The office was quieter than usual that evening, but my mind was anything but calm. The days with Mia had been a whirlwind of frustration and progress. We were getting closer, I could feel it. But there was a part of me, a big part, that still wasn’t there. I wasn’t the same as I had been when I shut myself off from everyone. But I wasn’t the version of myself I wanted to be either. Not yet.
Mia had been patient with me. Too patient. And somewhere in all that patience, somewhere between the bickering and the teasing and the stupid, insistent desire to push her away, I’d started to realize that I was craving something more from her, something that I hadn’t allowed myself to want for a long time.
I wanted more than this. More than the surface-level interactions. More than the small steps toward trust we’d been taking. I wanted her closer. I wanted to see her first thing in the morning, not just after a long day at work. I wanted to wake up next to her, feel her beside me when I opened my eyes. I wanted to know that she was there, that she chose to be there, and that I wasn’t just some fleeting phase for her.
More than that, I wanted to open up. I wanted her to help me. She understood me in ways nobody ever had. She didn’t try to force me, didn’t rush me into opening up, but there was something in her eyes that told me she was waiting for me to be honest. To be real with her. To let her in.
And for the first time in my life, I wanted that. I wanted to trust her with my fears, my guilt, and all the ugly things I’d kept locked up inside for years. But I wasn’t sure I could. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to let go of the walls I’d built around myself.
The idea of truly opening up to her was terrifying. What if she couldn’t handle it? What if my baggage, my obsession with control, made her run like everyone else had?
The thought of losing her... it was unbearable.
I should have gone home that night. I should have pulled myself together, stayed in and let the alcohol settle my mind. But I didn’t. Instead, I found myself walking through the dark streets of the city, my feet carrying me to her apartment, my head spinning with everything I wanted to say but had never been able to.
I had been avoiding her in small ways, retreating into my own silence whenever things got too real. But tonight, something inside me snapped. It was like everything had built up to this point, like the pressure of keeping it all inside had finally gotten too much for me to bear.
I knocked on her door, my heart hammering in my chest. I was half-drunk, my mind clouded with a mix of alcohol and frustration. I didn’t even know if she was home, but I couldn’t stop myself. I needed to talk to her, even if I didn’t know how to begin.
When she opened the door, she didn’t look surprised to see me. Her eyes flickered over me, scanning me quickly, and I saw the concern in her gaze. But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything except that I had to get this out.
“You’re drunk,” she said, her voice soft but stern. She stepped aside to let me in, but I could tell she was trying to assess whether I was going to be a problem.
“I’ve been thinking,” I slurred, stumbling slightly as I walked into her apartment. “Thinking about you. About us. About what I’ve been doing.”
She didn’t say anything at first. She just watched me, her eyes unreadable, waiting for me to continue. I hated that she was waiting for me. But I knew she wasn’t going to push me. That was part of the reason I came here. She was giving me the space to talk, to explain myself, even though I wasn’t sure I had the words.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I said, my voice rough, the words tumbling out of me before I could stop them. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want more. I want you, Mia. I want everything.”
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. The room was spinning, but there was a clarity to my words now. For the first time, I was letting go of the control I’d held so tightly for so long. I was letting her see the part of me I had been hiding from everyone. The part of me that I was afraid to show.
“You make me a better person,” I said, my voice quieter now, almost ashamed. “You... you get me, in ways I didn’t think anyone could. And I hate it. I hate how you make me feel like I’m not enough, and how I’m scared you’ll leave because I can’t be what you want me to be.”
She didn’t say anything at first. She just watched me, her expression unreadable. I could see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out what to say. But she didn’t interrupt me, didn’t tell me to stop.
“I don’t know how to open up,” I continued, my voice breaking slightly. “I don’t know how to be what you need. I don’t know how to let go of all this shit in my head. I’ve spent my whole life pushing people away, Mia. But when you walked into my life, everything changed.”
I took a step closer to her, my hands trembling slightly as I reached out to touch her arm. I didn’t even care that I was probably making no sense at this point. I had to get it out.
“You don’t know how hard it is to trust someone,” I whispered, my throat tight. “I want to trust you. I do. But I’m so fucking scared that if I let you in, I’ll lose you. Like everyone else. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to let you see me without fucking it up.”
I felt a tear slip down my cheek, and I wiped it away quickly, but I didn’t pull back. I didn’t pull away from her, not this time.
Mia stood there, silent, watching me. Her eyes were filled with a quiet understanding, but there was something else in her gaze. She wasn’t coddling me. She wasn’t offering me a solution. She was letting me feel this—letting me open up without judgment.
And then, she spoke, her voice calm but unwavering.
“You don’t get it, do you?” she asked, her eyes searching mine. “I’m not here to fix you, Tristan. I’m not here to take your fears or your guilt away. I don’t want your obsession, or your excuses. I want you to pour it all out. I want to see you—every part of you. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”
I stood there, shocked, not sure what to say. But she wasn’t finished.
“I understand you,” she continued, her voice steady, “But I won’t let your fears and guilt be an excuse for me to give in to you. I can’t be your emotional crutch, Tristan. I want you to choose to open up. To be real with me. I’ll be here when you’re ready. But don’t ask me to fix you. I’m not here to be your savior.”
I swallowed hard, the weight of her words crashing down on me. She was right. She wasn’t asking me to change for her. She was asking me to change for myself. She wasn’t asking me to pour out my fears so she could console me. She wanted me to pour them out because I needed to.
And that was the hardest part of all.