In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Thirty: You Shook Me All Night Long

Maybe a life. A house with a backyard for Rolo. French double doors in the bedroom, and more than one toothbrush at the sink. A home office for two, a table for two, a bed for two. This time, I refused to feel ashamed for dreaming of something beyond a paycheck.

Why should I feel bad for wanting both?

Of course, it was stupid to think Reed would be the other person in the bed for two. One, I barely knew him. Two, we couldn't stop fighting. Three, there'd been no real definitive evidence of possibility between us. And four — he'd just accused me of an assassination plot.

There was a part of me, however, that disagreed with number three. Maybe there had been signs of something deeper; maybe his reaction itself was a sign. Betrayal by anyone would sting, but his reaction was personal. His hurt had seemed personal.

But if there were signs of possibility between us, what did I do with that? What would happen if I accepted the signs? Would we ever learn to trust each other?

But even worse, what if the signs were now gone after our fight? What if there was no going back after what'd happened?

But then again, what if one day he learned to trust me? What if one day we were both willing to forgive each other? What if I let myself trust and forgive?

The scenario I imagined expanded.

In my concussed, overwhelmed, and exhausted state in that dark motel room, my mind wove a new picture. I saw Reed's tie draped over a living room chair. I imagined his shoes in the closet, his suits perfectly pressed on the hangers. I felt his hand warm and strong as it clasped my own, his side flush against mine as the TV flickered before us. I saw shows we called ours, and movies we forced the other to watch. I saw puzzles and crosswords and long walks in our neighborhood with Rolo. I saw time we dedicated to each other even with the harsh demands of our professions.

I saw bickers over in-laws, breakfast for dinner, and quarrels over getting another dog. I felt fingers tapping against my arm, hands tracing my skin, and thumbs brushing my cheeks like they could wipe the unwanted thoughts from my mind.

And then a flame sparked. And this imagined future, one I so reverently cherished and longed for, burned. The dream I'd woven collapsed as fast as it'd been created.

I watched this imagined scenario reveal its ending. I saw the safe haven destroyed by what felt inevitable, looking on as overthinking and anxiety ripped away satisfaction. I saw me leaving, blinded by ambition. I saw rejection and pain, and being left a foolish mess of heartache. I saw a heart that'd only just learned how to love slamming against walls until it broke.

What if I did get that someday with someone, but I ruin it? What if I can't have that? And not because of a career, but because of fear? Because of me?

I didn't know why I was so convinced I'd ruin it if I ever got it. Why was I so sure I'd only hurt whoever was willing to love me?

The perfect ending I'd constructed was nothing but ash. Even in my head, in my silly daydreams, there were no happy endings. I couldn't even let my dream self be happy. And the more I thought about this, the more I realized I wouldn't be. Not until I was able to control this side of myself — until I decided enough was enough. Not until I was able to tame the insecurities and fears I'd ignored for too long, and I was able to accept more from myself than just anxiety and self-doubt.

You are overthinking. Not only that, you've only known him for a few weeks. Stop planning the end of a relationship that doesn't exist; stop the imaginary heartbreak and focus on what's real. Your injury, your concussion, your current situation of fleeing for your life. Those are real. So stop torturing yourself. And for the love of God, stop convincing yourself you're incapable of loving and being loved. You didn't ruin anything. You wouldn't ruin everything. That dream isn't real. None of that is real.