Damn.
The worst part is, she’s fucking right.
Something bad happens, and I immediately try to exile myself to protect her from the fallout.
It’s the same pattern I’ve been running for five years.
The same strategic retreat that cost us everything the first time.
I sink back into my chair.
Pick at my food.
I need more time.
Just a little longer, to make things right.
On a whim, I pull out my phone, open my email, and start typing.
======================
To: Amara Khan, Marisol de la Cruz
Subject: Clinic Extension Request
======================
Marisol, Amara:
.
The pilot program has exceeded projections. I’d like to propose extending the clinic partnership for an additional week to finalize pending contracts and conduct follow-up workshops. Amara, your compensation would be adjusted proportionally. Please confirm availability.
.
Best,
Corin
======================
I read it three times. It’s professional, and more than reasonable. Gives her an out if she wants one.
And it’s complete bullshit.
What I really want to write is:
Please don’t leave. I know I keep trying to protect you by pushing you away and I know that’s the exact opposite of what you need. I know I’m a disaster who can’t stop running his own personal self-destruction protocol. But I’m trying. Please give me one more week to prove I can stop sabotaging the only good thing I’ve had in five years.
But that’s not a proposal.
That’s a confession.
And I’ve already made enough of those tonight.
I hit send.
Then I sit alone on the terrace, and watch the ocean turn black under a sky that doesn’t give a fuck about any of this.
