Wait For Love

★ prologue ˖ ࣪⊹

Last week in therapy, Kiara learned that people-pleasing was manipulative.

Manipulation by one of its definitions meant; to change by deceptive or unfair means so as to serve one's purpose. The last thing that Kiara ever wanted to be was manipulative; which was why when her therapist said this to her, she nearly bursted out into tears, but she did not burst into tears, instead, she let them bubble in her eyes, blurring her vision until the view of her therapist turned into a foggy blob on the screen of her laptop. When the tears did finally spill from her eyes, she'd quickly wiped them away as if they hadn't been there at all. As if her therapist hadn't seen them race down her cheeks and hadn't given her a sympathetic expression afterward.

The way her therapist explained it; she herself wasn't a manipulative person, but the act itself was manipulation. It's an act of dishonesty. It morphs you into a person that doesn't share the real you. You don't share your boundaries, your feelings, your limits, all to get people to like you or think positively of you. Except that you isn't the real you, only someone you invented that doesn't have to show up as their real self. Which meant other people weren't able to show up either because they were catering to a false version of you.

When she had put it that way, it had made Kiara feel both unpleasant and exhausted. She felt guilty and gross about the idea of moving through the world as her least authentic self. She'd been people pleasing almost her whole life. If she thought back hard enough, she could track this behavior back to kindergarten, maybe even further than that. That meant she had been going almost her whole life as a hollowed, watered down version of herself. That sounded tiring. In fact, it was tiring.

Pretending to be this lovable person. Bending and twisting as everyone's whim with little to no backbone. Making sure to give everyone the best of you without leaving a drop of that for yourself. It drove her anxiety and blood pressure through the roof. It was no wonder why most of the time she walked around dizzy and tight chested.

Before the end of the therapy session, she'd made a promise to herself and to her therapist, that she would try and be better to herself, because as her therapist mentioned, people pleasing harmed her relationships with others, and it harmed herself.

And yet, with this information, she found herself sitting in the middle of a restaurant on a date that she didn't want to accept.

It was 8:27 PM, and at 8:30, her date, a coworker named Romeo, would take his seat across from her. Romeo was nice, smart, and sorta cute, but whenever Kiara looked at him, she saw a friend, not a potential boyfriend.

She tried to tell him that once. Twice, actually. He hadn't listened. Or, as he put it, she hadn't given him a chance.

Kiara didn't think that was true. Not because she had given him a chance, but because she didn't think that she had to. If she wasn't interested in dating him—or anyone for that matter–then why should she say yes to a date?

But he talked her into it; guilted her into it really. After numerous accounts of begging and groaning, she accepted. She only needed to say yes once. That's how he explained it. All he needed was one chance. If she didn't feel comfortable with dating him, he'd let the idea go and their friendship would continue as usual.

It sounded so simple, so easy. Too easy. Nothing had ever been easy for Kiara and if there was something she knew, it was that as complicated as people liked to say women were, men were equally as complicated.

And this wasn't a secret. Stories splashed all over websites, news channels, social media, and more were displayed showcasing just how complex men were, especially when it came to their emotions. The way they handled rejection wasn't the best. Women falling victim to the hands of men all because of the word 'no'.

Kiara didn't think Romeo was someone that turned into a murderer or rapist at the sound of rejection, but that was the issue. It was something she thought, it wasn't anything she knew for sure. You always thought the best of someone first, even more so if they were your friend. In cases like these though, it didn't seem to matter.

"Kiara," a hand on her shoulder made her jump. She let out a startled squeak as all the thoughts in her head disappeared. When she turned around to look at the person touching her, she was met with familiar brown eyes. She relaxed at the sight, a breath leaving her.

"Oh, hi Romeo." She placed a hand on her chest, feeling her heart racing.

A smile crept across his face, she'd seen it so often, yet there was something different about it tonight. "You distracted?"

"A little," she admitted sheepishly, with a smile.

"What's distracting you?" He moved next to her, his hands behind his back, and his steady stare on her like she was some kind of target that would vanish if he looked elsewhere. It made her feel nervous, she wondered if those were first date jitters or some other feeling she couldn't place.

She opened her mouth to answer, never getting a chance to respond when Romeo pulled a single rose from behind his back and held it out to her.

"Oh," Kiara's eyes brightened at the flower in front of her. That was actually nice, she felt her face grow warm from the small gift. "Thank you," she took the rose from him, examining it carefully.

"This is so—" she winced, suddenly dropping the flower onto the table.

"What's wrong?" Romeo asked, his brows furrowing.

Kiara looked at the source of the pain. She held up her hand, analyzing her fingers. In the middle of her ring finger, a growing dot of blood formed. She frowned as she studied it, the dot overflowed into a drip that raced down her finger.

"Ouch," Romeo said, "I think one of the thorns got you. I didn't have time to cut them off. My bad."

Kiara's gaze slid over to the rose on the table. Sure enough, sharp green thorns lined the stem. This wasn't the first time a rose thorn had pricked her finger, but it was the first time blood was drawn.

Romeo sat down on the opposite side of the table, removing his jacket. "You have to clean that up. Should we ask a waitress if they have any band-aids?"

The first droplet had made its way to her palm, pooling and drying in the center, as more blood trickled behind it. "Uh, no. It's not a big deal. I'll run to the bathroom and clean it up."

"Take your time," he nodded, "I'll be here."

Kiara stood up, grabbing a napkin and quickly wrapping it around her small injury. She grabbed her purse and pulled it onto her shoulder. She hurried to the restroom, not because of the cut, but because she'd do anything to get away from the date that had barely started.

The bathroom was empty. Kiara let out a breath of relief, placing her belongings on the counter. She gave herself another moment to breathe, then she went back to the matter at hand—literally.

She cautiously peeled the white napkin off of her hand. The dried blood caused it to stick to her skin. She examined the stained napkin and the dried blood on her hand. Tossing the napkin into the nearby metal trash can seconds later.

Kiara held her hand underneath the automatic soap dispenser and two pumps of foam soap poured into the center of her hand. She rubbed the substance together and placed her hand under the sink's faucet. Cold water washed over her hands, the water in the sink changed colors, going from clear to red, to clear again.

As soon as her hands were clean, she dried them off with a paper towel and tossed it in the trash. She gave herself a second, approaching the mirror and staring at her reflection. Quietly, she reprimanded herself for once again trying to stay on someone's good side rather than doing what she wanted; people pleasing...again.

"Here goes nothing."