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“What will you do?”
She shrugs. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe work for the DA’s office? Maybe open my own practice.”
I shove my hands into my pockets. “Will that make you happy?”
Her eyes roam over me before she chews on her bottom lip. “I’m not sure.” She inches closer. “I guess I don’t need you to be my fake boyfriend anymore.”
My heart plummets inside my chest, and a wave of anxiety threatens to bury me whole.
Despite the fear clawing at me, I muster a nod. "Okay," I manage, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat.
The awkwardness stretches between us, making Greer’s face fall with sadness. A sense of protectiveness sweeps through me, and I want to wrap her into my arms. Tell her I love her, but instead I stay rooted to the spot.
"Roman," she begins, her voice trembling with uncertainty as she takes a tentative step forward. "I don't want you to leave. I'm tired of pretending," she confesses, her words weighted with raw honesty. "I love you," she whispers, her voice barely audible but brimming with sincerity.
My heart nearly explodes inside my chest. I love her more than anything. More than myself, but for some reason I can’t express the words to her. I know I have too much to work on before I can open my heart up to her completely. Before I can be the man she needs.
I blink. “Greer, I…uh,” before I can finish my sentence tears fill her eyes.
“Oh god,” she says, covering her mouth.
“Greer,” I say, reaching out my hand to touch her arm, but she backs away.
“No, you don’t have to say anything. It’s fine.”
It’s not fine, but I can’t be the man she needs when I’m suffering like this. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, feeling the need to escape. Escape from my feelings. Flee from this world I’m in right now.
I have to face my anxiety head on.
My chest constricts as Greer rushes out of the room. I want to chase after her. I need to tell her how I feel. That I’m madly, truly, deeply in love with her.
But then what?
We live happily ever after?
I can’t live this lie. This life where I know my anxiety is always lurking around the corner ready to attack.
I pack my bags and head out the door, ready to face things head on.
“Hi Dad,” I say as he opens the front door of my childhood home. “Can I stay here awhile?”
His eyebrows nearly shoot into his receding hairline. “What’s going on? Everything okay?” His tone is one of worry, but I quickly put him at ease by telling him I just need a break for a while.
I’m not even sure for how long.
After settling into my childhood bedroom, I slide into my old desk, thumbing through the internet on my phone, searching for articles on anxiety crutches. I get lost down the rabbit hole of anxiety, and ways to overcome the stress, and decide to go for a walk outside.
I slip on my tennis shoes, and head downstairs.
“I’m heading out to see your mother in a bit. I’m sure she’d love to see you,” my father says before I walk out the door.
I glance at him from over my shoulder. “Sure, I’ll be back in an hour and we can go.”
My father nods, telling me to enjoy my walk.
And then I’m off, wandering the streets of Magnolia Ridge. I pass by Greer’s father’s home, and my thoughts instantly replay all the memories of growing up here. How I used to swing by their house to check on her under the guise of going to hang out with her brother.
I think about my anxiety. I think about my mother and all the cruel things she said to me growing up.
