There's a need that's calling my name, it creeps from the deepest part of my thoughts. This familiar fear has taken ahold of me again and again.
I'm its mistress.
I want to stop myself, I really do. There's no reason for me to feel like this. The tightness in my chest, anxiety gripping my entire body, demanding I take action for relief. There are answers I need to know, protections that need to be put in place, just in case. I don't trust.
I can't.
Anyone or anything.
I'm never vulnerable. I don't let myself get hurt anymore.
Ryan could hurt me. He's broken down my walls…some of them. I'm not sure how he's done it, but every time he smiles at me it makes me not want to be skeptical of him working late hours. I don't want to think he's lying every time something comes out of his mouth. But I'd be lying if I said it wasn't difficult.
Ryan's what I need.
He's a good guy from a good home with a good job. He's safe, which is why I shouldn't be searching for anything. But I am. Some kind of red flag that things will go bad at any moment. He's done nothing to make me think he has. He goes to work at his accounting firm, hangs out with friends twice a month on the weekend, and then he comes home to me.
This was never the plan, not mine at least.
I still wonder how those soft brown eyes and easy smile hypnotized me into doing something I never imagined doing.
I avoided commitment up until he came along, the only sixteen-year-old who didn’t want a boyfriend, who went to prom with a group of friends—not because of lack of options, but fear of anything that could lead to the curse of love.
Sex is great but love is terrifying, and moving in together wasn’t planned. It just sort of happened, like a disease. It was naturally the next step to take, according to Ryan. After dating seven months and practically being at one another’s house every day, it seemed illogical for us to each be paying rent. That's how he convinced me, because I'm a stickler for saving my coins. Still, even after everything he's done for me...
I don't trust him.
I try, I really do, but at the end of the day he has a penis and I know that overrules everything.
My feet carry me from the kitchen to the office space that Ryan and I share. He spends more time there than I do. I find creating in a designated place more stifling to my creativity than I thought it'd be, so it's more his than mine. I should crack open my laptop and finish the commission I have due in two days. But I won't. But that yearning need won't go away until I take a look around. Just a little. Not much. I attempt to stop myself, to hold myself back.
If I was a sane person, I'd just go back to bed, or I'd talk to Ryan about how I feel. He'd no doubt listen and comfort me, and do everything a perfect boyfriend would. But I can’t do things the easy way.
I swear just a minute ago, I was simply standing in the quiet office space. Now the room is just a blur of papers. I search through the room like a madwoman, systematically going through every inch of it.
I'm not even sure what's driving me to this point, other than the dream. The dream I should be used to by now.
The last time I felt like this, I was being cheated on by the one and only boyfriend I had outside of Ryan. I went through my ex’s things and found another girl's thong.
My grandmother always said, “If you go searching for something, you’ll find it.” I think that’s a crock of shit. If there’s nothing there to find, then you won’t find anything whether you search or not.
Needless to say, I went out of that relationship in an intense blaze. I doubt he'll ever cheat on a woman again after the hell I caused. I always knew he was a manwhore, and admittedly I felt safe because of that—comfortable in chaos is what Mel calls it—but it's exactly why Ryan isn’t safe. Because he feels safe. It’s confusing and doesn’t make sense to anyone I’ve talked to, but it’s gotten me this far. And I know it’s insane but knowing this doesn't stop me from invading his privacy like a complete psycho. And yes I’m crazy because I've found nothing and didn’t really expect to, but the gnawing feeling is still there.
Now, I have to put everything back perfectly or he’ll know. He'll know that I had another freak out.
Yeah, this isn’t my first one.
I turn around to walk out of the room when something catches my eye. His briefcase is lying by the door, untouched. I want to leave it be, but I'm not going to. I can't. I drop to my knees and instantly start to search through it.
It's just a few papers, some folders. Nothing unexpected. I put the briefcase back onto the floor. That’s when I hear a dull thump and I know there is something else in there. My hands are instantly back inside, trying to find the mysterious object. I feel something soft and pull it out. I already know what's inside before I open it.
SHIT.
Nonetheless, my hands work on their own accord and open the box. Shit, shit, shit! It's an engagement ring!
I can't breathe.
Fuck!