THAT KIND OF LOVE

MAYA The hallway stretched too long. Every step echoed off the tile like an accusation. Like the building itself was keeping score of how fast my heart was beating. This is exhausting, I thought. I’m almost hyperventilating. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped wire around my ribs and pulled it one click too tight. Air came in short and useless. Not enough. Never enough. My boyfriend. My possessive, CEO boyfriend who’d been fighting with me for 3 hours. My keys dug into my palm. Cold metal. The only real thing tonight. I strode toward my apartment door, desperate for four walls and a door that wouldn’t listen without judging. Alex matched my pace. Of course he did. He always did. Three steps behind me. Then two. Then right at my shoulder, like my shadow had opinions and wasn’t afraid to use them. “Are you seriously not going to talk to me?” he said behind me. Voice low. Controlled. The kind of controlled that meant he was about to lose it. I didn’t answer. My thumb was on the key. My hand was shaking. “Maya,” he tried again. “Don’t shut me out. Not after the bar. Not after Mark.” I hate that I can’t get away from him right now. The thought tasted bitter on my tongue. Not because of him. Because of us. Because my voice was gone and my patience was thinner than the walls of this hallway. My hand hit the doorknob. The cold metal was the first thing all night that didn’t feel like him. Didn’t feel like his eyes on me. Didn’t feel like his silence pressing against my skin. I yanked the door open. “What is wrong with you?” I said as I slammed it behind me. The sound cracked through the apartment. Loud. Final. For half a second, there was silence. The kind of silence that happens right before a storm decides which way to break. Then his palm caught the edge of the door before it could lock. “What do you mean, what’s wrong with me?” Alex replied, gnashing his teeth. Anger flashed in his eyes, dark and sharp. His pupils were blown wide. The vein in his jaw jumped like it always did when he was trying not to shout. “Mark was visibly flirting with you at the bar,” he said. “Right in front of me. Are you blind, or do you just like the attention?” I spun to face him. My back hit the door. The wood was solid against my spine. “Don’t you dare twist this. Mark was talking to both of us about the new project. Since when is networking a crime?” “Networking?” He laughed. But there was no humor in it. Just air forced through clenched teeth. “He touched your arm, Maya. He leaned in when you laughed. I saw it. I’m not stupid.” “Since when do you get to decide what counts as flirting?” I shot back. “Since when does every man who talks to me become a threat?” “Since he looked at you like he wanted something I already claimed,” Alex said. His voice dropped. Dangerous. “Since I watched you smile at him and felt like my chest was caving in.” I closed my eyes for one second. In. Out. I know I need to calm down or this argument won’t end anytime soon. My hands were shaking. I pressed them flat against the door behind me, like I could hold the whole house up if I pushed hard enough. “Babe, I love you and only you,” I said. With my emotions all over the place, I tried to reason with him. My voice cracked on the last word, betraying me. “You know that. Why do you keep acting like I don’t?” “Because knowing it and feeling it are two different things,” he said. He didn’t sit. He never sat when we fought. He paced. Three steps to the window, three steps back. The floorboards creaked under his boots. “Knowing you love me doesn’t stop the panic when another guy stands too close.” “So what am I supposed to do, Alex? Stop talking to men? Stop laughing? Stop existing in the same room as anyone with a pulse?” “No,” he said. Too fast. “I’m not asking you to change. I’m asking you to see it from my side for one second.” “I do see it,” I said, slumping onto the bed. The mattress dipped under my weight, and for a second I felt fifteen years old again. Hiding from a storm I didn’t cause. “I see a man who’s terrified I’ll leave. But I’m here, Alex. I keep showing up. What more do you want from me?” “I want to stop feeling like this,” he said. He stopped pacing. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at his reflection in the dark glass of the window. “Every time you talk to another guy, every time you smile like that, my chest feels like someone’s tightening a wire around it. I love you so much it physically hurts, Maya. Do you understand that?” “Love isn’t supposed to hurt like this,” I whispered. The word felt small in the big room. “Not every night. Not every time I order a drink at a bar.” “Then what is it supposed to feel like?” He turned then, fast. Too fast. “Tell me, Maya. Because this is all I know. This is what I feel when I think about losing you.” “You’re allowed to feel it,” I said, pushing my hair back with both hands. My fingers tangled in the strands. I let them. “You’re not allowed to make it my problem every single time I breathe near another man.” “So I should just swallow it?” He laughed again, bitter this time. “Pretend my heart isn’t trying to claw out of my chest every time you say someone else’s name?” “I’m not asking you to swallow it,” I said. “I’m asking you to talk to me before you spiral. Before you decide I cheated just because I smiled.” “You didn’t cheat,” he said quietly. “But it felt like you were halfway there. And I hate that feeling, Maya. I hate it more than I hate myself for feeling it.” The words hung there, sharp and ugly. Like broken glass on the floor between us. His face changed. The anger cracked right down the middle, and something else bled through. Fear. Raw. Unguarded. The Alex he hides from everyone else. “Do you think I like this?” he asked suddenly. Voice dropping. “Do you think I enjoy being the guy who interrogates you over a conversation? I hate myself after. Every single time. But in the moment, all I can think is, ‘What if she realizes I’m not enough?’” “That’s not fair,” I said. My throat was tight. “I chose you at 18. I’ve chosen you every day since. When does that count for something?” “It counts,” he said. “But fear doesn’t listen to logic, Maya. Fear listens to every guy who looks at you and thinks he has a chance.” “So what do we do?” I asked. I was tired. So tired. “Because I can’t spend my life proving I love you. And you can’t spend your life convinced I don’t.” “I don’t know,” he admitted. He crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees in front of the bed. The movement was sudden enough to make me flinch. His hands found mine, squeezing until my knuckles went white. “I don’t know how to fix this. I just know I can’t lose you.” “Then stop fighting me like I’m the enemy,” I said. My voice shook. “I’m on your side, Alex. I’ve always been on your side.” “Do you know what it’s like?” he said, voice dropping lower. Rough. Like the words were being dragged out of him. “Watching you laugh at his joke and feeling like I’m disappearing? Like the version of you that’s mine is getting smaller and smaller every second you look at someone else?” I stared at him. Really looked. At the dark circles under his eyes. At the way his shoulders curved in, like he was trying to make himself smaller. Less threatening. “Alex, look at me,” I said. I waited until his eyes met mine. “There is no one else. There hasn’t been anyone else since you. I’m terrible at flirting. I’m terrible at hiding things. If I wanted someone else, you’d be the first to know, because I’m bad at lies. I’ve always been bad at lies.” For a second, he seemed to believe me. His grip on my hands loosened a fraction. “Then why did you stay talking to him after I went to get drinks?” he whispered. “Why did you touch his shoulder when he made that stupid joke about finance?” “Because I’m human,” I shot back, standing too. The bed was between us now, a thin barrier of white sheets and old fights. “And people touch shoulders when they laugh! I’m not responsible for your insecurity, Alex. I can’t live my life apologizing for existing around men.” “Maybe you should be,” he said. And immediately regretted it. I saw it in his eyes. The flash of panic. “Excuse me?” My voice went cold. “Say that again.” “I didn’t mean—” “Yes, you did,” I cut him off. “You meant that I should be responsible for how you feel. That I should manage your fear for you. That’s not love, Alex. That’s control.” The air went electric. Charged. For a second I thought he’d leave. I thought he’d grab his jacket from the chair and slam out like he did last month. Like he did six months ago. My stomach dropped, heavy and cold. “I’m not trying to control you,” he said. But his voice lacked conviction. “I’m trying to keep you.” “There’s a difference,” I said. “And right now you’re blurring it.” I didn’t want him to leave. But I didn’t know how to make him stay without breaking myself.