In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Forty-Seven: Hue Are All I Want

"My favorite color is you,
You're vibrating out my frequency
My favorite color is you,
You keep me young and that's how I want to be"

- AJR and Rivers Cuomo, "Sober Up"

Chapter Forty-Seven

In a rather unsurprising development, I was anxious. In fact, I was pretty sure I was going to be sick as I stared up at the building in front of me. The address Reed had given me had led to an apartment building downtown.

An apartment building. His apartment building? What if this is where he lives? I'm not ready; I can't do this. I don't want to feel this way anymore.

But what was I feeling? Sure, I was nauseous and sweaty and dizzy and panicky. Sure, I was anxious and nervous and on edge. Sure, I was feeling something consuming and rather ethereal in corridors of my soul I hadn't known existed. Sure, I wanted to run because what was unfolding was very unknown to me. I wouldn't disagree this was a very heavy concept, and one I feared as much as I craved it.

But somewhere, behind a door within one of those newly discovered corridors, was the realization love was a sprout someone had planted in my empty gardens. I'd never realized how empty it was until I realized how full it could be.

I'd learned a lot in a very short amount of time. The past few months were scary; the summer had been painfully unrelenting with tests I hadn't known were meant to be faced. I'd learned I couldn't run from things just because they were hard or different. That I couldn't spray poison on seedlings and then lament the lack of growth. I was extremely aware my anxiety was only mine to work through; any short-term relief I could snatch by fleeing would only wither me in the future. I knew soothing the symptoms wouldn't cure the rot.

I can put on my big girl pants and face this. No, eff that, I'm a woman. I'm a full-grown adult that can handle her own problems.

I was no longer a girl masquerading as a woman. I would never again allow fear to create ravines in my life and isolate me. It didn't mean I was no longer afraid – I just recognized the fear. I accepted it. I would face it.

So, I walked into that building. Still anxious, but determined. I did deep breathing exercises in the elevator. I focused on staying grounded and warded off temptations to rehearse my words. I flexed my hands and choked down the nausea.

I'd been up all night, or at least most of it. I figured I must've scraped an hour or two at some point, but I couldn't have gotten any more than that. I based my math on the frequent staring at the alarm clock in Kennedy's guest bedroom throughout the fitful night. 

One to two hours isn't bad though, right?

My standards for sleep had gotten extremely low over the past few weeks. I'd stared in the mirror after waking, wondering if I should try to make myself look like less of a mess... then I'd remembered I wasn't a miracle worker. If it was a workday, maybe I would've tried to scrape up some effort. Perhaps I would've painstakingly attempted to cover the puffiness around my eyes and their dark purple indents, but it wasn't, and I couldn't. I knew it wasn't ideal to present myself as a mental, physical, and emotional wreck, but my hands had shaken too much to make any attempts. I figured my gaunt look wasn't going to affect the outcome of the day. Not at this point.

The apartment building was nice, the hallways were clean and quiet as I found apartment 7D. I took another stolen moment to prepare. I took a deep breath, smoothed my hair, tugged my shirt, and internally counted to ten — then I knocked on the door.

The firm lock of a bolt was the first sign of his caution, before he even appeared. When he did, it was slow and wary, like he wasn't sure who'd greet him on the other side of the door. It was a tension I wondered if engrained in him; a side effect of his job that lingered like perfume on sheets.