unlike some.

The conference or the meeting- the event-whatever, went well, he even managed to land another similar gig, that was good. Jim told you all about it, he went out to celebrate with the people that organized all that and got you a stuffed toy from the slot machine. Sweet. You laughed at his stories and he almost made it all better. But once a thought got into your head, you were persistent to abuse it, obsess over it, you knew that trait, and you had to manage it somehow.

“Remember Kennedy?” – you said nonchalantly, brushing your teeth before bed.

“The president?”

“No, the guy I used to work with.” – you had to talk with someone about it, otherwise you’d keep thinking about it in private. Those thoughts needed a way out, and you could tell Jim anything.

“Ah, the one you used to date.” – he was getting ready for bed as well, assembling the pillows in that secret smart way that gave him superpowers of never straining his muscles or something.

“Yes. So, I was catching up with some colleagues and guess what? He quit few months ago.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. No one even told me. This is how I get to know about it.”

“Yeah, what about it though?” – the pillows must not be pillowing because he was not paying enough attention. – “Why would they tell you?”

“Jim. Do you understand the situation? How it looks like?” – you glared at him, toothbrush in hand. – “This is not about him, Jim. This is about me. About my reputation.”

He put down the pillow, looking at you, dumb expression on his face, - “How is this about your reputation now?”

“Are you kidding me?” – you spat toothpaste out, washed the brush and fastened the silk robe around your waist, - “Do you know what kind of training he went through? We went through. Him, especially.” – it wasn’t about him though, - “The… What we’ve been through? Generally. Last time we spoke, he was coping horribly, drinking and-…”

“You’re super tense.” – Jim came over and put his hands on your shoulders, rubbing slightly. – “Ease up. Want me to rub your shoulders, huh?”

“I want you to know why I’m upset.” – you sat down on the bed, Jim still rubbing your back, - “You just don’t quit that kind of job without support. What if something happens and then… Me.” – you pointed both hands at yourself, like you had to explain it to him, - “What are they going to say? What kind of a psychologist am I? Who’s going to grant me with a prestigious position and a PhD with an ex who did… all… that?” – you couldn’t bring yourself to say that, but you trusted Jim to figure it out. It wasn’t a healthy situation.

“Listen, I know.” – Jim started working on your neck, it wasn’t even tense, - “You can always twist it though.” – Twist what? Your neck? – “See: you both went through something so horrible…, and look what it did to him. But you, you managed to crawl your way back from hell. And you can help others.” – he said it with a theatrical grandiosity, knew how to lighten the mood.

“This isn’t funny.” – you swerved your shoulders away; it wasn’t working in the moment.

“Or look.” – he sat up straight – “Nobody cares about the timelines, it’s the story that matters. Can always say his demise inspired you to help others.”

“This isn’t funny, Jim. I’m so serious right now.” – what was he even talking about?

“Okay, fine.” – Jim sighed, like you upset him by not complying, - “Let’s be real. I honestly don’t think anyone’s gonna care about your personal life like that.”

“You don’t know how it is, they will dig up every possible reason not to lend me the spot. It’s men who can date high schoolers and still work with kids. Me, a woman-…”

He rolled his eyes, - “There we go… Yes, I understand it’s the whole world against you.”

“You don’t know what’s it like, it’s important, I cannot let my reputation be tainted with something like-“

“Oh, how would I know?” – why was he mad? – “My job’s not that serious. I don’t have to care about my reputation.”

“Jim, don’t fucking do this. This is not about you.”

“Yes! What is this even about? I don’t think your ex is going to fucking kill himself because he quit. Guy’s probably having the time of his life right now.” – he looked at you – “Damn, not everyone’s fucking crazy!”

You stared at him.

What? You had to go get some water. Anything to just calm down. He was supposed to comfort you, not this. Not everyone’s fucking crazy? Like whom? Did he just call you crazy?

No, he didn’t. And he was right. You spent way too much time with suicidal people, not everyone’s like that. You needed to relax and let it go. You finished you water and came back to bed.

Just laid there in silence for a moment, before Jim shifted to cuddle up, you put your head in his neck.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m just stressed. It’s the apartment, it’s Riley being away, you leaving…”

“It’s okay” – he kissed your head, - “I get it.”

He kissed your shoulder and it felt like you were pressured into peace you did not deserve. Restless. Moving in with him would be a challenge, you suddenly found yourself clinging to all the chaos you still carried inside, knowing that he’s on a mission to install order over it. You cannot imagine sleeping next to someone every day, not being able to twist and turn till sunrise.

You closed your eyes, feeling the bees and worms move under your skin. One day, they will go away. It will all go away.

“I don’t like what you said last night…” – you brought up in the morning, getting ready for another day.

Jim was not in the mood for the conversation, but you both valued communication - “Is this about your…”

“Yeah, I don’t like how you talked about him.” – you both understood each other without having to say much.

“Okay. What was it I said that you didn’t like?” – he was putting up with you at this point. You didn’t like feeling like you were someone he had to put up with.

“You talked about him…” – you motioned with your head – “ending things?”

“Yeah? I thought you did that.”

“You put it harshly, I don’t like this, don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t do it.” – he was just saying things.

You sighed, - “It’s not that… It’s a sensitive topic for me, you know that. And it’s very real.”

“I know” – he buttoned up his jacket and walked up to give you a small peck.

When you got together, Jim promised he would lean a thousand languages to get through you. That you will always find a middle ground. Sometimes it felt like he was just saying what you wanted to hear to shut you up.

The day was slow, full of grading assignments, checking if the paint was drying flat at the apartment (you already managed to mismatch the primer with the paint once, causing it to bubble up before), talking to the vets at the clinic, who assured you that all Riley needed was a small surgery and that it wasn’t anything to worry about, but she was transported. You could even see the pictures from before they took her, except you couldn’t. You couldn’t see her in the state that you were. And if you miss out on the chance to see her one last time, you wouldn’t forgive yourself. And you’d be forced to end things. It was a nice set up, Check-mate, universe. There will be no life without Riley, so everything had to be okay.

You were happy you no longer worked with people; you wouldn’t wish a therapist like yourself on your worst enemy. But then maybe you would. That would be a neat punishment.

You did not manage to find anything about your ex on the internet, gave up on that task and picked it up again a couple of times. Even lying on the bed after a hot bath, which usually helped, the thoughts just did not leave you. He was a threat to your reputation. It’s not like it was easy to find anything on someone with a job like his. So that actually meant that if anything were to happen, no one would know. This thought should’ve been sufficient enough to put your worries to rest, but it made you even more restless. It wasn’t fair and it wasn’t right, and you had to know. It wasn’t even about anything, you just had to know.

What if imagining him in misery was easier than imagining anything else? Maybe the thought of him being happy made you uncomfortable. What then? Could you trust yourself to be a bigger person? Deep down you knew, the mean voice in your head wanted every single person who didn’t choose you to suffer in regret. It was because of your parents. And that voice had no control over you, unless it did. And sometimes it did, but not now. You were the bigger person, maybe not when Jim sat on the bed, disrupting your thoughts. You were the smaller person next to him, literally. He was bigger. And the bed moved under his weight.

The thoughts had to go; Jim had no business being present in the aura of your maliciousness. To him, you were good. And you would be good with him. He’d make you better.

“I can see the stress radiating off of you” – he laughed lightly, - “putting a hand to your forehead”. Goofy.

You smiled and rubbed your eyes, - “I’m fine…”

“You’re not fine” – Jim got all up in your face, a playful smile, studying, - “I know how to deal with tension.”

“No doubts, I heard you were famous for that.” – you matched the tone, - “Traveling around the country sharing your knowledge with serious people.”

“Oh no,” – grabbing you by the waist, he laid flat on his back and pulled you up on top of him, - “A masterclass for you only.”

Oh no. Indeed. “Wait” – you support yourself placing a hand on his chest as he pulls you up, kissing your thigh. You hold onto the bedframe, his kisses are warm, hot. The timing is off, you’re in your head.

Maybe it will work, maybe you need to shut your brain off, give in to him. And you try, as his lips make your muscles tighten up. You breathe deep, no thoughts. Please no thoughts.

The more you try not to think of something, the more your brain focuses on the matter – it was the bane of your life. Usually the problem was more general, less urgent. But at the moment, you tried really hard not to let any of it get inside your head, forget for a moment, let go. It doesn’t matter at the moment. Nothing matters, just you and… Just you and the disarray of fragments that steal your life from perfection. And Jim. Fuck, not like this. By focusing hard on not letting the visions in, you shut off from feeling, your body overstimulated, your brain fighting for the upper hand to block it out. It almost hurt, the pressure. Like a drawn bow, you tried not to give way. Not to think about the vet clinic, the walls, white walls in your apartment, your bedroom, your bed, a man on the bed, a vision of blue eyes staring at you flickered in your head so visceral, like a lightning. You grabbed the bedframe like a lifeboat to a drowning man, gasping for air, a shudder running across your body. Finally, no thoughts.

You collapsed backwards, your head on Jim’s boxers. You felt him hard, immediately deciding that you’re going to fall sleep, play dead. You could actually pass out, he could do whatever, you couldn’t deal with your mind at the moment. Your boyfriend, your fiancé, sat up straight, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you in. Only it wasn't you. He kissed that someone, moaning into her lips. She fell like a ragdoll onto his chest and he cradled her, brushing the hair with his fingers.

You slept in. Woke up and fell back asleep a couple of times, actually. You weren’t ready to give your brain another chance to work just yet. It fucked up. It fucked up so bad. Jim left you breakfast. His idea of breakfast never involved eggs. You could not look at yourself in the mirror. You thought you left shame behind. You held yourself accountable and never acted before you were sure you’d be okay living with your decisions. Should you hold yourself accountable for thoughts? Thoughts you couldn’t control. And you tried. For longer than you could admit.

‘This rotten feeling, this disgust with yourself will go away’ - you told yourself. Let it simmer, process it, and it will pass. Will be recycled and forgotten.

It was a mistake to even think about him in any capacity. It wasn’t your intention. But here you were, facing the truth that you will miss his touch no matter how much time passes.

You tried to test it in the morning, lying there next to your fiancé, his hand on your stomach, felt like any other morning. Eyes closed, you tried to trick your brain, concentrate on the weight of Jim’s hand, imagine the hand belongs to another. To him. And as soon as your imagination kicked in, the tug in your stomach twisted, heating up your cheeks, like some kind of engine. Nothing in your reality changed, it was all in your head. It was the end the world. That experiment.

Truly sadistic, you hated yourself in a way so profound, you found every way to ruin your own peace. Never left a negative emotion alone, always picking, digging, looking for something, always making it worse. Then cry when you found it.

You truly felt like the worst human on the planet. At least actual “bad” people never attempted to be good, they’d probably do a better job at it. It was their choice to do bad things. You made all the right choices and still failed.

Not being able to eat, you took a sip of green tea, you had to be rational. It’s not like it doesn’t happen to other people. The only reason you fantasized about your ex is because you were stressed thinking about him, and you were stressed thinking about him because of Riley. If Riley was here, none of it would happen. You had to make sure Kennedy was alive, for Riley’s sake. It still made sense to you. And actually, it was all in your head. Your memories. You missed your memories, not a real person. You bet if you saw him now, you wouldn’t feel a thing. Other than regret, disappointment.

He must be miserable, drinking his health away. Health is what makes us attractive at the end of the day. It’s all chemicals. So, if you were to see him, you’d be disappointed and feel adequate again.

And you will appreciate Jim for what Jim was. Stable, put together. There was no reason to lose your mind just yet.

Maybe you lost it, actually. Because you were pulling up every illegal way to look up your ex’s motorcycle license plates. You had a vague polaroid of Riley next to it, from that one time you saw each other. She looked too excited and happy. Like she won a treasure hunt. You had o take a picture. To busy your hands, because meeting him was awkward. Riley made it less awkward. Saved you every time. Your poor little girl. It would all be okay.

Did he get any tickets? Where did he park? You did not recall all the numbers, only a fragment of the plate visible in the picture, and it turned out there were too many similar motorcycles around. And he could’ve moved. Probably did, so it was a dead end. You scoffed, closing the laptop. ‘Repair shops’ sparked in your brain. For being your worst enemy, sometimes that brain was useful. You called up every repair shop you could find, asking if they had any experience with the particular model, acting like you needed their services. Had a list, had a car, had a whole day to drive around and interrogate them about a particular customer.

You read them well, you knew people; could tell when they didn’t know anything useful and weren’t lying. Until you saw a flicker of recognition in the eyes of one repair shop owner as you were showing him a picture, you didn’t look at the picture. The owner had thick moustache and tattoos. Tough case. The likes of him never ratted out people. Not for a low price at least.

You swore you could’ve bought a bike with the money that it cost you, but now you knew that your ex introduced himself as “Scott” (how original, went by the middle name), few times had a drink or two with the owner. And needed help with his motorcycle every once in a while, it was always ‘a gruesome sight’. Yeah, sounds right.

So, the bar was the only clue you managed to find. Maybe with the magic you possessed, or liked to think that you possessed, it would be enough.

So, you went home, put on makeup, got dressed. You had to look good to feel confident. And headed to the bar.

So, naturally… You spent few hours looking around the bar, trying not to look suspicious, attempting to see him in vain. For a second you found yourself feeling like a predator, a siren, some succubus; looking for her prey. Willing it to appear. But that didn’t happen.

Naturally.

Why would it? Magic wasn’t real, you knew it. But it was nice to pretend sometimes. If magic wasn’t real then wishing for Riley to be okay was useless. Then none of it made sense.

You asked for another drink. It was time to come to your senses. Time to own up to everything, to the mess you found yourself orchestrating. Maybe you just had to come to terms with the fact that you didn’t deserve the life you wanted. Maybe you didn’t want it to begin with. Maybe Jim’s mother was right. You were playing a role, she saw right through you.

Jim’s mother was a hateful cunt. You downed the drink in one go and asked for another.

But she was right. You were playing roles for as long as you knew how to. You wanted to prove to others so badly that you’re worth something. Your parents always found a way to devalue your achievements; if they weren’t tangible, that meant they were up for grabs. And your parents grabbed them and twisted, making sure you understand that it wasn’t yours. And if it was, it was wrong somehow. They always found a flaw and made it their mission to put that flaw of yours on a pedestal of your being. So, you wanted to prove them you’re capable, reaching for every medal to drown that pedestal in gold. To show them that they weren’t wrong for pointing it out, because fuck, you weren’t perfect. But they were wrong for doubting you. For not loving you the way that you needed. For making you feel like the worst creature ever, for simply having emotions.

They made you feel evil for caring. Made you feel manipulative for having enough empathy to measure your reactions to circumstances. And you caved in, you trusted that they saw the real you, so you became what they wanted and tried to fix this person, so they recognize that it’s you, but you’re better now. And it never fucking worked. Tears of pure frustration and grief crawled down your face. Shameful tears, defeated. You tried t break this person you created with their help. Tried to become someone you respected for a change. Became an elite agent. And you did ruin her. You ruined her till there was nothing left but a smoldering ribcage that struggled to keep all the memories. You just had no idea that you’d have to live inside that girl you destroyed, after the fact. That this girl is all that you’ll ever have. Honest to God, you did not think of that.

“Got stood up?” – some guy sat down across you, a drink in his hand.

You tried to wipe the tears away with your fist and ended up pressing both hands to your eyes, a couple of sobs falling through, - “Just… Go!” – you almost growled, hating him for making you realize you’re in public. Hating him for making you be mean to another human. You weren’t mean. You were a good person.

The guy made a comedic face, loudly announcing ‘what a bitch’ to his friends to make his exist. You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, you face squeezing, tears dripping from the elbows, head shaking. Everything was the worst ever.

Is this how he deals with everything? Does whiskey treat him better? Does life treat him better? It doesn’t matter. You hoped it did. It did treat him better. If you could find something that would make the pain and the bitterness a little less intense, you’d take it. It wasn’t your fault alcohol just never worked. Nothing ever worked and maybe it was your fault after all. You breathed for a while, hands in your eyes, like it’s going to hide you. Waited till the noise got quieter. And left.

Another morning at noon. You felt like shit, staring at the white walls, perfectly pained. You did a good job. You were good at painting things over. Different paint, same walls underneath. Called off the plumbers, they insisted on coming over, claimed there was some thing with the new plastic tubes not being connected to the steel ones properly because they messed up; they could do it another day. You didn’t want to see a soul today. Or ever. Your ‘vacation’ was coming to it’s end soon, maybe routine will bring you back to life. It always helped. You were no good out of loop. Couldn’t be trusted with your own life. They were all right, all of them.

Maybe the dissociated state that you found yourself in was better than being unnerved at every little movement. Maybe it was better to feel nothing for a change, to think about nothing. There was no point in thinking about anything when everything was doomed anyway.

It wasn’t really, but it felt like it. You’d call up Clara, you’d go back to work, you’d see Jim’s smile, you’d hug Riley. It will all fall back. Another round at trying, a little more cracks here and there, but it will fall back. You noticed a tiny line on the wall, just next to the door, where the paint didn’t reach.

You still had some left, it was for the kitchen, but it didn’t matter if you had to waste a bucket to cover up that little mistake. You always paid an unreasonable price for the smallest mistakes, it made sense.

Just as you were finishing up, the phone rang. So loud it startled you and a big splash of paint crushed into your t-shirt, some streaks dripping down onto jeans. “Fuck” – you murmured and walked up to answer – “Yes?” – annoyed at no one but yourself.

Turned out you forgot your bag at the bar. Placed it carefully under the table, so no one spots an easy target to rob, as you cried your eyes out like a pathetic fool. Well, no one spotted; not even you.

You walked up to the bar, didn’t even care to change, not in the mood to drive (mostly, not in the condition to park, driving was the easy part). Thanked the bartender, making sure you’re extra nice to make up for your angry tone over the phone. Took your bag, tipping well for not keeping it to himself, checked the insides (all there) and was about to leave when you turned around and froze for a moment.

A huge surprised smile found it’s place on your face before you knew how to react. You saw him staring at you, a surprised face; perhaps his one was a little more sincere, you just played a role. Time to be social.

“What? Hey!” – you pointed awkwardly at him, at yourself and waved, laughing.

He smiled, rising his eyebrows shaking his head in disbelief – “Hey?”

You sat down at his table, a surge of uncontainable bravado coming over, - “What a… I did not expect…” – you laughed like it was the most bizarre coincidence in the world. Your head ringing.

He just shook his head agreeing, apparently, couldn’t find the words, it seemed, - “Me neither?”

You both laughed politely, nervously. What the actual fuck?

“Really?” – you were not ready for this. Autopilot speaking.

“What? Yeah, I… I promise I did not stalk you.” – he took a sip of something, smiling. Your eyes following the glass. Still drinking? You asked the bartender for a soda.

You were not prepared to see Leon. Especially not when you were wearing old jeans, an oversized t-shirt, all covered in paint, last night’s makeup barely rinsed with water, mascara still sitting around your eyes in black circles. You got yourself into it. Well, maybe your magic did work after all. Maybe it was him who had to be disappointed for you to let go.

You rubbed your eyebrows, stressed, but with a big polite grin.

“I did not even think of that, now you’re giving me ideas!” – you smiled. If only he knew. If only. – “So… Umm… What are you doing here?” – took a sip of the soda, it stuck in your throat.

He looked better than the last time you saw him. A clean shave, sitting up tall, same features, his hair cut recently - “Waiting for you apparently.”

You laughed, pointing at your clothes – “Well I wasn’t…”

“What…” – he looked you up and down, - “is that?”

You bit your lip and smiled proudly – “I’m renovating!”

“Renovating? Your apartment?” – was it even a real conversation?

How do you even talk to someone who used to live under your skin when you’re pretending to be strangers?

“Exactly. We’re moving in, with my fiancé and all… I decided to renovate it a little, before selling” – you kept smiling, looking away.

Boundaries. That’s how you do it.

“Your fiancé?” – you noticed his eyes scanning your fingers for a moment. You weren’t lying, you just didn’t wear the ring. – “That’s a… Congratulations.”

Congratulations? Really?

“Um… Thanks?” – suddenly you felt uncomfortable, your smile started to feel too fake to upkeep. You didn’t feel like it was something you had a right to accept congratulations for.

The initial shock backing out, taking the heightened boost of confidence with it. You sighed. What now?

A moment of silence.

“How’s the job?” – you looked at him, waiting for the answer so you could ask your questions. You had many.

“It’s fine. The usual.” – he looked more solemn by the second as well.

Why would he lie? The path to questions blocked. Was it his way to keep boundaries?

“Yeah well… I don’t want to hear about the usual.” – you tightened your face in a smile.

He was the one lying. You had it all figured out, your life, you didn’t lie; and he couldn’t be honest. So, it was you who’d be disappointed, not him.

“I know.” – he looked back at you. That was him, the eyes, not the polite bullshit. And suddenly it hurt more than you imagined.

“Yeah… Well.” – there was truly nothing else to say, - “You seem to love that usual so…” – except you had everything to say.

But you won’t. There was no point. Chose the job over you, obviously was fine with it. It was the past. He didn’t say anything. Had nothing to say, did he?

“You look thinner” – he commented, studying your frame.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, - “It’s just the t-shirt. And a lack of training. Muscles go down, you know. I gained weight actually.” – you tried hard to be nonchalant, talkative. That meant you were comfortable, people talked when they were comfortable. But you were anything but. So uncomfortable under his stare. He noticed you looked smaller; did he remember how you looked that well? How you felt? Does he still think about it?

He better not think about it. That would make you uncomfortable. You felt a slight burn under your eyes, heat spreading to your face.

“Okay.” – there was a glimmer of something mocking in his eyes.

“What?” – you tilted you head, exaggerated annoyance on your face. If you talked and if you were engaged, he might not see through you. Might be distracted.

“Nothing” – he pressed the glass to his lips.

“Oh, come on, what is it?”

He smiled into the glass, laughing to himself about something, - “Nothing, it’s just… Your idea of weight is hilarious. Always been.” – he swallowed whatever it was that he was drinking. Yeah, he’s so big and muscular and your weight is a joke in comparison, you get it. Very funny. You watched his neck move, remembering how it felt under your lips. ‘Always been’ so he remembers. Of course, he does, why wouldn’t he? People don’t just forget others, as much as you convinced yourself you could. Something stoic in you ordered to do everything in your power to make it stop. There had to be a way to make him unappealing.

“You still drink?” – come on, lie some more.

“Only before seeing you.” – he put the glass down, - “Kind of like a habit.”

He was basking in his humor before seeing your hurt expression, - “Come on, it was a joke.”

You just stared at him, wounded, - “It wasn’t funny.” – the muscles around your eyes contracted, but you kept it under control – “Was I a joke to you?”

Some sadness flickered in his eyes, a hint of shame? You needed more than a hint and a lot more than a flicker. How could he do this to you?

“I’m sorry.”

‘For the joke or…?” – you shrugged, mockingly. What was it? Spell it out, asshole.

He had this way of looking at you, like you were on the other side of the ocean and he was just trying to understand the message by clues. You were clear and loud.

What did he see on the other side? - “For everything.”

You scoffed, how typical. How easy. For everything. Everything, nothing. It was so simple. For everyone. No one. Always. Never.

“Okay.” – another fake smile, angry tears threatening to come out. You nodded, laughing, - “Okay.”

He blinked a couple times, faster than usual, sighed deeply, called your name. You were looking at the table. Nice wooden table, you’d like a table like that. Jim should get a table like that.

“I mean it. It wasn’t a joke for me either. It was hell.”

“Oh!” – you laughed, not bothering to wipe the tear that fell, it wasn’t a sad tear. It was rage, - “It was hell! That’s umm… Nice to know.”

He called your name again. Were you making a scene? Embarrassing him maybe?

“I apologize profusely for the hell that I was to you, the thing is - I did not know.” – you put a hand to your heart, it was pounding – “Honesty, I had no idea.”

He shook his head, annoyed at something. At himself, you hoped, - “Please?”

“What?” – you demanded.

“Don’t.”

“What?” – you shrugged.

“I’m happy to see you. Don’t… - “

“Oh, you’re happy? I’m sorry, I thought I was hell, I didn’t figure out you were happy. You’re just very hard to figure out, I guess.”

“It was hell seeing you go through… Everything. And it was hell making it worse.”

“It was your choice.”

“Was it?”

You shrugged, it was obvious, - “You could’ve quit.” – like you did now, you almost added.

“I really couldn’t” – he seemed so sincere. Liar. – “You can’t think it’s that easy.”

“I managed.”

“Yeah, and I had to pull some strings for that, strings that bind me.”

“What strings? Those missions? – he didn’t say a word, - “I didn’t ask you.” – more silence, - “You still could’ve left. Just stay, hide. It’s your goddamn life.” – it was ours.

“Yeah, you do that and they go after your family.”

“Well, you didn’t have one.” – you spat out before realizing you hurt him. That was just a fact, why is he acting hurt?

Oh. The realization hit. He meant you. They’d go after you. Family. You inhaled sharply through your nose, and blew the air out of your mouth.

“Anyway, I’m sorry. I did what I thought was right. And it seems to have worked out.”

“What are the indications?”

“You seem to be happy.” – it was a little ridiculous to say that in the situation, so you both laughed, tension relieved. You understood what he meant though and nodded.

He did what he thought was right. Leaving you was right. You heard enough and asked if he’d mind walking for a while, you needed some air.

And the night’s air was exactly what you needed. Wasn’t too cold, but inhaling it tickled your nose up to the forehead, a sensation to focus on. Something to keep you grounded.

You talked about your job at the university, briefly, small talk. About your life with Jim. A talk between strangers who once had a chance. Or whatever. Strangers who did the right thing. Strangers who weren’t convenient for each other anymore.

You found yourself looking for his approval. Telling him about how great your life was in all shapes and colors. He mostly listened. You talked about how friends disappear once you work for something you’re not allowed to talk about, he agreed. It was nice talking to someone who could relate, despite the hurt.

Your home security alarm went off, you set advanced motion detectors in each room, helped your anxiety to be under control. Or maybe helped your anxiety to take deeper roots, caving in to fears. It was your bathroom. Strangely, the alarm didn’t go off for the hallway, did someone enter through the ventilation? Leon asked if it could be Riley, your heart sank. You told him Riley was taken away, that she’s having a surgery tomorrow. He asked many questions about the apartment, practical ones, tactical even; about the windows and who had the keys, but insisted he’d check it out with you. ‘You won’t go there alone’. Oh, but you could. And he knew you could. You’d stare at the walls for days afterwards, listening to the sounds outside of your window, like a broken robot, but you could. You had a feeling you’d be doing that regardless. It was sweet that he was acting like a gentleman. And you couldn’t lie, you wanted him around. Just somewhere around. You felt like he took away some vigilance. Like you could finally not overthink what was happening over your shoulders.

Reminiscing the missions you took on together, you got inside, expecting anything but what has really happened.

The plumbers were right, the tubes were not connected right; you entered a steamed-up apartment, hot water pouring out of the bathroom. Ditching the jackets in the hallway, Leon turned the screw between the tubes as you blocked water supply, making jokes about it rather being robbers.

“I just hope I don’t flood the neighbors.” – you said, mopping up the remaining water.

“You’re selling it anyway, think of them as somebody else’s neighbors.”

You laughed, just noticing how he got wet all over.

“Hold up, I’ll get you dry clothes.” – you walked away followed by his loud protests.

He genuinely looked upset, angry and embarrassed as you handed him a pile of clothes. You couldn’t just send him home soaking wet, could you?

You also realized you had to make tea. Him being home put your mind at ease. Except it wasn’t home, it was a half-destroyed by your ‘renovations’ apartment for sale, and he wasn’t there really, just happened to step in. It didn’t matter. It was enough for your brain to feel better and you’d take it.

Leon walked out of the bathroom in dry clothes, a look of absolute confusion on his face, - “Is this my clothes?”

Whose clothes did he think you’d give him?

“Yeah, obviously.”

He didn’t say a word. You pointed him to sit, a cup of mint tea ready. He took a sip, contemplating something, frowning even.

“What’s the matter?”

He looked at you, an expression you couldn’t read. That was new. – “Why do you have my clothes?”

“You left it here. You… kept it here.” – you explained. Was he suggesting you stole it?

“No, I know that. Why do you keep it?”

That was a weird question. – “What was I supposed to do with it? Throw it away?”

“I guess.”

You both stared at each other in utter confusion. Was he being weird or were you weird for not throwing it away? Why did it seem weird now? Even to you. But how could you?

You never touched it nor looked at it. Kept it hidden at the back of your wardrobe. How could he suggest that you’d throw it away? You spent a couple years by now, dreading that all that will be left of him was a bag of dust. You’d like to have something to hold on to.

These thoughts made your heart race. He was alive and well. Next to you. Talking. Looking confused, but that will do. That means Riley is going to be alright. No one is turning into ashes, not today. Not ever.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t have a heart to… You should take it. You can take it back. There’s another t-shirt I think…”

You didn’t want to weird him out. You were a little unsettled, but he had to understand.

He sighed, looked around, something heavy on his mind. You knew, yeah, same. Fucking same.

He stood up, - “About Riley…” – he started. You stood up as well, alarmed. Did he know something? You realized he probably knew they put down dogs that weren’t useful. Who spent time off duty. Just to spite the good. They were evil like that. You knew that, refused to think about it, but you knew. Took one person you cared about, now they were about to kill your dog. Your happy little girl. She wasn’t a soldier; she never saw blood. Just your pain. Spent her whole life with your sadness, maybe it was better for her to be taken away, you were ready to hear anything, - “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see how things are and report back, okay?” – you tried to breathe evenly, there’s no need to be weird. – “She’s going to back in no time.”

You nodded, a bit too much. Okay. Yes. You’d like that. There was no logical reason to believe him, you knew he was out of the system and lied. But he never let you down when it came to these things. Until he did, once. You’d forgive that.

You’d forgive anything. Your façade broken, standing there, looking at him. A collection of pieces put together all wrong. Barely holding on, out of place. You smashed those pieces even when they didn’t fit, applying too much force in anger. It was all spite and resilience. But he made you feel like your rage was excessive. And it all fell apart. Every time you saw him after he came back from these missions, you’d fall apart. Like the strings holding it all together gave up on you. Like the whole world gave up on you, but not him. He was back and he was okay with the scattered pieces. It hurt putting it all back together when he left. But it hurt holding on to this monstrous cadaver as well.

You took a step and he hugged you, one arm over the shoulders, space in between. Like a goodbye hug between friends. You reciprocated, hugged him tighter, both hands, your temple touching his ear, cheek touching a side of his neck. Right there, this is where you belonged. For a moment the world made sense.

You could easily let him lie to you, hurt you, it didn’t matter. You tried to live without him and you failed. You knew better now. He smelled good; right. Did he know it was yours? The way he smelled, that you carried it in your heart, that meant it was yours. Did he know that he was yours?

Did he realize that you were his? For what it was worth. For no reason at all.

He put a second hand on your shoulder and you didn’t wait for him to kiss you, you waited too long, it was too slow, you went for it. He stalled you with a hand, warm hand gripping your collarbone.

“Leon…” – you slurred, nudging your head. It was all there. Everything in the world.

He almost whispered, - “What are you doing?”

What were you doing? You didn’t know. You didn’t think. You did what made sense, there was no use to think about it, that was the point. That’s why it was right. You looked at his face, glass eyes, blown. You loved him. That’s what you were doing. You lunged forward, him stopping you once more, he called your name, carefully. Calling to you to understand something. There was nothing to understand.

“You’re engaged. What is this?” – tone upset but still sympathetic, like a teacher who found it’s most promising student cheating on a test. ‘I will let it slide, but don’t do this again’ tone. ‘Don’t you see where this is going’ tone. ‘You’re better than that’ tone. You weren’t better. And you didn’t care.

“I don’t care,” – you were honest. You’ll break up tomorrow, it wouldn’t matter then, why should it matter now? There was a delay, but ultimately the outcome would be this. Why did it matter?

“You should.” – Leon not even looking at you, looking at his hand holding your frame.

“I don’t,” – you repeated. No emotion, just honesty.

“I do.”

“You shouldn’t,” – you got closer, just for him to hold you tighter in place, keeping space.

“I should. And you should. You can’t do this.” – some anger coming to the surface, - “You’re not using me to ruin your life.”

You couldn’t process anything he was saying. This concerned look on his face, like you were in some altered state, like you weren’t all there. But you were. You were all there. All there and nowhere else.

“Kiss me?” – you pleaded, you didn’t have it in you to talk, there was nothing to talk about.

“No.”

“Please?” – you begged.

“I’m seeing someone.”

He let go when he was sure you wouldn’t attempt to get closer. But you didn’t get it. So what? It was great that he was seeing someone. He was seeing you at the moment though. And you were seeing him. So close and real and it felt like home. “Okay.” – you said.

“You’re going to be okay?” – he took his jacket. You didn’t understand whether it was a question or a statement. Everything a blur. You nodded. Whatever he said. And he was gone.

It was okay. He was okay, looked great, healthy, better. Riley would be okay. That’s what you decided earlier, if he’s okay, then she’s okay. And if they are okay, you’ll be fine. And he promised she’ll be back. Between her and him, at least Riley will be back.

You slept in peace.

Called the plumbers in the morning, watched them fix the problem. You were happy they had this ability to fix something. Just few hours ago there was a problem, and now the problem was gone. You weren’t jealous, but you admired it. You made peace with the idea that your problems weren’t up for any fixing.

You weren’t made to fix anything, just to break. That’s the way you were brought up. You build just to break. Then you stand there looking at the ruins, lamenting the parts you got used to. And you dream about them, then you wake up.

It won’t be any different this time. It just won’t be any different.

And it was comforting.

You sipped a day-old tea, thinking about anything but the future. Tea leaves grow for some time, they must think being connected to earth, sucking in sunlight and being green is what their life is all about. They must find comfort in that. Then they get ripped, and dried. And it must feel like death, like there’s nothing ahead. The green turning brown, curling up on themselves to find some comfort. And then, it only makes sense if they find some peace being under the sun, they realize their existence is all about something different now. Still in the sun, still whatever they used to be, but different. And just as they come to terms with it, they get boiled. And it must feel like a death too, but you bet water soothes them, makes them soft again, takes away all the pain and the sunlight they’ve been hold onto, the flavor. And it’s all good once more. Then you drink it. You drink it and you think that you’ll be fine.

It was exhausted being sorry for simply being you. Food felt like an enemy. Sometimes you wished there was something wrong with you. Something that would make people feel sorry for you. To inspire pity instead of resentment. You got blamed and hit for the things that hurt you too. Beating you when you’re down. To teach you a lesson, like they had a right and like it was noble and you knew. You knew and you agreed, but it wasn’t your fault. You wish you were different. You tried to be different. You wanted people to recognize it. You wanted them to see that no, you didn’t do this to yourself. You did, but you wish you didn’t.

You wish you could be as coherent as others. You wish they recognized that you were on their side. On their side against yourself. You agreed with every punishment. Weren’t you good enough at least for that? Haven’t you secured a place on the Noah's Ark for yourself with that? Haven’t you earned it? You didn’t want to be left alone with all the monsters to be forgotten.

It was cruel to create a monster just to have someone to hate. But if that’s the role, you’d play it. Clinging to at least some belonging.

The dinner that you hosted at your apartment the next day came to its conclusion. Just like everything. Free trial of a life that never was yours. Jim praised you one more time, one last time perhaps. He reached in his pocket to check the keys before going out, took out a small circular metal piece, his mood transforming. It felt like watching a scene from a movie you already saw. A hundred times; you used to watch it as a kid, rewatched it with friends growing up, sharing the experience. So, by now, it was too familiar to engage.

“You know, I’m not even angry with you. i just know… I know that it’s gonna catch up to you.” – fast forward to where Jim was done trying to make you change your mind. He never had a chance, - “It’s women like you. you think the world is your playground. You take what you want and you get away with it.” – He was holding the ring, shaking it; you imagined the ring wasn’t there, he’d look as if he’s making an impression of an Italian, - “You want a new job, you take it. You want to change it, you do it. You want a new hobby, you go after it, leaving the old one half way, after you already purchased God knows how many-… You want someone’s attention, you trade people.” – He was struggling to make a point. Was there a point to make? – “And you think it’s all you. You think it’s your choice, but you do not choose. You’re being chosen because you’re a nice choice, you’re expendable. And your problem is, you think you’ll keep getting away with it, but you won’t. Once you get older, and trust me you don’t have much left, you will find out that the real world is different. The doors that people open up for you will be closed and you will be miserable, lonely and old. Knowing it’s all your fault. Knowing that you discarded every good thing you put minimal effort into because you thought you could get something better because the world lied to you, and you actually believed you deserved better. Because you’re ungrateful, selfish, self-absorbed-…” – there it is, - “Next time you play the victim, I want you to remember that. I know you’ll make all this,” – he gestured around, - “, into you being a victim somehow as well. I want you to know it’s your fault.”

You stared at him, stirred your tea in a cup, tea leaves looked relaxed in pale yellow liquid, - “What the fuck do you know about the real world? Your parents paid your way into college.” – all you said calmly.

And that’s how he was gone.

Jim was right about so many things, he was smart. But he was also full of anger. In his world, everything fell into place. All he had to do was to agree to it. And he assumed it was the same with you. That you just didn’t agree with the pieces that didn’t assemble easily. It wasn’t true. This was the only part he was wrong about. You had to work for every piece. You had to work for everything you ever had, because no one handed you a thing, punishing you for not being the way they wanted you to be. And when you work hard for it, you have every right to let it go. It’s yours to destroy. And you’ll work to make something else, you have it in you.

And it won’t work again, but it was okay. You sat alone; your apartment half-renovated, half-destroyed, half-old. Fitting. You will never sell it for anything better. You couldn’t know what to do with anything better. Didn’t deserve anything better, and the better didn’t deserve you.

A surge of relief came over; you thanked the universe for dragging you out of the state of constantly worrying about your kids. It felt like saving someone who never existed. Just imagine the lives of children raised by someone who ruined everything she created and a man grudging this much resentment and hate towards whatever she created. They would be so hated and ruined. They wouldn’t be. You had too much love in you to let them go through something like this.

If the only love that was yours to give was meant to be distant, you’d take it. You’d love people enough to keep them away. All you wanted in return was their understanding. You hoped they were thankful.

You could never fix yourself, so you tried to fix others, disregarding boundaries because how could you not? You were giving them the best of you, the only good you had, and watched them walk away. It didn’t work out well. So, you tried giving yourself to those who didn’t need fixing. And figured you had nothing to give. All you had was broken parts that could fit to cover up the cracks. You didn’t have a full thing. Came pre-damaged in a box that wasn’t carefully delivered.

Your thesis project never revealed itself because you couldn’t work on something you didn’t fully care about. And working on something you cared about was too personal, too intimate. You feared others reading it and seeing all your vices. Realizing you’re a bad person. It would ruin all the chances of clinging to the image you attempted to grow into. But right now, it didn’t matter. You set your mind on the project. You’d write about the therapeutic relationship, the relationship between a healthcare professional and a client, from the perspective of a professional. It was decided long ago and just now fell into place. And you’d do it for the sake of stating your piece, not for a PhD. You had nothing to prove. You proved yourself enough. And it was enough.

Riley was happy to be back, greeting you at the clinic. It was just a harmless cyst they removed. You still had your suspicions, but they were subsided when you signed the papers. Apparently, there was an issue with you being a handler, they were evaluating whether they should make you go through the procedures proving you really needed a service animal, not just an emotional support pet. In truth, you needed Riley, and Riley needed you, her wagging tail and hugs being the confirmation.

Riley didn’t know you were a fuck-up. Riley loved you through the worst. It was selfish of you, but you were selfish like that. There was no changing something this fundamental.

You sat in the car looking at her. Where would you take her? Your apartment still a mess, paint and wallpaper, dismantled furniture.

Was it worse to not be able to ever get what you want, or to be able to get whatever, but to never know what it is that you wanted? Every desire, every effort, every door leading to the wrong room. And then you have to fight your way out.

You blamed others for not seeing you your whole life, but now you didn’t even see yourself. It wasn’t all bad, all good, but just enough chaos to make the effort trying to decipher it all useless.

So, the effort was useless. It was the right thing to leave you all along, he was right. Leon was smart as well. He’d rather drown himself in poison than see you, and leaving you was right. He was seeing someone. You hoped that was someone better. Someone worth the effort. There was no jealousy. If he had something good, it would be something you weren’t fitted for regardless. It’s not like someone could ever take your place, you had no place to occupy. But you were his, in a way. You hoped he didn’t think about it too much, but it would be good if he knew that. And he was yours. In some way. No one could take it away, not even him.

A when he came over in few days, you sensed that he knew. Leon claimed that he wanted to make sure Riley’s home. You thanked him, for asking, for aiding, you didn’t know if it was his doing. You knew, but you didn’t know if it made seeing him easier. Still sedated by the events, you figured it’s best not to do too much. For when emotions were to kick it, it would be too much rubble to pick the good out of. You were ready for the mess; all you could do was make it less of a problem for your future self.

And Riley was about to sleep, you spent the day locking all the mess in your room, so she can be safe. So, you went outside, for a walk. Didn’t want the image of him in your apartment to linger. You’d never finish renovating, wouldn’t dare to let go. Stubborn. It didn’t matter now, but it would later. Cushioning the fall is the only strategy you subscribed to.

You walked for some time; he was still walking with the version of you that still had it all together. You didn’t know with which version of him you were walking. It didn’t matter, you were okay with any version. He was asking questions about your work again, a safe topic. Keeping the distance. You already told him everything there was to tell. What was even the point?

“Do you like me?”

He looked at you, from the other side of the ocean. It wasn’t storming this time. Still water, perhaps more dangerous than the waves, - “What kind of question is that?” – he hesitated, careful, - “Of course I like you.”

“No, I know…” you wanted to have a conversation, not with your ex-boyfriend, ex-partner, not with a friend or a guy you were trying to steal from someone, not with any social role you were forced to play. You wanted to ask him, soul to soul. Outside of time and space. Honest opinion, no obligations. – “I know… But do you like me?”

The raw honesty in your voice made him realize it was larger than that, - “I do…” – he slowed down slightly, - “I always liked you… I admire you, you know.”

You didn’t like that answer. What’s worse is that it didn’t feel like a lie, - “So you don’t know me at all then.”

“I do know you.” – he’s almost offended at that. That’s good, let him be offended and tell what he actually thinks, - “I always did… I didn’t understand you at first.” – good, you wanted details, - “It didn’t make sense to me why you even volunteered for training to begin with. Thought you were naïve. You had a choice and you didn’t have to do it. I didn’t have a choice,” – he was recalling, - “But then I realized that it made me angry because I envied you.” – that was new, you tried to place those feelings of his onto your memories, it didn’t land. He saw your efforts and clarified, - “That was before we started talking.” Did he think about you before you actually worked together? You didn’t even know of him before that. – “And it was comforting, that someone with something to lose would choose to do what I had to. Made me feel better about the whole thing. For a while…”

You wanted to make him see, it was fraud, - “Yeah well, I don’t stick to my choices.”

“I know. That’s what I like about you. You know what you want and you’re not afraid to do whatever it takes to get it.” – so confident and so wrong, - “And when you don’t want it anymore, you’re not afraid to let go.” – wrong again.

“Yeah, I’m not sure about that…” – you sighed.

“I’m sure. What is it about anyway?” – he finally glued his eyes off the pavement and looked at you, - “Cold feet?”

“What?” – you looked back.

He was looking at you with the care and sympathy of a pet owner before putting said pet to sleep, - “The wedding and all.”

“Oh,” – you caught the drift, - “No.” – he had primitive thoughts, you were figuring yourself out, not chickening out before the altar. You never even got there in your own head, why did he drag you there in his thoughts, weirdo - “What are you… No!” – you looked scandalized, - “We broke up actually.”

“What?” – you liked surprising people, - “When? I didn’t know that.” – he’s suddenly not so dramatic anymore, - “What happened?”

“Nothing.” – you muttered, still mad at him for marrying you off in his head.

“People don’t call off weddings without a reason”

For fucks sake, - “There was no wedding. There was an engagement for no reason, we ended it for no reason.”

“So, it was mutual?”

The image of Jim shaking the ring in anger appeared before you, - “More or less.”

Leon tried to suppress some weird emotion. You gave him a mean side-eye. Gloating that you failed at something decent? You thought of him better.

“I’m sorry.” – the change in his pace begged to differ.

“I should be” – you say, mirroring his words earlier, - “But I’m not.”

“So, there will be no doves at the wedding after all.”

“Who even does that anymore?” – why was he so fixated on that fucking… - “Oh.” – you got the joke. Doves. Dove. Him and his fucking jokes. You wanted to hit him.

It was cathartic for you. You wanted him to hang onto your words, looking into your eyes and have a deep conversation, not this childish… - “As I said, this is why I like you, you’re brave.”

Where was this coming from?

“You don’t like something and you’re not afraid to let it go.”

“I am afraid.” – you corrected, he had you all wrong, - “I’m so afraid, actually, all the time. You know it.”

“That’s the part of it. You’re afraid and you still do it. Can’t be brave if you’re not afraid at all.” – he’d make a great motivational speaker.

“There’s a difference between being brave and being stupid.”

“I’ve never seen you do anything stupid.”

“You’re blind then.” – the conversation you wanted to be profound turned into some elementary bickering at this point.

“Name one thing.”

“I’ll name a hundred.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

Something broken tugged on your heart at that, calling in pain from the rubble. Something buried alive under all the mess. The screams you tried to ignore.

“Let you go.”

And with that you killed the comfort you organized between each other. Destroying boundaries once again, your forte.

He ignored it, pretended you didn’t say it. Shut off. He wanted to hear it, he asked. Are you to blame again?

“It was the smartest you’ve ever been.” – he finally said, taking your hand in his for comfort, a sign that he wasn’t mad you brought it up. Words so heavy with sadness, but there was no anger directed at you.

You were walking in circles by then, just patrolling the streets, no goals and no directions.

“Not how I see it.” – you doubled down, your hand fit so right in his. You loved ruining things.

He just squeezed your hand slightly, like he understood where you were coming from, but didn’t agree.

You felt worlds away. He was somewhere in his head you couldn’t reach, somewhere in the past with his codename references, somewhere in the future with his fantasies of your wedding. You were nowhere but in the present. And it made sense, you had no place in his present. But you were there, and he refused to let you in. It was lonely. It felt lonely holding his hand when he was like this.

“Don’t be mad at me.” – you found your voice in silence.

He looked at you, tired confusion, - “What happened?”

“Just in general.” – you trembled.

He stopped to take a look at you. There was no point. He wouldn’t get it.

“I just…” – you felt the tears coming, - “Everyone is mad at me.” – you confessed.

He pulled you in closer like a bag of bones and hugged, - “Hey… Come on...” – he caressed your head. Pity hug. You were okay with it. You wanted pity. Didn’t care if it was pathetic.

“Let them be mad,” – he said in secrecy.

“I’m going to die alone and everyone’s going to be mad at me.” – not even Clara could get that truth out of you.

Leon took you by the shoulders and looked you straight in the eyes, testing if you were serious about something this ridiculous. It wasn’t ridiculous, it was true.

“Who told you that?”

“I did.”

He just blinked, thoughts running through, - “Well don’t say that,” – like it was this simple, - “Fuck, don’t say that.” – he cradled you in his arms again, hold closer, let go and pressed his lips to yours, soft, - “Don’t fucking say that, okay?”

You blinked, trying to assess the situation, grabbed his jacket, so he doesn’t go anywhere while you’re on it. You just needed a moment; ‘don’t you dare disappear.’ ‘Don’t you dare disappear on me again.’

“You-…” – you looked, eyes hazy, confused. And he kissed you again. This time a proper kiss, you made a sound to get his attention. Hold on. Just hold on, now. Break.

“I thought you were seeing someone.” – you whispered, accusing. It was okay for you to disregard others like that, you held him to a higher standard.

“I’m not seeing anyone.” – he looked like he’d say anything to get back to kissing you, a sudden change from the cold shoulder hugs and hand squeezing just moments ago.

“Did you break-up-…” - Did he feel it too? Did he realize no one else comes close? Had to breakup just after seeing you once?

“No, there wasn’t anyone. I just said that.” – that will do. Or will it?

“Why would you just say something like that?”

“I don’t know. I got scared.”

What? – “You got scared?”

“Yeah, I got scared. You were about to ruin everything, because you got carried away for a moment.” – you could feel his heart beating from where you were holding onto his jacket, - “Couldn’t let you do that. And then you’d hate me for it.”

“I would never hate you.” – you kissed him this time, and he pulled you closer, - “I wouldn’t” – you promised.

“Sorry,” – he said in between kisses, the wind cold on wet lips now, - “You scare me sometimes.”

“Why did you lie about the service?” – you cupped his face, kisses growing more aggressive, - “You quit.”

“I didn’t” – he got his lip bitten for that, he hissed, - “It’s not that simple, got suspended, ‘be dragged back next time they need me anyway.”

You needed a wall or any surface, pin him down. Make him confess more.

“Where do you live?” – you looked at his lips, hungry for the truth. Him. Drag him in the present. Make it all fit.

“Hotel. I moved. Only came here to see you.”

“Liar.” – you tugged on his hair, - “You visit the shop for your bike here every couple months.”

“It’s a good shop.” – he smiled at your assertiveness, and you pulled his hair stronger this time, he groaned, pained expression, - “I came here to see you before.”

So, he was visiting your lecture that one time. Turns out you were on the same page after all.

You patted down his hair, soothing. Kissed him more. Satisfied with the answers, for now.

“Are you stalking me?” – he smiled.

“Yes.” – you were honest, - “I’m crazy.”

“I know that,” – he looked proud, - “I like that.” – he joked. Maybe he wasn’t joking.

His hotel room was empty, organized, nothing to study. You wanted to know everything he was up for when you weren’t together. What else was he hiding? The frustration apparent in your aggression, clawing at his clothes, slapping his hands away when they got in the way, like you wanted to punish him for taking too long. He fought you to get his way with kissing and holding you how he wanted giving you a lot of grace. Yielding only until he wasn’t. And you took advantage of the soft spot he had for your temper. Shameless. He liked you for taking whatever you wanted. You wanted him. His body and soul and his life. All to yourself. If that was a lie, he’d have to deal with consequences.

But it didn’t seem like he was lying. Not one bit. It was the most honest you witnessed him to be. Grabbing the clothes off you to claim any unkissed territory. Kept saying something incomprehensible into your lips, your skin, it was all a blur of ‘missed you’, and ‘need you’ and you knew. “I know” you breathed him in, “I know” - you understood, yearning painfully radiating. He was the only one to make you feel like this. To make you feel this. All of this.

You felt the urgency and trembling need to wrap the reality to make it faster, get there as soon as possible. Tugging and pulling, and moving, begging Leon not to wait any longer. Like you might not make it on time, like he won’t meet you there, until you found yourself at the edge. And it felt like you were about to jump into the abyss. Like with every thrust he brought you closer to a fatal explosion, like it will ruin you forever. But he was right there with you, he wouldn’t do that to you.

You tried to stall him and suddenly you felt every atom in your body tremor, shake and break away from your form, leaving you floating in the space, black, white, just blank… A spark of color appeared in the nothingness; magenta, purple, orange, red, cyan. It felt like all the brightest colors at once, somehow together, but not mixing. You saw them all at the same time, able to differentiate but they were all united. All existing everywhere and you were a part of it too.

Another one, a trail of sparks outlining your neck, his lips brought you back into your form, you managed to feel where the space ended and your body began, your body. You left the state of absolution and came into your body for him. Only for him.

He kissed your neck back into its shape, his hand lifting your back to pull you closer, reminding you of how your shoulder blades move. Your body was real again and it could move. He’d always pull you up for contact despite being on top of you. Like he didn’t want to give you up to the ground, like he wanted you to be his alone. You shift your legs along his hips, the sensation of his skin making them real again, and when he pulls out, the tug at your core concludes the ritual and you’re fully back on earth, transformed; remains of galaxies that couldn’t fit spilling out.

You breathe, looking in his eyes with your brand-new ones. Does he know you’re seeing for the first time?

It looks like he doesn’t. It looks like he doesn’t know, nor understands a thing. Like he just witnessed a miracle: a woman appeared under him out of star dust, and he doesn’t yet know how to process it, but he’s not surprised. He can’t be. Not when he willed her into existence. No, it’s not a surprise, he’s in awe. Like he put his all into this conjuring but wasn’t sure it was even possible to succeed.

He pressed his forehead to yours, like a silent prayer to keep you from disappearing into the light, like a solemn promise to be a silent witness of this miracle; a promise between him and you or him and God, the universe. It seemed like all three collided.

You couldn’t tell if you agreed with this, but if any Godly being was what created humans, you felt like it worked through Him to return the particles that made you who you are, inside of this physical form, lying on the bed next to Him. Perfectly assembled, whole again. You were just drawn to this power he was bestowed with, to be closer. To make it happen. Just two entities, doing what fate woven into its plan since the start.

It felt right. And in the morning, it felt right when his hand was lying on your stomach, you didn’t have to think about it twice, or at all. It was the hand that was meant to be there. He traced the scar on your side, you traced the knuckles on his hand.

“Riley must be awake by now” – he said that morning.

And you answered, - “Let’s go home.”

And that morning he said – “Yeah, let’s go.”

And that evening you asked him if he’s going to help you with your apartment. Make a home out of this mess. And he also said ‘yes’.

And you finally realized that yes. You did get what you wanted. Took some time to figure it out and some effort to get there, but you will always get what you wanted. Let them be mad.

#I have no words that will properly convey how this made me feel #they would not be enough

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