Page 44 of Counterpoint and Harmony

But there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it now. Damian clearly didn’t want to stay. And I can’t go to his room. That’s risky. What if someone sees me?

My gaze lands on my laptop sitting closed on the desk. There’s always work to be done, so I settle into the plush desk chair and open my computer, pulling up my email.

I respond to an email from my manager and another one from my PR person. And delete one from my mom without reading it. She occasionally tries to make contact. The first few times were her trying to browbeat me into moving back in with her and Dad, where she could control me again. When that didn’t work, she acted like she was just checking in, like a normal parent does with their child. I actually talked to her a bit then, but it soon became clear that she was only interested in trying to worm her way back into my management team. And that’s not happening.

Sometimes I read her emails or listen to her voicemails. But tonight I just don’t have the emotional bandwidth to deal with her. Deleting her email is the best form of resolution I can get right now.

There are more emails, more decisions I need to make, and I just can’t right now. Another email from my manager asking where and when I want to schedule my next pop-up show, and the only answer I can come up with is I don’t know.

I can’t send her that, though.

So I close my laptop, frustrated that I’m so wound up that I can’t even work.

All these conflicting feelings—happiness, disappointment, confusion—leave me itchy and unsettled. Damian and I always talked about everything. So not talking about all of this—the sex, what we’re doing, his win—feels wrong.

That’s the only word I can come up with that fits. Everything’s all wrong.

I know he wanted to call and talk to his family, but it’s been over half an hour. That should be enough time, right?

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