There will come a point in time when, if we want a real future together, she’ll have to run head first into a wall, smash everything in sight. She will be guilted or threatened, called names. (Would they hit her for it?) That scenario isn’t a fear exactly, it’s a fact. It’s, as I like to say, a memory that hasn’t happened yet.
What scares me is this:
Outcome 1: She tries, she fails. They convince her, they pin her down. And she can’t- “I’m sorry J, but I can’t anymore… You have to understand, it’s not my fault…”
What scares me worse:
Outcome 2: She tries, she succeeds. She refuses their money, agrees never to come home again and slowly, excruciatingly peels off her family like worn dead skin. Then a month, two months, 5 years, a decade later, I fuck up hard. I cheat, gamble away the house, I go behind her back and I dissolve all of the trust we once had.
I’m scared that she will risk it all and in the end I won’t have had the decency, the courage, the whatever-it-is to have been worth it.
That I shouldn’t have made her go through all of that just to be with me because, in the end, I don’t know how to promise happily ever after despite feigning smiles to suggest the contrary.
But we’re young(?) and often I’m just smiling because of pure happiness. So I keep my lips closed tight when we talk and when I try to sleep my eyes are wide open playing our future out over and over and over.