I'm in the hallway, and I have no idea where I think I'm going. My heart is lodged in my throat, my blood pounds in my ears, my stomach literally aches. Because no matter how much sense Adam thinks he's making (and how much I understand where he's coming from) it hurts. It's nearly the worst pain I've felt in my life, eclipsed only by the sharp, burning pain that followed my father's death for months.

And thinking about Dad just causes me to lose it completely. I walk along the hallways, crying openly and praying that no one sees me. Apparently, God thinks I've had enough for the day, and I make it to my floor's empty study lounge. It's a small room with two long tables in the middle and various comfortable chairs scattered near the windows. I sink into a plush red armchair and lean back, stretching my legs in front of me. I throw my arm across my eyes and feel my sleeve turning wet with my continuing, seemingly endless tears.

I can't take this emotional roller coaster anymore - despite the fact that I've brought it all on myself. Not intentionally, of course. It's just…the way I am has brought me so much pain.

My stomach chooses this moment to rumble loudly, protesting the fact that I haven't eaten in thirty-odd hours. I decide to ignore it. Food is the last thing on my mind in this moment. I sit in solitude and silence for a long time…hours probably…or maybe it only seems that way, I don't know. I don't think I know anything anymore.

Suddenly, there's a hand on my shoulder, and I know who it is immediately. No need to move my arm, no need to hear his voice. Why is he here?

"I just figured…"

I sense him set something on the arm of the chair. Nothing else is said, and I know he leaves. I still don't move for several long, drawn-out minutes. When I finally glance at the arm, I see a ham sandwich sitting there.

This is normally absolutely nothing remarkable, but just the sight of it sets off fresh tears.

See. See! Why doesn't Adam understand, this is why I love him, this is why I need him? He knows me, he knows where I go, when I'm hungry…he even knows my favorite sandwich. Of course, these could all be lucky guesses…but I dismiss that thought immediately, I don't like that train of thought, especially after some of today's revelations.


I eat hungrily for a few moments, thankful for the food and for the distraction from my heavy thoughts. If only he'd thought to include a drink…as if I should be picky in a moment like this. I feel guilty, but when I stand to throw away the napkin on which the sandwich was sitting, my eyes fall on the can sitting on the ground just next to the chair. Minute Maid lemonade - of course, lemonade is my favorite.

Irrationally, I'm angry at Adam. How dare he do this to me? How dare he (albeit reasonably, thinking it's the best for both him and me) spurn me and then go…go…caring? It only reaffirms his perfection in my mind, and then…I suddenly, fully, finally realize, with complete sadness, that the very reason I love him is the very reason he can't let me love him.

Perfection. Is that really all I want? Did I really only want to use him to make myself better - to make myself feel better? Is Adam my model of perfection? Or did I force him to fit the model?

It's much too deep for my drained mind, heart, and body to deal with, although suddenly I'm filled with shame, like my feelings aren't real, were never real…that Adam's the one who feels, who loves, that I'm the one who hurt him, that he's the one in pain. And if it feels anything like him…I feel completely awful that I caused him pain like that.

I am not an idiot. I certainly am coming to a very full, very unexpected understanding. As much as I don't want to think about this, to focus on this…my brain just won't listen to me. It believes now is a perfectly acceptable time to rehash everything.

I am not an idiot. I am not a simple person. In fact, I am more complicated that I can even fathom.

But…maybe I was…am…a little blind?

But I still think my feelings were…are…real. I truly do.

And I'm crying again.

But these are angry tears, tears of confusion and frustration - tears for a loss I don't understand and a love that may not exist.