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My therapist referred me to a psychiatrist who can help me find the right medication for my depression.It feels like I’m teetering on a tightrope, attempting to find balance, but I hold on to the hope that there’s a safety net waiting to catch me if I stumble.
“Are you okay?”Aerin pulls me out of my thoughts.
I respond with a subtle nod, unable to trust my own voice.
Her unwavering gaze pierces into the depths of my soul as if she can unravel the swirling storm within me.
“Today’s therapy session ...it left me with a lot to process,” I confess, my words catching in my throat.
“Is there something I can do?”she asks with genuine concern.
I tighten my grip around a vintage whiskey glass, the cool crystal soothing against my fingertips, providing a momentary respite from the swirling thoughts in my mind.“I’m afraid, Aerin.What if I can’t live up to the expectations?”
“Whose expectations?”Her brow furrows slightly.
“Yours, Sans’s ...maybe even my own,” I admit, my fingers instinctively reaching out to fiddle with a loose coaster on the counter.
Aerin’s hand reaches out, gently stilling my fidgeting fingers.“I can’t speak for San, but as for me, all I ask is for your love and honesty,” she confesses, a sweet smile gracing her features.“What do you expect of me?”
“Just your love,” I manage to say, swallowing past the lump in my throat.
Anxiety consumes me as my hand agitatedly runs through my disheveled hair.“Perhaps I’m the one sabotaging myself,” I confess, my voice tinged with frustration.“I’ve always been a perfectionist.But these past years, I haven’t been able to meet those old expectations.I feel ...mediocre at best.”
“You’re anything but,” Aerin counters, a fervor igniting in her eyes.“You’re extraordinary, Greyson.You may not realize it, but you’ve built something remarkable despite everything.Your music touches people’s hearts, your family holds you in love and respect, and you continue to nurture these bars even as your father adds more to his collection.”
I sigh, my gaze locked with hers.Her words stir something inside me, kindling a small spark of hope.
“My theory is that you’re letting your past addiction define you, maybe even control you,” she muses aloud.“Yes, you’ve been clean for over four years, but you’re still labeling yourself as ‘Greyson, the addict.’You are many things, but not just the one thing.”
Her speech sounds familiar.I raise an eyebrow, the corner of my mouth lifting in a wry grin.“Is that so?”
She nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips.“A wise man once told me that I wasn’t just a prima ballerina but could be so much more.The same is true for you.”
“I might’ve said it, but it’s hard to remember when my mind is so convoluted and lost,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper.
She gently nudges me as we continue readying the bar, adjusting stools and wiping down the wooden countertop.“Stop demanding so much from yourself,” she advises, her words a soft plea.“Be kind to everyone, but also to my Grey.”
Her request feels like an uphill battle.More so when I strive for perfection, but these days, my vision is clouded by perceived flaws and failures.
In a graceful movement, she rises onto her tiptoes, delicately placing a soft kiss along my jawline.A rush of delight courses through my veins, sending pleasant shivers down my spine.“You have to believe in yourself, Grey.”
“Working on it, babe,” I murmur, my arms encircling her waist, drawing her closer.
Our lips meet in a dance as ancient as time, a wordless symphony of emotions.Our tongues entwine, moving in a rhythm that echoes the notes of our shared history.
As our mouths part, our eyes lock, an unspoken conversation happening between us.It’s a promise—a vow—to love with all our hearts and souls, to navigate the darkness and find the light together.
Breaking the enchanting moment, Aerin takes a step back, her gaze sweeping over the bar.“I think we’re ready to open,” she declares, her voice steady.
ChapterTwenty-Eight
Greyson
As the doorsof the bar swing open, customers begin to trickle in, one by one.
The air hums with the unrefined energy of ’90s grunge tunes resonating from the speakers.The atmosphere is alive, with laughter bouncing off the walls and glasses clinking, creating the rhythmic pulse of the bar.Though Firefly Garden never reaches its maximum capacity, it remains a thriving establishment.And every weekend, we host live performances by nostalgic ’90s bands on our stage.
“You’ve only got two waitstaff tonight?”Aerin expresses her concern, her eyebrows furrowing.
