BRIE

          As if breaking down in tears in front of Rhett wasn't enough, as if doing it during the first date of our fake relationship wasn't enough, as if doing it in front of the owner of his favorite, secretive pub also wasn't enough, I'm humiliating myself even further now. After swearing up and down, after crossing my heart and sincerely hoping it would kill me, after promising everything and everyone, including myself, I wouldn't kiss Rhett Price unless the circumstances absolutely demand it, here I am.

          Here I am, looking into his starry eyes, staring at his impossibly perfect face, glancing at his plump lips. Here I am, unable to stop thinking about how goddamn kissable they look.

          Every capability for rational thinking was thrown out of the window the moment he enveloped me in his arms at the pub, not caring about who was watching, and the only thing that mattered to him then was me and making me feel better. To make matters worse, the window was locked when he opened up to me unprompted, showing his walls have been held up as high as mine. It's not just me who has so much to lose by having agreed to the fake dating proposal.

          Whether he knows it or not, whether he wants to admit it to any of us or not, there's something there. It feels wrong of me to exploit it for personal gain because I refuse to lose to him and thought I can beat him at his own game, but there have been multiple times throughout the past month when I haven't been too sure whether we're playing or not.

          This is one of those times. The conversation at the pub was another one. The brief exchange during the drive back to campus cemented my doubts.

          I know he has changed. I don't know how much and in what aspects exactly.

          There's a revolution in my stomach, worsened by the way his eyes darken when they look at me, and I know all this tension would easily be solved the moment either of us decides to cut short the already minuscule distance between us. If we were any other pair of people in the world—except maybe Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt, for example—it would be as simple as getting it over with and kissing.

          People kiss each other all the time. It doesn't have to be a big deal. It doesn't have to mean anything; Rhett himself has casual hookups all the time, and it wouldn't be a novelty for him. We'd probably regret it in the morning, or maybe we wouldn't, if I choose to be stupid enough to follow him up to his room and spend the night.

          It can be easy. It can solve everything.

          It can also ruin my life all over again. Do I really want to give in to one moment of weakness and risk undoing all my healing? Don't I deserve better than that? Am I not falling for the bare minimum here?

          Gulping—and using every ounce of strength remaining in my body after an unnecessarily stressful day—I move away, lowering my chin before the hand he keeps dangerously close to my thigh dares to touch my cheek. All my resolve would turn to dust, and I'm not brave enough to survive another Rhett-sized blow to my spirit.

          I don't know how many more times I'll be able to survive Rhett Price, and I'm not willing to gamble here.

          Not again.

          "I'm sorry," I whisper, reaching out a hand to open the door. The cold air of the evening chills me to the bone, but that's not the only reason I'm shivering. Even when I've retreated, Rhett also backs away, and we're back to square one. "I'm so sorry. I overstepped. I don't know what I was doing. I don't—"

          "It's fine. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

          It's not that I don't want to do it. The problem is that I want to do it, and I hate that I do. I want to do it and it goes against everything the new me stands for, everything I've fought so hard to believe and become. The dissonance is killing me here, but it's for the best.

          His hockey career. My senior project. Eyes on the prize.

          He can't be my finish line. I can't be his finish line, either. We can't do that to each other, not after proving it to one another and to the whole goddamn universe it's not safe, it's not healthy, it's not right.

          We're not meant to be. We're not the big love story I've been searching for and, no matter how massive the heartache is, it won't ever hurt as much as falling from grace.

          "I can't fall for you again," I say, shattering my own heart one piece at a time, but it's best if I do it myself. I'm controlled. I know what I'm doing and how far I can go to ensure I'll be able to bounce back from the destruction I'm putting myself through for the sake of my future. He doesn't. He doesn't even have a clue. "I can't let you break my heart."

          He sharply nods, jaw clenched tight. The guilt swimming in my stomach is nauseating. "I understand."

          "I'll see you in the morning?"

          "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

          We go our separate ways and, while I cross the quad and try my hardest to keep the tears in, I wonder how in the world we'll be supposed to keep doing this for six, seven more months and how we'll convince people everything's fine and perfect. I can't even fool myself into thinking I'm okay or understand why I ever thought this would be a good idea.

          It took one date for it to all come crashing down, slipping out of my hands like rainwater. One date. There are plenty of those ahead of us and it's too late to back out now, for it would be unfair for us both, but I'm terrified of what it will do to me. To him.

          To us.

ᓚᘏᗢ

          I survive the following two weeks without dying of embarrassment, which I'm choosing to count as a victory.

          Though things between Rhett and me are still as awkward as ever following the kiss that almost happened, but didn't, possibly even more than before we started talking again, they're still fine. There's just some slight tension in the air I haven't managed to diffuse quite yet and, while I feel like it would be a waste to let it overpower the progress we've made during the last month, I don't want to push it.

          I mostly do it for his sake, as I suspect there's something deeper, more serious going on in that messy head of his, but I can't verbalize it without it sounding like I'm trying to psychoanalyze him and overstepping several boundaries. It's simpler to excuse my own removal from a narrative that very clearly still involves me by arguing it's helping with keeping up appearances and whatever, as it's the main thing at stake here.

          I hate that playing nonchalant and acting like a super chill girlfriend is having the exact opposite effect. By pretending like nothing happened between us, by acting like I don't care about it or that I was terrible to him, he can publicly act like he's unbothered by all of it and even appreciates that I don't pry, but I know he's hurt. It's the things we don't talk about that hurt us the deepest, rotting inside us until we become rotten ourselves, and I'm familiar with it—a bit too familiar with it for comfort.

          So, in an attempt to make us look better in the eyes of curious onlookers, I do what I do best—I present myself as the perfect girlfriend. I can look the part, thanks to both my tendencies for romanticizing everything that happens to me and to my years spent in drama club, but I can't help but feel like a fraud. Even my words sound empty when I utter them, and I fear I might be more transparent than I want to be.

          The mere act of assuming I know exactly what Rhett is thinking without him saying a word about it is a lot more than what I should be doing, especially when he hasn't given me an opening to do it. I feel like we're drifting apart all over again, except this time the blame is on me and, modesty aside, I've rarely found myself in this position, so I'm a bit at a loss for words, unsure how I can fix this. I can't smooth talk my way out of an awkward phase in a fake relationship that I have to protect until graduation.

          Just thinking about graduation makes me break out into hives and nervous cold sweats, as we can't break up right after because it would make it painfully obvious to everyone that we were faking the whole thing, so the pretending would have to carry on for a while longer.

          That's the best case scenario, too; there's a chance we'll get tired of each other halfway through and ruin each other's futures, as I can't imagine him wanting to go through with his promise to participate in such an intimate project such as Female Gaze while not wanting to have anything to do with me. On the other hand, things could very well work out for the better, with time healing all wounds and that, and we develop real, adult, healthy romantic feelings for each other.

          In a selfish, entirely self-serving and self-protecting way, that's what terrifies me the most. I can't do it. I can't. It's terrible and I hate to have that much self-awareness, but it's true. It's been hard enough having to fake my fake feelings for him now that the real things are resurfacing, like I never buried them deep enough for our time apart or my recovery to matter; having them become real and cemented in time and space is mortifying.

          Unfortunately, I have other things to worry about and stress over besides Rhett, so, in theory, I don't have much time or mental/emotional availability to obsess over him, his feelings, my feelings, or how we almost kissed. In theory.

          After two weeks of being ghosted by Professor Ramos and coming up with disastrous scenarios and explanations, each of them getting progressively worse the longer I went without talking to her, I find out she's now on leave. It's a temporary leave, which I learn through her assistant, but the assistant doesn't explain why, only that she's okay and will be returning as soon as possible, preferably at the beginning of October.

          I'm happy she's okay and that she isn't ignoring me out of spite or anything remotely similar, a gentle nudge from the universe to remind me it doesn't revolve around me and my needs, but I'm restless. Everything that felt so certain has me feeling extremely insecure about what is there to come; even though I'd rather die than admit I need help, I've never felt so lost and alone.

          I thought I had everything figured out after handling the majority of Female Gaze on my own, with Professor Ramos only piping in with occasional advice because she thought I work best under a hands-off approach. I'm flattered to know she thinks I'm good enough, self-confident enough to be this independent, but even people like me need guidance sometimes. Even if we can't admit it.

          Rhett, too, has his own life to worry about and, with the start of hockey season creeping around the corner, it might be good for us both to find a distraction elsewhere. I don't want to be the factor that drags him down or ruins his morale—during the most important year of his varsity career and when he's worked so hard to get drafted, even—so I devote extra effort to serve as the doting girlfriend in public. It's the least I can do, even though we're barely talking behind closed doors, and it's eating me alive.

          We sit in crowded coffee shops, get takeout coffee and cake, and share nothing but small talk. We go out to eat and go to the movies and he takes my hand and holds doors open for me, but the invisible distance he's putting between us is killing me. He's so close yet so far, and the worst part is that I can't even pull him aside and chastise him for hurting my feelings when he's not in the wrong.

          Then, one day, I decide I can't do it anymore. I can't take one more second of passive-aggressive silent treatment, not when I can do something about it.

          Letting out a frustrated huff, I set down my fork, halfway through devouring a slice of toffee, apple, and pecan cake. "Can we please have a normal conversation like two mature human beings instead of . . . instead of whatever this is?"

          Rhett also stops eating. For some reason unfathomable to me, his slice of cake looks a thousand times more appetizing than mine, even though we're both eating the same thing, and it only makes him more obnoxious in my eyes. Only he could turn a cake date without a competition without even raising a finger to try and make it one.

          "You're right," he replies. "I think we should—"

          "You're not supposed to agree with me!" He blinks slowly, confusion written all over his perfect face. "We're not supposed to agree on anything. Where's the fire, the drama, the banter? Where's the evidence that we're so wrong for each other?"

          "Sorry, I'm not sure I'm following. Are you trying to tell me you want me to disagree with you about us needing to talk to sell a fake relationship and for you to let me repair our real relationship when that's the whole reason we're here?" I scowl. That's exactly what I'm trying to say and, now that he's parroting my words back at me, I realize how little sense I'm making. I don't make much sense when I'm upset and, right now, my heartstrings are at their limit. I'm at my limit. "Brie, I'm not trying to pick up random arguments with you just for the sake of creating 'fire' and 'drama'"—he draws the air quotes with his fingers—"especially because that's counterintuitive and goes against everything I've been trying to do."

          I deflate, sinking lower into my plush chair in humiliation. "I mean, I get that it sounds utterly absurd when you put it like that."

          Rhett sighs, setting his elbow on the table to support his hand on his chin. His eyes never leave mine and it's so, so easy to get lost in those woods. "It does sound a bit absurd, to be honest. If you're having second thoughts about our arrangement, it's something we definitely need to talk about."

          "I'm not having second thoughts. I'm scared you're having second thoughts. You've barely said a word to me since . . . since you know what. I'm more than okay to sit in comfortable silence, but you and I both know this silence has been everything but comfortable."

          "I know. I'm sorry. There's been a lot going on lately, and I've been feeling . . . overwhelmed. Maybe that's not the right word to use, but my mind has been busy. It never rests."

          I risk straightening my back to lean over the table, throwing my hair back over my shoulder so it won't fall on my cake. Before he can run away, my hand is on his. "Our relationship has always been . . . tumultuous, to say the least. It's always been a different shade of red on any given day. It was so bright, like a wildfire, until it burned out and faded to gray. I half-expected us to pick up where we left off. That's the fire I expected, you know? It's always been one note, and that's what I'm used to. We're not those people anymore, and I suppose I've been . . . having a hard time coming to terms with that. It seemed easy at first, but then I realized just how difficult it would be to cope with a completely new reality when I've been searching for you and what we used to have in every single relationship I've found myself in."

          Our intertwined fingers are holding me still as much as they're holding him, I realize. The physical contact is the only thing keeping me afloat when the only thing I want to do right now is dig a hole and bury myself in it until I no longer feel like dying out of embarrassment.

          Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd be admitting this to anyone but myself or my therapist. Not even my parents or my brothers have heard these words come out of my mouth. Not even Nancy. And here we are, Rhett Price and I, hearing me blurt out a painful secret that exposes me like an x-ray, but it's the full, honest truth.

          I'm not over him. I've never been over him, and I don't think I'll ever be, not completely. It's deeply unhealthy and it brings me to tears just thinking about it, especially there's something particularly damning about hearing yourself say you think your high school relationship was your peak. 

         Then you go and screw it all up when you get a second chance of making it right because of how scared shitless you are of getting your heart broken by the same guy, so you break it first.

          And you do it again. And again. Until it sticks.

          "Well," Rhett mutters. "That changes everything, doesn't it?"

          "Does it?" I ask. "I still meant what I said two weeks ago, which is exactly why things are so fucking complicated. I can't afford to reignite those feelings for you because I know exactly how it ends. Two people can't change that much in a short period of time. They can't change the fundamentals of who they are and, if they're fated to not be together, then . . ." I inhale. "Maybe I've been living vicariously through fictional love stories for too long, maybe I'm too idealistic, but love isn't meant to be like that, right? Even if it hurts, it's not supposed to hurt forever. It's not meant to not let you move on with your life when you know you have to."

          Changed or not, Rhett Price is trouble. He's my Halley Comet. There has to come a day when I stop chasing him.

         "Maybe you're not moving on because, deep down, you know you don't have to and don't want to," he argues, voice surprisingly firm. If the roles were reversed, I'd be in tears. "I'm not saying there aren't situations where that's valid, but, just because it hurt once, it doesn't mean it will hurt forever. It can be the most beautiful thing in the world if you give it a chance."

         "But how do you know? How do you know it's the right thing to do, to give it a chance?"

          "You don't. You just take a leap of faith and let yourself be caught." He flashes me a kind, sad smile. "If you let me, I'll be there to catch you when you jump."

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

shit's getting serious. kicking my feet up in the air and giggling