According to Him

I remember so vividly the first incident that happened, the one that caused a storm of mixed emotions inside me.

See, I'm all for therapy. I recommend it to anyone. I can even go as far as calling myself an advocate for it. I believe that everyone needs someone to talk to. They don't have to rely on themselves completely. Everyone needs somebody, right?

What I found is that truth is not lost in me. I've always been alone and felt alone.

"People who have different types of friends are untrustworthy," he said. Now, it hit close to home because I pride myself on being able to assimilate with people from different backgrounds. None of my friends are the same, so I felt a bit put off.

"Why? What do you have against people?" I asked him with some bite to my voice. However, he did not catch on to my simmering temper. I guess I always had my emotions well hidden.

Now that I think about it, his explanation made some kind of sense. Amazingly, I have been fearful for myself as well. According to him, people carry different kinds of energies. Good and bad. One person having to absorb all these energies daily can never be good. It's either they are faking it, or it is not out of a genuine connection, or they are unstable.

It frightened me a lot. I felt like he saw right through me. I do have genuine connections with different people. However, I have also noticed how these different personalities drain me emotionally. Being everybody's go-to person whenever they feel like they need someone to talk to is never easy. 

"But everyone should have someone they can speak to openly," I suggested. "I wonder who got the chance to get into that head of yours," I enquired playfully, hoping to ease the heavy tension that had settled between us.

He paused for a second, almost like second-guessing himself. I think it occurred to him for the first time that he never actually had someone like that. Someone safe enough to let the walls down with.

"I lost someone," he shifted the conversation, his voice dropping. "She died right in my arms, and I couldn't do anything about it but hold her."

"I'm sorry," I said. It's so cliché, but that was my immediate response. It is not that I did not understand loss; I do. I lost my mother at a very young age. I was barely five when I lost her. At the time, I didn't understand exactly what that entailed, what exactly happened to her. What does death mean? I remember people crying, which made me cry as well. Surely something bad had happened. People cry when bad things happen.

Over the years, I started to understand that I would never see her again. One can only ask too many times when another person is coming back before the one who has to hear yells stop. It's hurtful. I just never understood to that depth. I couldn't really say I knew what he went through. It's not the same. Loss can never be the same.

"Have you talked to someone?" I asked. "That's a lot.  Who was she?"

"My sister," his voice shook as he spoke.  His words were followed by a deadly silence; you could hear a pin drop. "They told me it was suicide, but I never believed any of it. She was poisoned!" he stated with so much conviction that I believed what he believed.

It was so selfish of me that I felt important enough that he opened up to me about something so heavy. In that moment, I felt a strange mix of sorrow for him and a quiet, guilty thrill that he had chosen me, out of everyone in his life, to share this pain with. It will always be raw to him; I felt it. Even though I didn't know exactly when it happened. His pain felt raw and immediate, like it happened yesterday. While mine had been softened by distance and time. What was unknown to both of us was that I had just become his person. His "someone" to talk to. I was so caught up in the warmth of being trusted so deeply, I didn't even register the small voice in the back of my mind whispering that this kind of intimacy might one day become another weight I would have to carry.

"You have a nice smile. I like it." This was me doing all I could to pull him out of his dark thoughts. The way he spoke, the slight tremble in his voice, the way his eyes darkened as he relived those memories, it was too heavy, too raw, it made my chest tighten. I knew if we continued down that path that he was on, he might have a breakdown right there. Worse, we were still at work, surrounded by the ordinary noise of the day.

"I wasn't smiling." he shifted his gaze to me slowly, catching himself and finally realizing his surroundings.

"Doesn't make it any less true," I countered, trying to keep the tone light.

"How do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?" I replied, slightly confused. But I was happy; there was light in his eyes again. Whatever came next didn't really worry me as much in that moment.

"Bring people back," he uttered softly, in amazement.

"I just felt like you needed it," I said, even softer. I didn't want to frighten him.

"I think I'm going to keep you. I want to keep you," he said it with such finality that it sent a slight shiver through me. It felt strangely like a threat. What would happen if I didn't want to be kept? Did I really not want to be kept? That conflict was even scarier to me. What does it mean to be kept? Is that the same as belonging? All these emotions swirled inside me, puzzling and intoxicating at the same time. I really wanted to find out what it meant to be kept by him.

"Now it'syour turn. You got lost in your own thoughts," he said, pulling me back. "You think too much. Whatever it is, let it go," he added.

If only it were that easy. I've lived in my head for years now. I've become so accustomed to it that I can function with it, the constant overthinking, the quiet fears, the need to analyze every feeling before it slips away. Letting go felt foreign, and I fear the unknown. It felt almost dangerous.

"I can help you let go. You know why," I shook my head slightly, letting him know I had no idea where he was heading, yet I remained unmoved. Paralyzed.

"Because I know what you need," he continued, moving closer to me as his voice dropped even lower in octaves. I felt hypnotized, obligated to listen to him, and so I did. "See, you fear the fact that we get each other. You have already concluded and given yourself numerous reasons why you need to stay away from me." He lightly touched my chin, lifting my head up to meet his gaze. "But what you need to analyze is why you keep finding yourself here. In this spot, right next to me, like a moth to a flame. It's inevitable, right? You feel it too," he whispered.

I don't know about the last part, but the rest that he said was true. However, I was not going to give him the satisfaction that he was indeed spot on. After the temporary delusion on my part, I took a step back from him, got my bearings straight, took a deep breath, and built my walls back up.

"I agree to some extent. Whatever you think this is, it is not. And even if it were, it cannot work. I'm your boss," I bit back. I wasn't about to allow him to have one up over me.

"Oh, feisty," he mocked, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that what you keep telling yourself every time you get lost in the thoughts you have of me? Don't get me wrong, I like it," he said, with that same smirk.

Yes. Yes, I do, I admitted to myself. I tell myself every day that it can never work. That it's just a phase. That they always leave, and so will he. When has mixing professionalism with personal ever worked for anyone? Best to stay safe. The thoughts looped endlessly through my head, a familiar shield I had built over the years to keep people at a distance. Yet here I was, already feeling the pull, the dangerous comfort of being wanted so openly by someone who saw through every wall I tried to keep up.

"Come back to me," he said softly, stepping back into my space.

"Don't," I trembled. "I can't do this. Please respect my boundaries." And I fled away from him as he watched. He was always watching me.