It took two days before I accepted that I didn’t blow up my own life by simply voicing what I needed to the man I was spending time with. It hurt then, and it hurts now, but I can’t make myself smaller because he’s not willing to grow with me.
“I’m selling my house,” I tell her. “I don’t need that much space.”
“Have you found something else?”
I shake my head. I considered buying a condo in the same building as Brooks, my mind convincing myself that I’d be okay with seeing him in passing, but my heart knows better. Plus, it would be rather pathetic to put myself in his path with the hope that he’d see me and change his mind.
“Still looking,” I mutter, staring down at my hands.
“You’ll find something that suits you. New beginnings are always hard.”
I scoff. “So hard.”
I’ve changed security teams even though I’ve avoided the tabloids as much as I possibly can. Although it makes no difference that Brooks no longer has access to my house. It’s not like he’s showed up on my doorstep or even texted once since he walked out that day.
It’s been lonely being all by myself, especially after spending so much time with him there, but I’m coming to terms with that as well. I can’t keep relying on others in my life to make me happy.
“I thought growing would be quicker,” I confess.
“Change is one of the hardest things we face. Doing that internally is the most difficult.” She continues when I don’t speak. “It’s easy for us to make excuses when we’re the only ones with accountability.”
I give her a weak smile.
“I miss him.”
“And you will for a very long time.”
“I never thought he’d walk away again.”
I try to swallow my pain, but it lodges in my throat.
“Being unable to make someone love us is the harshest reality.”
I nod in agreement, but I just can’t speak.
We spend the rest of the session in silence, but I’m no longer the man that expects people to make my life better. I have to do that on my own.
“I’ll see you next week,” Dr. Kent says, as if she could read my mind and the indecision I’ve been having about coming back.
“Yes,” I agree before walking out into the waiting area.
I don’t make eye contact with the security guard waiting for me. We don’t speak, and he seems just fine with it. He sticks close but never as close as Brooks did when we make a stop at the grocery store.
I haven’t been bothered much since returning from California a month ago, and for that I’m grateful. For as much as Brooks used my celebrity status as a reason to reject me, I find that I like having a somewhat normal life. I didn’t bring it up to him at the time because it felt more like bartering, and I refuse to negotiate with someone to keep them in my life.
What hurts the most is knowing just how easy I am to walk away from. My bandmates did it. Davien did it, seeing as how I haven’t spoken to him in months. Brooks has done it more than once.
I’m leaveable, easy to put in the rearview.
The flash of a dark suit draws my attention, my heart rate kicking up, but it doesn’t take long to realize the man walking away isn’t Brooks. This happens more than I’d like to admit, but I guess it’s just part of the process.
When he first left, I spent hours in misery, but I tried not to dwell on it like I did before.
Goodbyes should be easier, seeing as how I’ve faced so many of them in recent months, but Brooks has been the most difficult. He somehow managed to crawl inside of me, and it’s been nearly impossible to dig those pieces out.
I check out at the register, keeping my eyes low so I don’t try to turn every man walking in and out of the store into Brooks.
“Thank you,” I say to Mitchell as he takes the grocery bags from my hands, placing them in the trunk of the car as I climb inside.
“Home?” he grunts, his eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
“Yes, please.”
This is always the extent of our conversations. I don’t know a single thing about this man other than he’s part of the recommended team I got from Deacon Black when I canceled my contract with Blackbridge Security the second time around.
I don’t know if Mitchell has kids or a spouse. I don’t know what he likes to do on his days off, and in the same vein, he has no idea what happens in my house. He doesn’t come inside. He doesn’t sit on my couch and watch television with me. When I climb out of his car, I know that’s the end of my interaction with him for the day. I don’t have to worry about him showing up on my doorstep at all hours. I don’t have to entertain him.