All of that was a performance.
But the love I feel for Sophie?
That's real.
"Perform? No," I say, swallowing hard. "I genuinely loved Sophie."
"Right, I understand that, Paul—" she nods her head, before leaning forward. "But, I'm going to say something, and I don't want you to respond—I want you to sit in it, and I want you to feel. Can you do that?"
I nod my head, but my stomach drops, feeling like I'm at the top of a roller coaster.
She takes a deep breath, and her face and eyes soften with what appears to be sympathy.
"Paul, I think you see love—and relationships—as something toconsume. Not something you activelyparticipatein."
I blink.
Her words hit with sudden force—a dizzying blow that leaves me off balance. For a moment, I can practically feel the floor tilt, my thoughts spinning as I try to process what she just said.
"What—"
"Feel," she holds her hand up, stopping my words.
Consume? Well, yeah, relationships are supposed to be comforting, aren't they? Having another person there for you, loving them, talking to them, them doing things for you, and you reciprocating. You have sex. You go on dates. You build a life with this person, loving them through the easy times and the arguments.
That's like the whole benefit of a relationship.
And I did that—I participated. We went places together, the farmer's market trips where I would buy those snacks we liked, we went on dates that I paid for, vacations that I helped pay for, I put forth effort into helping clean up the apartment, I bought us dinner, coffee dates, I—
I frown, realizing that a lot of it was financial or logistical. Not intentional.
Those things were for both of us.
What did I do just for Sophie?
Dr. Forseti just watches me as I untangle six years in my head.
I listened to her vent—sometimes—but she wasn't one to complain about things. I helped with grocery shopping, but she planned and cooked the meals. I helped her study from her notes for her finals, but she also helped me study for mine—creating study guides and spreadsheets to keep me organized. I paid my half of the bills, but she contributed just as much, if not more, when you factor in groceries and household items. I paid for our dates, but she was usually the one who picked the place andscheduled the reservations—I just had to drive us or meet her there.
And then all of the small things, the things that would annoy me or I would write off as unimportant, when I'd forget to put my dirty clothes in the hamper. Or when I would leave my dentist appointment and wouldn't schedule my next appointment. Or when I wouldn't tell her we were out of eggs or butter, so she had to modify a dinner recipe.
I would just forget, and we would have little tiffs, I would promise to do better, and that would be resolved quickly. Just normal stuff every couple goes through, the same stuff Brian and Chris would talk about with their last relationships.
Did I follow through on my promises?
No.
Sophie would just fix it.
Emotionally? Sophie listened to me, saw me, and understood my struggles. I felt heard in a way no one had before. I felt like I could tell her anything, all my hopes of the future, my fears of not measuring up in my parents and the town's eyes. I could trust her in a way I couldn't even trust my friends, because I knew she would never judge me or use anything I said against me.
Did I do that for her?
No.
I just... I felt inept with the emotional stuff. Painfully, I can remember the times she tried to open up—about her parents, about her insecurities, about how she sometimes felt invisible—and I always... shut down inwardly. I didn't know what to do with that. I never experienced anything like that before, so I had no idea what to say.
If she were upset, I would just initiate sex, because I figured an orgasm or two could make her feel better. Or I would hold her and tell her that I love her, because that always made me feelbetter. In fact, many of the things I did or said to her were just things that made me feel better.
