<last journal entries for Dr J and Melissa>
They helped me up eventually. Sat me in a chair. Made me drink the rest of my formula slowly, under supervision, like I was a child who couldn’t be trusted not to spill.
Yes, I said formula. I think I’m starting to accept this.
At some point Amelia brushed my hair back from my forehead so Lakshmi could see the bump again better. It was a small gesture. Careless, almost. But my body reacted to it before my mind could catch up, a softening, a letting-go that made me ashamed even as it made me feel safe.
Lakshmi and Amelia each pressed a soft kiss to my temple, voices dripping with pride as they led me to Melissa’s office and put me down on her couch for a rest.
I thanked them. They left. I had time to think.
This is the thing I’m starting to understand, and starting to fear: Melissa’s love isn’t safe. Not because it’s cruel, or manipulative. It’s not, at all. It’s not safe because it’s total. It doesn’t leave room for gray areas. It doesn’t distinguish between helping and holding, between supporting and absorbing.
And the scariest part is that, lying there, I didn’t want those distinctions either.
It felt honest to let go.
Not “right”. There was little about how I’d been behaving, about what I’d let myself get wrapped up in that was “right”. I’m careful with that word now. It is honest, though, for me to admit how I feel. Not right, just honest.
I can see my possible paths laid out very clearly, now.
One option is to leave. To remove myself from the field entirely. To reclaim authorship through absence. Somehow survive without her, or any of them. Become just another hapless man (albeit one under four fucking feet tall) in this world of growing women, try to find some new place in it.
Another option is to surrender - fully, unambiguously - to whatever she intends. To become something she protects, yes, but something she keeps. Something she owns. Something simpler. It would be so easy. She would love it, if I knelt at her feet.
The third option is the hardest: to stay, and to help guide what she’s becoming. To be present enough to influence her ascent without being erased by it. To steer her towards good. I understand, though, how fragile and treacherous this third path is. How easily fatigue can become compliance. How easily her care can become gravity, or a cage. How easily being carried can turn into wanting never to stand again.
That’s the conflict eating me alive: I’ve been fighting to keep a self that never really made me happy, fighting against the seductive, terrifying pull of becoming exactly what the women of the world want. But what does the girl I love need me to be, to make a better person of herself?
Uncharacteristic for the ever-insouciant blonde, Amelia had squeezed my shoulder once before she left. Affectionately and reassuringly, as if to say she too understood I had a decision to make. And Lakshmi leaned down to kiss my cheek, and told me they all loved me.
I really think they do.
But the decision is in my lap.
…
Oh look. A text from Melissa.
See you later, Journal. I’ve gotta talk with my girlfriend.
-J
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EEEEK HE WANTS TO SEE ME!!!
Sorry. Sorry journal. I had to get that out first or I was gonna like vibrate the whole place. Coffee mugs did rattle on the table next to me, and I think some bulb blew out over the counter.
Anyway he texted back. Just now. Not a long one. Not dramatic. Just: Yeah I can see you tonight.
Which obviously means he wants me. Or at least doesnt not want me. Which is basically the same thing when you think about it.
I told him he didn’t have to go anywhere. I said he could just stay put and I’d come to him we could talk in my office nice and calm and private and adult. I even put a smiley face so he wouldn’t think I was being bossy.
But he said very politely like always that he’d feel more comfortable somewhere else. He said he’d come meet me here at the coffee shop.
At first I didn’t know what to think. Like why not listen to me do what I want? Why not my office? Is he scared of being alone with me? Is this him wanting witnesses in case I I don’t know do something? Is he scared of ME? That thought made my stomach drop in a way I didnt like at all. And flutter in a way that I liked too much.
Then another thought slid in right after it, quieter but sharper:
maybe he just wants neutral ground.
Maybe he doesn’t want to be somewhere that already feels like it belongs to me.
I dont know which one is worse. Because if it’s the first one, it means he’s afraid. And if it’s the second one it means he’s thinking. Really thinking. About balance. About having space. About not letting himself tip too far toward me or into me
Which - ugh. Sounds really good. Crawling into me.
But I said yes. Obviously. I told him that was fine. I even added “this place is kinda special anyway to us :)” like I wasn’t suddenly super aware of my pulse in my throat.
So. I’m meeting my boyfriend at the coffee shop where we first pretended this was just coffee. That these were just meetings.
And I am haha way too excited about it.
I have some time to kill so I got another coffee - the girl just brought one for me, actually, without me asking. So nice! And she liked how I smiled at her. I told her she looked pretty and she asked for a selfie with me.
Anyway since I have time here I am haha Journal writing in you again
I havent been here in a couple months I guess but this coffee shop place hasnt changed much. Same scratched wooden tables, same chalkboard menu with the handwriting that looks fake-casual. But now there’s not just the same aroma of espresso and cinnamon but I can smell the girl behind the counters perfume, or the lemon Lysol they have in back, or the sweat coming off that guy in the corner that keeps looking at me and sneaking pictures. He’s pretended to read the same paragraph in that newspaper three times. I can also hear his heartbeat. I’ll probably be feeling his squirt later.
This table is where Jay sat across from me that first time, elbows tucked in, trying to look like a boss. Also trying not to look like he was staring even though he totally was. I remember thinking he was gentle. Careful. Like he handled the world with both hands.
Other people - not just the guy in the corner, who just went to the bathroom - keep glancing over. Not all staring-staring, just little checks. Like their eyes are doing it without permission. My permission? Two girls at the bar stopped talking when I walked past to get some sugar and then started again too loud or at least loud enough so I could hear them whisper they’d seen clips of my Channel 5 interview from today on GirlToob. Already, I sat back down and the chair scraped back farther than I meant it to, like it was making room for me on its own.
I didn’t ask for this, I really didn’t. But sitting here, feeling it hum around me, the room quietly centered on me, I also cant say I dont want it.
That’s the crazy and kinda scary part. How easy it feels. How natural. Like the world is finally listening. And its all getting to be at the right volume. Like I don’t have to push - things just adjust. People do. Space does. Even the air feels a little warmer, thicker, like its paying attention. Like maybe it all will someday.
And my brain keeps doing this flip thing where it tries to make this all about Jay. Like: this is for him. Being good. Being careful. Being ethical. All of it so he feels safe, so he stays.
Is that really it?
Because part of me whispers that even if he wasnt coming - or if he comes here and he says no, if he’s done - I’d still be sitting here like this. Still feeling it. Still noticing how the barista keeps looking over for my approval, how the room seems tilted toward me just a little. How the sweaty guy in the bathroom just squiirted to me. This isn’t just about being someones girlfriend. This is bigger either with or without him. I can feel it stretching, like when you realize a dress you bought for later already fits.
That thought makes my chest buzz. Not happy. But not guilty. Darker than the buzz I get when I think of cradling him in my arms and being bigger, but still electric. Alive.
I want to be adored.
I want to be ethicul.
I want to be powerful.
I want to take care of people and have them look at me like I’m the answer.
I want Jay to smile at me the way he does when he feels small and safe and chosen. I want his love. I want his trust. I want him with me.
But I have that growling snarling little part of me that knows I don’t technically need it. I don’t like that part. I don’t want to feed it. I want everything to line up cleanly and make sense and let me be all the things at once without anyone who doesnt deserve it getting hurt.
I wrap both hands around the cup and breathe in the steam. Just from the smell I can tell they used a different coffee kind than the one I had earlier, but I’m trying to settle the jitter under my skin. He’ll be here soon. We’ll talk. We’ll figure it out.
I can feel he’s close
-M
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