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“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I won’t lie, I was so nervous you’d find the whole thing corny and over the top,” I admitted, worrying at my bottom lip with my teeth—a nervous habit I had yet to overcome.
“As if you were nervous. You could have anyone you wanted. Why would you care if I turned you down?” He tried to toss it out casually, but beneath the nonchalant exterior, I detected a clear undercurrent of insecurity.
“Because, like I’ve told you, Colt. You’re the one I want. The only one,” I asserted with unwavering conviction.
“But I don’t understand why,” his voice trembled, uncertainty coloring his words. “I’m nothing. Nobody. I’ve got nothing to offer you, and all I’ve given you so far is rudeness and ingratitude.”
Gently tilting his head up towards mine, I tenderly captured his lips. The way Colt melted under my touch communicated everything I needed to know. Once he was comfortably relaxed, returning the kiss with a contented hum, I decided to respond.
“For now, you don’t need to understand the ‘why’. Because I’ve already told you. Hell, I could scream all the reasons why you’re the most incredible person I know until I’m blue in the face. But it wouldn’t make a difference, not when you’re not in a place to truly hear it.”
He started to voice his objection, prompting me to silence his words with another tender kiss. “And that’s okay baby. These things take time. Self-love isn’t a switch you flick overnight.”
At that, he scowled. I sensed he was attempting to appear offended, but I couldn’t help but find him adorable when he looked cranky.
“What on earth are you talking about? What kind of psycho-babble was that? You sound like one of my fucking social workers. Which isn’t a compliment, in case you were wondering. I asked why you want to keep me around, and instead you’re banging on about self-love like some seventies flower child.”
I deflated a bit. I grasped that earning Colt’s trust, and hopefully his love, wouldn’t follow a straightforward path—it was more akin to navigating a game of Minesweeper. Certain moves would prove fine, others fantastic, like our date today. But then, I’d unintentionally step on a dangerous topic, and Colt would erect those walls as swiftly as they had come down. Logically, I understood that there would be times when he’d lash out, trying to hurt my feelings. I thought I was prepared for it. Only, I hadn’t anticipated how it would feel when he uttered hurtful things without fully grasping their impact.
It seemed like the moment called for some vulnerability on my part. If I wanted Colt to trust me with his feelings, I had to demonstrate the same trust.
“I know you probably didn’t mean to, but that actually hurt my feelings Colt.” I expressed it gently yet firmly, wanting to convey that I wasn’t upset with him but also unwilling to just brush off his comments.
I observed him deflate right before my eyes. Initially, he seemed to draw inward, avoiding my gaze. Then, as if realizing my response deviated significantly from what he had been conditioned to expect, confusion took over. It was as if his brain was short-circuiting.
“Well, I guess I’ve already fucked up then. What do you want? An apology for hurting your precious feelings,” he snapped defensively.
Refusing to give him the reaction he clearly sought, I replied, “No, actually. Like I said, I know you didn’t mean to upset me. I just wanted to share it with you because I don’t think it’s healthy to brush things off when a simple conversation could fix it.”
“I don’t even remember what I said. Why are you making a big deal out of it?”
“All I said was you hurt my feelings. I don’t think that’s making a big deal out of things. Does me talking about my feelings make you uncomfortable?”
“I-I-I,” he stammered. “I don’t know! What is this? An inquisition?”
At that, I smiled. “No baby. This is us getting to know each other. Which is kind of important in a relationship, don’t you agree?”
He pushed away from me, breaking my hold on him, and grumbled like a toddler losing an argument in the process. “God, you’re so annoying sometimes.”
“And you’re cute when you’re mad,” I couldn’t resist poking the bear, considering it payback for his penchant for pranking me.
“I’m going to my room if you’re going to be a dick,” he growled, sounding like a tiny kitten. Although, now didn’t seem like the best time to mention that his threat would be more effective if he actually made a move to leave.
“Are you going to let me explain, or are you going to keep acting like a child?” I countered, keeping my tone light to convey I was only teasing him.
I anticipated him to continue the argument. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy his prickliness at times. Surprisingly, he remained silent and gestured for me to continue talking. Perhaps he’d had a moment of self-reflection, realizing how absurd this argument was.
“So, as I was trying to explain before you rudely interrupted me,” I added with a playful wink, which he answered by deepening his scowl. “My feelings were hurt when you implied that therapy terms are bullshit.”
“Because they are!” he interrupted. “Therapy is for rich white people who want to whine about their problems and hear themselves talk for hours on end. And social workers are idiots with a savior complex that are actually useless paper pushers.”
“Well, I’m sorry if that’s been your experience. But therapy actually helped me a lot when I was younger and my mom bailed. So much so that I’ve always wanted to become a psychologist. Not that I’ll ever get the grades for that, so I imagined that I would probably take a social work course in college,” I admitted, struggling to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Good to know that’s the aspiration of an idiot.”
I could sense myself getting defensive, and I detested it. As much as I wanted to challenge Colt, I recognized my own hypocrisy. I wasn’t some perfectly evolved person who could withstand others’ criticisms without being affected. Being vulnerable was difficult for a reason.
Colt had struck an exposed nerve. My future career plans were already a source of shame, something I hadn’t mustered up the courage to share with anyone except Remy. It was easier to pretend than to admit that the thing I wanted more than anything was out of my grasp.
I had always known my future involved helping others. Then, my mom had up and left, and I’d been left directionless. My dad, in his typical fashion, had been clueless and had done the only thing he knew—throw money at the problem and send me to see a private psychologist. Not only had the experience been transformative for a lost and confused child, but it also fueled a kind of hero worship of the profession that stayed with me. I wasn’t naive enough to believe there weren’t terrible professionals out there checking boxes for a paycheck. But that only intensified my passion to be one of the good ones.
