"Let the world around us just fall apart
Baby, we can make it
If we're heart to heart
And we can build this dream together
Standing strong forever"
- Starship, "Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now"
Chapter Thirty
As I lay in the dark, thoughts of Kennedy wiggled in my brain. She surely had Rolo by now.
And by now, she might hate me. What kind of person abandoned their dog? And what kind of person didn't have the decency to show their face while doing it?
But my history with her whispered, telling me there was no way she wouldn't think something was off. She was smarter than that. Our friendship murmured in my ear, suggesting maybe she wouldn't hate me, maybe she'd be worried about me instead. She was well-aware that Rolo was everything to me. I really hoped she knew I wouldn't just drop Rolo like that, like he was just some obstacle to my career.
Yet the insecure part of me still clashed with those quiet voices of reason. It asked how she could think any different when she'd been told otherwise; she'd been told a cover story by Simon posing as an intern. Kennedy had heard me promise many times before to do whatever it'd take to achieve my goal.
I also thought of Oliver. He barely understood what I did, not for lack of trying. His mind just didn't welcome discussions of politics, law, and government like mine. His mind welcomed discussions of his restaurant, football, and Kennedy. He would politely ask questions and try to follow along, but he wasn't interested in any of it. He wouldn't understand why Simon was dropping off Rolo any more than Kennedy would accept it. But if worst came to worst, I believed they'd take care of Rolo for as long as he needed. He'd be another addition to their perfect life.
Kennedy and Oliver were living a perfect life. So why couldn't I? Was this karma or some twisted butterfly effect? Had I sneezed in seventh grade and ruined my life? Where had I gone wrong that they hadn't?
I was old enough to admit nothing was ever really perfect. There was no such thing — but damn, if they weren't a lot closer to it than I was.
They loved each other, they loved their lives, they loved the path they were on. They had a future even if their career fell out from under them. Their future was each other, their wedding, and the kids I was sure would pop out in the next couple years. And if Kennedy didn't see me as a horrible dog-abandoner by the time this was over, I would be Aunt Avery. The lonely aunt that maybe drank a little too much wine, had a few too many pets, and spent a little too much time alone. Maybe that was all I'd ever be. Was I okay with that? Was I okay not having a future of my own if my career fell out from under me?
My mind drifted. Thoughts of Reed scraped and lodged across my neurons. Cells lit up like Christmas trees as I thought about the draw I had to him. It was a troublesome draw that chafed my clarity and my purpose. I barely had any scraps of self to rub together anymore — but sometimes that was different when I thought of him. Thoughts of him ignited, and I collected the scraps of self like flowers. I built a bouquet of what was left to offer, like it could be presented to him in foolish hope, attempting to have something I didn't think I'd ever find.
I'm so angry at him. Doesn't that change anything?
Was it supposed to? But what was there to change? I was still incredibly frustrated by him. I was still incredibly intrigued by him. Both were as consistent as they'd been the first time we'd met. I was hurt he'd accused me; it was painful and I was furious, but I still couldn't shake him. That was almost more frustrating than anything else.
The motel bed was terribly uncomfortable. My knee hurt. Everything hurt. But my mind wasn't focused on that, I was focused on something else. Because for once, I was ready to let myself dream of something other than my career.
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.
But something did feel real from that dream. Reed and I's conversations felt real. His touch felt real. He felt real. The heat between us was entirely new to me, but damn, if that didn't feel real. I'd been angry before, but he made me feel a type of anger that was more complicated and intense. It was an anger of mourning, longing, betrayal. It was an anger I wasn't sure how to douse.
I mourned who we could've been if we'd met in a different place, at a different time. But if we'd met in any other situation, would I have stayed? Or would I have done what I'd always done? Would I have shied away from any sort of intimacy with the weak excuse of my future plans and lack of time?
I was startled by how that scenario had unfolded. I'd taken an innocent daydream and flooded it with insecurities. Realizing just how bad my internal workings were, and how low I thought of myself, was jarring. It was nothing short of vexing to realize just how bad something was.
A low rumble sounded in the wall opposite of where Reed's room connected. My other neighbors were also apparently awake at this unholy hour, but instead of being respectful of the late hour like myself, they were apparently choosing to shake the walls with a low but strong pulse of music.
It was five in the morning, but that didn't deter the occupant of the room next to mine from playing AC/DC. It was the type of music my dad listened to, rumbling old school rock that pounded and throbbed through its melodies. It was loud enough to keep me awake, but not enough to reach Reed's room on the other side. He, at least, would be able to sleep.
I, on the other hand, was officially not going to get any quality sleep. For the next few hours, I could only scrape fitful dozes. Short, desperate slices of slumber were soon interrupted by an intrusive thought or an intrusive guitar riff.
If it wasn't 'Hells Bells' waking me up, it was panicked thoughts worming into my mind's eye, demanding to be considered.
If it wasn't 'Back to Black' waking me up, it was a jolt in my knee from shifting in my distressed sleep.
If it wasn't 'Highway to Hell' waking me up, it was the actual highway to hell it was eventually time to get back on. Reed knocked on my door when it was time to leave. I groggily realized the room next to mine was finally quiet as I stumbled across the room and got ready.
I was soon ushered back onto the road, forced to drink more water, and chastised when I didn't finish my sandwich. I was also asked repeatedly how my head and knee was feeling.
Apparently, 'like shit' was not an appreciated answer to his questions. I quickly realized my mistake from his expression, and tried to tell him I was fine, but the damage was already done. I was handed pain meds and anti-inflammatories before I could blink.
He was different in the morning light. Gone was the angry, analytical Reed from yesterday. The one that'd accused me, the one that'd argued with me, the one that'd held me. The moment of weakness, when he'd flared from the perceived betrayal, was pushed away and moved on from. I wondered how deeply he'd shoved that person down and how many bricks had been added to his walls.
His reaction, which was becoming increasingly clear was due to a deep-set vulnerability, was brushed off like it was nothing.
The more I thought about that deep-set vulnerability, the more I thought of our conversation in the car, and the more I remembered he had his own trauma. And the more I recognized that, the more I recognized yesterday's anger as an instinctual response. Betrayal was obviously a hairpin trigger that flipped some deep switch in him and aggravated his old wounds.
By now, the switch had been flipped off, and the triggered man had been shoved away. In his place was a calm, poised professional once again. Whatever revelations we'd reached yesterday had been examined and filed away. This version was the man I'd met at the party, shut down and nonchalant; it wasn't the man I'd been introduced to over the past few days.
This man makes no sense. Every day he is different. He's warm and then cold, he's emotional and then robotic. I mean, truly, what the actual fu—
"How'd you sleep last night?" Reed eyes were trained on the road. I shifted in my seat, tugging at the seatbelt digging into my throat.
I lied through my teeth. "Great."
"Really? You were able to get some sleep?"
No.
"Yes," I snapped, tugging again at the seatbelt.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" His eyes slid from the road to linger on my face.
The bags under my eyes are probably a giveaway, huh? Or is it my tone? Or the fact I learned all that crap yesterday and soaked your collarbone right after?
"Of course. Why?"
His focus shifted again, returning back to the road. I followed suit and turned my own gaze to the narrow highway.
"It's been a hard few days. I hope you weren't shook all night long because of it," he casually said. My head snapped in his direction. My neck protested the quick movement, but I ignored the pain, eyes narrowing.
Was that a freaking AC/DC joke? Is he joking right now?
"Excuse me?"
"How about some music?" He fiddled with the screen for a moment before sound blared through the speakers. The song 'Thunderstruck' boomed through the car.
"Good song. Great band. Wouldn't you agree?" He turned the music up.
"Are you serious right now?" I glared. His lips twitched.
"Not a fan of AC/DC?"
"You knew! You knew they played music all morning," I exclaimed. The first lyrics slammed the car.
THUNDER.
"I heard it on one of my rounds. I shut it down as soon as I heard and let you sleep in a little longer."
I looked at the clock, realizing it was later than I'd expect for us to leave. It was half past ten, and considering both Reed and I were early risers, we should've been on the road hours earlier. Especially considering how paranoid we had to be.
He's hesitant to stay in one place for too long, but he pushed it as much as he could so I could get some sleep. So that's how it is today? Today's an 'act like a human being' day?
"You shut them down?"
THUNDER.
A smile that flirted the line of arrogance lifted his strong jaw. "Are you surprised?"
Yes. No. Stop confusing me. You just accused me of attempted murder yesterday, and you never apologized. Then you let me cry and didn't show judgement — even if you felt it.
I shrugged. "Surprise is for the unprepared and unobservant."
"And you're both prepared and observant?"
No. Because even after observing you, I have no idea what to expect. Am I prepared for you? Absolutely not. Prepared for this, whatever it is? Not a chance. But am I ready for it? I'd like to be.
"Of course. It was— is my job to be both."
"So you're prepared for anything I could say? Anything I could do?" he asked. His expression fell back into the all-too familiar, unreadable state.
Oh shit, batter down the hatches.
I swallowed dryly. "Yes."
"Are you sure about that?"
I have attached "Thunderstruck" by AC/DC above! Just in case it wasn't as clear as I wanted/intended, AC/DC's songs include "Hells Bells", "Back to Black", "Highway to Hell", and "You Shook Me All Night Long". Just know that not all of these songs are family-friendly!
- H