The person brought about from the death of your mother.”
The answer was easy. No. No one knew me. Hell, I didn’t even know myself. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. He’d already gotten enough honesty out of me, and I wouldn’t offer him more. Being truthful with him had already made him see me as a weak person, a broken individual. I didn’t need to reiterate that to him.
“I’m the same person now that I was before she died. The only thing that’s changed is my view on love. I no longer want it. I don’t need it or see a reason for it. But that doesn’t change who I am.”
“Of course it does.” He never once lowered his intense stare, his eyes drilling into mine the entire time he spoke. Or should I say, lectured. “It changes everything. You can’t harden your heart and be the same person you once were. You can’t destroy the desire for love without killing the part of you that cares. If you don’t care about people, you’re not the same person anymore.”
“How would you know? You … don’t … know … me .”
“I know people, though. And if you didn’t care about others before your mom passed away, then none of this would be relevant. You’ve admitted that you don’t want love because of what your mom’s death did to you. Which proves that you loved before that. You cared before that. I don’t need to know you to understand the kind of person you must’ve been when your mom was alive.”
I hated how he could read me so easily, and that was a big reason why I never allowed my Saturday nights to become personal. I didn’t want anyone to deduce who I was then or who I am now. It was none of their business. How dare he sit here and critique me? What gave him the right to list off my personal traits and diagnose me?
Fiery heat consumed my body as I shifted beneath his fierce gaze. I cracked my knuckles, hoping it would ease the aching sensation in my hands, but it didn’t help. The tightness in my muscles grew painful as it climbed up my arms, stiffened my neck, and settled in my jaw as my teeth clenched tight. My entire body became rigid.
“I’m done with this conversation.” My voice shook as I angrily wiped the tears from my face. “You don’t know me, you never knew me, and you never will. I stupidly opened up to you, even though I knew better. I don’t need your judgmental thoughts, your passive-aggressive tone. I don’t need you . I’ve been perfectly fine for the last five months, doing what I’m doing, and I don’t need someone like you—who obviously has a God complex—coming in and making me feel bad about myself.”
The vinyl seating creaked as I slid out of the booth. I stomped toward the door, growing angrier with every thump of my boots on the linoleum flooring. I didn’t know where I was headed, nor did I care. I would walk back to my car if I had to. But I couldn’t take another minute under the crucifying eyes of Bentley, the stranger who somehow knew me better than I knew myself.
He chased after me once I made it outside, and grabbed my arm to stop me. He spun me around and held me in front of him with his strong grip on my upper arms. My anger had been so intense it burned the back of my throat and left an ache in my chest like I’d just gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali himself. Yet standing in front of Bentley, studying his creased brow and soft eyes, cooled the fire inside me. It eased the ache and relieved the tension. But it didn’t make me feel better. Instead, it left me vulnerable, scared, and fragile. Lost and confused.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not judging you. And I most definitely don’t want you to feel bad about anything.”
“Then why are you trying to convince me that there’s nothing wrong with love? Or that my mom would be disappointed in my actions?” I’d thought the tears were done falling, but one look in his compassionate eyes, seeing the way they narrowed as he studied me with an emotion I wasn’t ready
The answer was easy. No. No one knew me. Hell, I didn’t even know myself. But I wasn’t about to tell him that. He’d already gotten enough honesty out of me, and I wouldn’t offer him more. Being truthful with him had already made him see me as a weak person, a broken individual. I didn’t need to reiterate that to him.
“I’m the same person now that I was before she died. The only thing that’s changed is my view on love. I no longer want it. I don’t need it or see a reason for it. But that doesn’t change who I am.”
“Of course it does.” He never once lowered his intense stare, his eyes drilling into mine the entire time he spoke. Or should I say, lectured. “It changes everything. You can’t harden your heart and be the same person you once were. You can’t destroy the desire for love without killing the part of you that cares. If you don’t care about people, you’re not the same person anymore.”
“How would you know? You … don’t … know … me .”
“I know people, though. And if you didn’t care about others before your mom passed away, then none of this would be relevant. You’ve admitted that you don’t want love because of what your mom’s death did to you. Which proves that you loved before that. You cared before that. I don’t need to know you to understand the kind of person you must’ve been when your mom was alive.”
I hated how he could read me so easily, and that was a big reason why I never allowed my Saturday nights to become personal. I didn’t want anyone to deduce who I was then or who I am now. It was none of their business. How dare he sit here and critique me? What gave him the right to list off my personal traits and diagnose me?
Fiery heat consumed my body as I shifted beneath his fierce gaze. I cracked my knuckles, hoping it would ease the aching sensation in my hands, but it didn’t help. The tightness in my muscles grew painful as it climbed up my arms, stiffened my neck, and settled in my jaw as my teeth clenched tight. My entire body became rigid.
“I’m done with this conversation.” My voice shook as I angrily wiped the tears from my face. “You don’t know me, you never knew me, and you never will. I stupidly opened up to you, even though I knew better. I don’t need your judgmental thoughts, your passive-aggressive tone. I don’t need you . I’ve been perfectly fine for the last five months, doing what I’m doing, and I don’t need someone like you—who obviously has a God complex—coming in and making me feel bad about myself.”
The vinyl seating creaked as I slid out of the booth. I stomped toward the door, growing angrier with every thump of my boots on the linoleum flooring. I didn’t know where I was headed, nor did I care. I would walk back to my car if I had to. But I couldn’t take another minute under the crucifying eyes of Bentley, the stranger who somehow knew me better than I knew myself.
He chased after me once I made it outside, and grabbed my arm to stop me. He spun me around and held me in front of him with his strong grip on my upper arms. My anger had been so intense it burned the back of my throat and left an ache in my chest like I’d just gone ten rounds with Muhammad Ali himself. Yet standing in front of Bentley, studying his creased brow and soft eyes, cooled the fire inside me. It eased the ache and relieved the tension. But it didn’t make me feel better. Instead, it left me vulnerable, scared, and fragile. Lost and confused.
“That’s not what I meant. I’m not judging you. And I most definitely don’t want you to feel bad about anything.”
“Then why are you trying to convince me that there’s nothing wrong with love? Or that my mom would be disappointed in my actions?” I’d thought the tears were done falling, but one look in his compassionate eyes, seeing the way they narrowed as he studied me with an emotion I wasn’t ready
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