Page 82 of Glass Jawed
“I’m not sure, Alan. I just... I feel like I was constantly on a hair trigger. I don’t like howweakI was—how quickly I let myself spiral. I drowned out everything around me. Every warning. Every instinct. I keep circling back to alcohol but... I don’t know. That sounds like a dumb cop out.”
“You’re right,” he says, gently but firmly. “Alcohol isn’t the why. Based on how you’ve described your life after Tim’s infidelity, it was more a...crutch. A coping mechanism. But the core behavior? It came from somewhere else. That said, Lucian, I’ve told you before—you are a high-functioning alcoholic.”
Youare—notwere. The words land like a slap. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Alcoholic,” I repeat under my breath, voice full of disgust. “Jesus. I get what you’re saying but...god, it feels like something that happens to other people. Not... notme.”
“It can happen to anyone. You’re not the exception.”
He sets his iPad down and leans forward slightly, tone shifting.
“Let’s try something. From everything you’ve shared, the answer lies in your relationship with Aarohi. Let’s explore that. So we know why it imploded.”
“I fucked it,” I say flatly.
“That’s accountability,” he says. “Not the cause.”
I nod, tight-lipped.
“So tell me about your ideal day with her,” he asks. “What did you talk about?”
The past tense grates me. But it can’t be helped, can it?
Finally, I exhale. “Our best days were... simple. We talked about everything and nothing. She’d tell me about her grad school projects, the research, and this one professor she was convinced had a personal vendetta. She hated the movie,Inception, which was weird as hell—but lovedInterstellar. We argued about that. We talked music, food, parents. We watched the reruns ofThe Office. She always said she didn’t like Oscar. I don’t know why—”
Then it hits me.
Oscar was having an affair. With Angela’s husband, right?
Was that why?
Am I reaching?
“What just crossed your mind?” Alan asks, catching the shift instantly.
“Uh...” I hesitate. “I was just thinking—Oscar had an affair with a married man. Angela’s husband. I don’t know why, but maybe that’s why she didn’t like him?”
Alan studies me. “You think she saw herself as the Oscar in your relationship with Tim?”
I freeze.
The reflex is to sayno. To push it away.
But I can’t. Because deep down...
“I... I don’t actually know how she felt about it—feels about it,” I admit slowly, wincing. “We never talk about the whole... you know.That night. So I literally have no idea.”
Alan nods, his voice gentler now. “Did you ever ask her?”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “No. She brought it up sometimes. I either brushed it off or... or distracted her. With kisses. Or a dumb joke. Or... I picked a stupid fight.”
“Why?”
“Because I just... didn’t want to be reminded of that night.” My voice is tight. “That our story—our real story—is fucked up. And I’d have to face the fact that I started something honest, somethingbeautiful, with a lie.”
“And if it was real,” Alan finishes for me, “you’d have to reckon with what that said about you.”
I nod.
