Authors: Lauren Smith
r a v e
n
Finals are right around the corner.
I’ve been studying nonstop and busting my butt to finish up my internship
hours. After pouring my third cup of coffee, I carefully review my PowerPoint
slides for the umpteenth time. Eric’s been helping me study here and there, but
his main jobs are to keep me caffeinated, sexually sated, and stocked up on
highlighters/notecards. He’s only excelling in one area. I’ll let you guess
which one.
Speaking of the devil, in walks Eric with a giant bag of Kerbey Lane in
his hand. My schedule’s been too hectic for date nights recently, so tonight
we’ve carved out some much-needed alone time. I’ve been looking forward to it
all week.
“Breakfast for dinner. Is there anything better?” he asks rhetorically.
“What’d you order?”
He sets the bag down on the counter and pulls out two Styrofoam
containers.
“Apple-cinnamon pancakes with bacon and scrambled eggs, and biscuits ’n
gravy with sausage links and fresh fruit. Which one are you feelin’?”
“Pancakes, please.”
“Thought so,” he says, checking the containers to see which one is which.
He steals two forks from the kitchen drawer and plops down beside me on
the couch. The last couple months have been a relatively smooth ride. We’re
working through our issues and insecurities. Opening up is becoming more
routine for him, but curbing my jealousy and trusting him not to screw me over
has proven to be a recurring challenge. Sometimes I win that battle, sometimes
I don’t. Most importantly, Eric’s starting to recognize his own worth. I just hope
he can sustain it.
“How was work?” I ask.
“Long.”
He takes a bite of biscuit and closes his eyes in utter contentment.
“Mmmm. Damn, that hits the spot.”
“Thanks for grabbing food,” I tell him.
“My pleasure, baby. Thought you could use a break. How much time do you
need to set aside for studying tonight?”
I snarf a bite of pancake and shrug.
“Anything I can do to help?”
I shake my head.
“In that case, I’ll probably dip out and hang with Chase after this.”
His words hit a nerve. I convince myself I must’ve heard him wrong and
swallow my food. “You just saw him two days ago.”
“Yeah. So?”
“Don’t you want to spend time with me?”
“Of course I do, but you’re busy.”
I set my container down on the coffee table and turn to face him. “Are
you serious?”
“Why are you getting worked up about this?”
“Because I’ve hardly seen you these past couple weeks. We don’t even have
time for Thursday Movie Nights anymore. If I’m not studying, I’m working late
at the restaurant, or cramming last-minute hours at the boutique. Then, on the
one night we actually have plans to hangout together, you go and make other
plans of your own. Shady much?”
“How is your lack of availability my fault?”
“I didn’t say it was. But I am asking you stay the night.”
As much as he tries to keep it subdued, I don’t miss the annoyance that
flashes through his eyes.
“What’s that look for?”
“I honestly don’t see the point in hanging out if you’re going to be
studying all night, that’s all. Seems pointless.”
“Eric, how many times have you dragged me to places and events I would
never go to on my own? A ton. I do it because I know it’s important to you,
even if I don’t necessarily want to be there. It’s called give and take.”
“Don’t sit there and lecture me on balance. I think I’ve been a great
team player, all things considered.”
“Why are you getting so defensive?”
He stands up and runs his hands through his hair. “Because this is
ridiculous. I don’t want to share you with a million other distractions. If
your time and attention are going to be split, I’d rather wait until I can have
you all to myself. I don’t see the problem with that.”
“If we were going by that standard, I’d never see you.”
“Again, not my fault. You can’t blame me for wanting your full
attention.”
“And you can’t blame me for wanting to see my boyfriend once in awhile.”
“Maybe we should call it a night and quit while we’re ahead.”
I slouch back into the couch. “If that’s what you want.”
“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t test me after you’ve deliberately set
me up to fail.”
“I’m not,” I lie.
“The hell you aren’t. I know a trap when I see one.”
I stand up. “If you want to go, just go! I’m not stopping you.”
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
We stare at each other, the space is charged with palpable tension. Anger
burns in his crystal blue eyes. He bends down to grab his biscuits ’n gravy and
strides over to store them in the fridge. A tiny sliver of hope blooms in my
chest at the thought that he might be back for them later. Or maybe he’s just
saving them for me. My heart sinks at that prospect.
He grabs his keys off the counter. “When you cool off, text me.”
No promises.
The front door opens and closes. I glance down at my pancakes, no longer
feeling hungry. I hate it when he walks out during an argument. Biggest
relationship pet peeve. Why do people do that? Quitters.
I huff and get up to put my leftovers in the fridge. I grab a bottle of
wine out of the door while I’m at it, forgoing the glass. I pop it open, raise
the bottle to my lips, take generous gulps. Drinking when you’re pissed is
never a good idea, but when there’s no one around to bitch at or cry to, I say
go for it.
An hour later, I’ve drained what was left in the bottle. Always a downer
when that happens. Too drunk and aggravated to study, I saunter into the
bedroom and crawl onto my comfortable bed and allow myself to pass out. Screw
the impending hangover.
Sometime during the middle of the night, I’m vaguely aware of the bed
shifting. A warm body presses against my back. Paint fumes rouse my senses.
Fingers idly stroke my hair. I inhale deeply and moan my appreciation. My heavy
eyelids close and I fall back into a peaceful, drunken slumber, but not before
a kiss meets my temple and the words “I love you, Rave,” are softly whispered
into my ear.
There’s no happiness in his words.
Only sadness and defeat.
A reaction I attribute to our fight.
* * *
Eric
I’ve been seeing a therapist for the
last few weeks. Raven has no idea. Not because she’s against therapy, but
because she’d freak out if she knew the real reason why I’m sitting on this
couch. In her mind, everything’s starry eyes and fairy tale finales. Truth is,
I’m slipping. The delicate façade I’ve created to keep her happy is crumbling,
and I can’t glue the pieces back together fast enough.
If she only knew how much I desperately want to hit the self-destruct
button, just so I can end the constant fear of letting her down. It haunts me
every day. The anxiety is crippling. How do people deal? I’m not sure how much
longer I can continue on like this. It’s exhausting pretending to be happy when
I’m not. The amount of energy it takes to forge a smile is becoming
unmanageable—hence my being here.
“You seem on edge,” Dr. Coleman observes.
No shit, Doc. Now fix me.
“I can’t sleep. The stress of my anxiety is keeping me up at night.”
“Do you know what’s causing it?”
I shake my head. “It seems to be pouring out of everywhere.”
“How often are you experiencing these feelings?”
“Depends. At least a couple times a day. Usually more.”
“And on a scale from one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad would you
say the symptoms are?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Seven?”
He jots that down. “Walk me through what’s bothering you.”
“Where do I even begin?”
“Wherever you want,” he encourages.
My sweaty palms rub up and down my thighs nervously. No matter how many times
I go through this process, I never seem to get acquainted with it.
I exhale and flush my thoughts out in one shaky breath before I have a
chance to reconsider.
“I feel like I have no idea where I’m going in life. I’m completely lost.
I have no concept of what I want to do; no real grasp on who I am, which is
terrifying. It doesn’t help that failure is always in the back of my mind.
Especially in regard to my current relationship, so I hold back to avoid
disappointing anyone. This has been the norm throughout my life, by the way.”
“The fear of failure? Or holding back?”
“Both.” I clarify.
“Okay. Keep going,” he urges, sensing there’s more.
“I think people’s expectations are daunting and unfair. No matter how
hard I try, I don’t live up to the standard that’s been set. I hate settling
for mediocrity in any sense, but I don’t feel I deserve any better. I’m also
afraid my mom will never forgive me for ruining her life, even though I didn’t
do anything wrong. But most of all, I’m scared shitless because deep down I
know that one way or another, I’ll probably have to break up with Raven in
order to fix this mess. She’ll never want anything to do with me again. And not
only will I have lost my best friend in the entire world, but I’ll have lost
the one person who believes in me the most. It’s unbearable. So I disguise my
true feelings and keep trudging on.”
Gulp.
Well, there you have it.
“Are you in love with her?” he asks.
“Easily. And if I’d waited to pursue something with her until I got my
shit together, this wouldn’t even be an issue. But I’ve already fucked up one
too many times. She’s fresh out of free passes and I need, like, ten more.”
Hindsight blows.
“Let’s back up for a minute. Tell me what you meant when you said the
part about ruining your mother’s life. What happened there?”
I proceed to tell him everything—the bad, the ugly, and the really
fuckin’ ugly. He listens attentively, absorbing all I have to say. I keep it
100, even though part of me is dying to hold something back for my own
preservation. I’m wise enough now to know that if I’m not open and brutally
honest, it’ll get me nowhere. And I want to be better. Not only for Raven, but
for myself. If there’s one thing she’s taught me, it’s that effort is
everything. What you put into this world is what you get out of it. So I’m
gonna give this all I got and pray it’s enough.
“Have you ever tried talking to your mom about what you’ve both been
through?”
“No. That would be too functional for my family’s standards.”
“Do you think she’d be willing to listen to what you have to say?”
“Probably not,” I answer truthfully. “She’s been running from her pain
for as long as I can remember. Besides, I’m not interested in repairing the
relationship with my mom. I’m much more concerned about saving the relationship
with my girlfriend.”
Doc nods. “I understand where you’re coming from. But as your therapist,
I’m more concerned about the relationship with your mom. Many of your
unresolved issues stem from your childhood. If the two of you can sit down and
manage an honest conversation, there’s a good chance you’ll be able to start
working through some of these obstacles. Otherwise, you’re both bound to keep
repeating the same patterns over and over again—including in your
relationships.”
“And if she shuts me down? Then what?”
“Then you and I focus on moving forward regardless.”
“So you’re telling me I can swing this whole happy and healed thing
without her?”
“Of course you can. I just don’t want to rule out the possibility of a
relationship with your mom if there’s still one in the cards.”
“There’s not.”
“Consider giving it a shot.”
I open my mouth to protest.
He raises a hand and cuts me off. “You don’t have to do anything right
now, but keep it in the back of your mind for later. We’ll talk about it the
next time I see you.”
I rest my back into the couch and exhale my relief.
I can do this
, I tell myself.
For the first time in years, there’s a glimmer of light at the end of the
tunnel. Raven’s face appears in my mind. Then, like a gust of wind
extinguishing an open flame, that flicker of light vanishes. A wave of dread
washes over me. I swallow my unease and look back up.
“What do I do about Raven? I can’t let her down again. There’s gotta be a
way to work through this and still maintain a relationship with her, right?”
“It’s your call. Is the relationship toxic?”
“It’s the healthiest one I’ve ever had.”