Don't Look Back

Chapter 12 - Ian 🤬

Content warning: very strong/blasphemous language

November 2018
Boston, MA, USA

If only I could read Sylvia's mind, maybe I'd know exactly what to do.

Maybe I could fix this, finally, once and for all. Maybe she would enter my life, accept my affection—flaws and all—and not run away! Does she understand how much I care about her? How much I've always loved her?

Does she see? If so, why does she always run away?

Fuck!

Slipping down against the wall in my office, I sink to the floor. Grip my hair in my hands. And groan. It's the closest I ever get to shouting at the top of my lungs.

How close I came to saying, I don't give a flying fuck what the Church says! I don't care if it's a goddamn sin. Or if it goes against everything I should stand for as a self-respecting conservative Republican.

I want you. I need you.

Fly your ass to Boston and let me show you how much you mean to me!

Because clearly my words aren't cutting it.

Damn it to hell! I hate words. I hate emotions. I hate not being able to express exactly what I mean, exactly how I mean it so that it doesn't come across as creepy or weird or whatever the hell she thought that made her slam down her screen. Block me out. Shut herself away once more.

You went too far, too fast. This is all your fault!

It's taken me years to perfect this neutral expression, one that hides my true thoughts and feelings. Women tend to appreciate a mysterious and aloof enigma who stirs their curiosity.

They don't want the raw truth. Don't ask me why.

With Sylvia, I can't maintain the pretense. More importantly, I don't want to. She melts the mask whenever she's near me, exposing the raw emotions burbling underneath. The ones that usually never see the light of day.

When it goes right? It's freeing. Like someone has lifted an unbearably heavy backpack off your shoulders and tossed it off a cliff.

When it goes wrong? You feel exposed. Like you're teetering on the edge of a precipice about to fall to your death. And you end up wishing you'd kept a lifeline nearby, one that allows you to sink back into old habits.

When we were young, I could show my true self to Sylvia.

Now I'm not so sure.

For one beautiful instant, the past had melted away. It felt like we were twenty years old again, on the cusp of starting a life together, and sharing a beautiful moment in which we expressed the depth of our affection.

And boom! She threw a bucket of ice water over my head.

What did I do wrong this time?

My computer pings me to let me know that Ariana's waiting for me.

Maybe she can shed some light on this disaster.

Exhaling a deep breath, I comb my hair back into place. Readjust my tie. Smooth my jacket. And sit behind my desk, hands clasped on the surface.

"Greetings, Ariana."

"Hello to you too, Professor." She grins. "How may I be of assistance?"

She's teasing me. Poking fun at my mask in a vain effort to get me to remove it. But only two women are allowed to see the real me, and as much as I respect her insight, Ariana's not one of them.