Page 49 of All The Ways to Miss You

I have to leave. Now.

At first, I step away slowly, but when the distance between us grows and the music from his class fades, my breathing evens, returning to normal. The sooner I return to the safety of my home, the better.

Locked inside my apartment, I press my back into the grooves of the door and sink to the floor, catching my breath. With my butt planted and legs extended, sweat pours off my chilled skin.

You’re better off alone.

I need something to erase Evan, like that one second, that one event that erased my mind. It’s with complete clarity I decide Aggie was right from the beginning. I’m afraid of anything real. Almost falling into a panic attack proves it.

I thought I could handle this. I thought I was ready. A ridiculous notion I had at one point suggested I should let Evan in and tell him about my past. Ha! When there was no chance of us being together, this crush was easy, but now it’s a threat.

Being with him means I would have to tell him everything, and that scares the crap out of me. Not letting anyone in has worked. Starting over has worked. Not telling has worked. I’ve been able to be me . . . or find out who I am without being looked at with pity. I don’t want to be that woman to him. The one who still has nightmares, panic attacks, depression, and on occasion can’t leave her apartment.

That’s someone I need to hide so I can move toward the new me—the woman who graduated at the top of her class, the woman who finishes marathons, the confident commercial real estate broker, the woman who can close any deal, the one who can stand in front of a group and command their attention, and the one who can sell anything to anyone.

Where I am now isn’t shaped by my before. It’s shaped by my after. And my after is about control, and I need to maintain control in everything. If I let Evan in, I will lose my carefully balanced power.

Except right now, I’m a chicken. That’s where my anxious mind trails. I can’t help it. Yes, Evan might want to talk about something inconsequential. That’s a rational thought, but the anxious part of me knows if that’s all it was, he wouldn’t have announced we need to talk. Instead, he put a label on it and made it a thing we needed to do—a real thing.

Either way, I’m too nervous to find out. Panic is setting in again with overthinking and jumbled thoughts. I plant my hands on the floor, steadying myself. My breathing tightens. Muscles contract. I’m skittish and agitated. The lack of air is overwhelming.

I shake my head in a rush to clear my mind and wipe the slate clean. Lifting my chin and breathing through my nose, I desperately try to open the passageways to my lungs. If I don’t, I might pass out.

Trying not to panic, I count to ten.

Sweat drips from my hairline. I force air through my nose, let it fill my lungs, and push it out of my mouth. I call on my former therapist’s voice to enter my mind.

His voice calm and steady, murmurs softly in my mind, “You can get through this. Concentrate on your breathing. In slow. Out slow. You can get through anything.”

twenty-one

I’m sitting on the floor, my back pressed against the door, when a knock rattles behind me. It jerks me out of my quiet meditation, and I scramble across the floor as if the walls will tip over and crush me.

“Cait, it’s Evan.” His voice is muffled on the other side.

I tense, still coming out of a haze. Unprepared to answer him, I remain quiet. If I forget this, forget him, everything will return to normal. He’ll just be another neighbor to endure until I move out. He should be okay with that. This is what he wanted from the beginning. What I wanted from the beginning.

He knocks again. “Cait, open the door. We need to talk.”

When he jiggles the handle, I crawl farther away. I’m not afraid of him, only what he represents. Will he let himself in? Will he use his master key?

He releases the locked handle and silence returns. I know he hasn’t budged because the essence of him remains. There’s a thickness in the air that surrounds me whenever he’s near. I didn’t realize it existed until this very moment when I wished it away.

“Listen.” Evan lowers his voice. “I don’t want to talk through a door, but if you’re here, make some time for me. Okay?”

It takes a few moments, but he finally gives up and leaves. Heavy footsteps descend the stairs and fade. It’s then that I release a breath, and the stress I held dissipates.

I rise, relying on the sofa’s back to steady me. A shadow veils the apartment, or perhaps it’s covering me. This place has never been this lonely, now that I’m positive I can release Evan and the hold he’s had over me. I do it because I must. This is how I survive. I did it with my parents, shutting them out, and I’ll do it again. And if I can’t come to terms with sharing with Aggie, I may do it with her as well. Relationships are crippling. The pain of this acknowledgment shoots through my limbs and eats at my soul.

The wall I built to protect myself returns. It may have faltered for a brief time, but I fortify it again. I tell myself this vulnerability is okay. To keep watch and protect it takes energy. It’s exhausting. This time, I only let my guard down for a short while. Next time, this mistake will serve as a lesson to keep my personal life private and only emerge for acceptable escapes—like work and running. They’ve kept me sane and will again.

Weakened, I head to my bedroom and lie on my bed. Tucked between the sheets and locked in my bedroom, I’m safe. It’s my cell and personal hell. My eyes close, and I allow myself to shut off my mind.

Sharp angles of light give way to a patch of grass. It’s bright green, new, and beautiful. The sun shines, warming my skin. I close my eyes and lift my chin to soak it in. Heat radiates behind my pink eyelids and burns my cheeks. Sunshine and pleasant temperatures are a rare gift in a Chicago, even for late April.

When I find an empty spot among the sea of lounging students, I shrug out of my backpack and open the zipper. Inside is a colorful serape blanket, schoolbooks, and a cell phone. I spread the items on the ground and kick off my sandals, using them to anchor the edges of the blanket in the cool breeze.

A group of girls giggle about a recent frat party. A football slices through the air, crossing the park. One boy catches it but another tackles him. They tumble to the ground, and a group cheers for them. Another person plays a guitar in the distance. The song is a peaceful soundtrack that matches the day.