Page 101 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
I told you so. I goddamntoldyou so. You’re such a fucking tool sometimes, I swear.
What do you want to do about that?
Epic
* * *
Oh,Epic.The moment we met I lagged a thousand miles behind you. Didn’t you see me, always trying to catch up?
* * *
Epic,
What do you want me to do? Obviously, shutting us down the way I did hurt both of us, but I honestly couldn’t see a different path. I’m entrenched. My last serious relationship failed, not because I didn’t love my partner or because he didn’t love me, but because I couldn’t walk away from my job.
It wasn’t right for me to put my work before his needs.
How would it be any different with you?
Ryan
* * *
Ryan,
This is why I shouldn’t have left the way I did.
I was hurt, and I wanted to hurt you back.
Still, I’m glad I didn’t do things differently because distance is what makes this conversation possible. There’s an economy to words in written form. I think about what I say before I say it. Plus, I can fake the mature-adult thing pretty well when I have time to edit. I probably would have kicked you in the shins if I’d stayed.
You said to find what I want to do and fight for it, and if that thing didn’t exist, I should invent it.
Were you serious about that?
Because what I want is to live in St. Nacho’s, dedicate my skills to the work you do, and pursue you, even into hell if I have to.
Tell me now if the answer is no.
The rest is details.
Yours? You are [still] mine.
Epic
* * *
My hands shookwhen I read his message. I wavered between giddy and indignant. How could he be so brash? How was he so confident when I’d obviously tried the thing he was so certain of and failed?
He was young, so he thought he could have it all. And of course life would beat sense into him eventually, but I wished it wouldn’t. I was ambivalent about him winning in the end—I wanted what he wanted, so of course I hoped we could find an answer. But I was keenly aware that if he was able to make things work, that would mean I couldn’t because I was a failure, not because things were impossible.
I couldn’t answer. I feared putting what I wanted—the things I deeply, sincerely, and with all my heart yearned for—into writing so goddamn badly that I worked through my other fifty-seven emails first.
Not only did answering those emails take me the better part of Sunday, the blank futility of their contents swept me into the undertow of my work mindset.
The following morning I was expected to be back at my desk, ready to wade into all the evils of the world. The time I’d spent away was already behind me. The magic of it dissipating like so much fairy dust.
Except for the deeply hidden place in my heart where Epic had carved his initials, things had already started back to normal, but for the first time in my entire life, normal wasn’t going to be good enough.
