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December 20th, 2020
Maria was losing her mind. She must be going insane, there is no other explanation for why she keeps checking her phone like this. Putting it down on the nightstand just to immediately pick it back up and set it back down because ' what is wrong with me? '
She's convinced herself that if she just focuses extra hard on The Real Housewives playing on her bedroom TV that every buzz coming from her phone won't keep making her arm hair shoot up and goosebumps erupt all over her body; just for it to be an email from her agency or a text from her friends asking if she's alright.
She's been like this for days. She has to stop, this has to end. It's madness and it's beginning to aggravate her how much she cares about a simple text or phone call. It's been years, so long, since she's felt this way about anything that wasn't work or family related. She feels absolutely off her rocker, batshit crazy.
Maria should've known the second she arrived back in New York when the suffocating feeling in her chest didn't immediately dissipate that this was not going to be as simple as she had hoped. This was complicated; the very thing Maria has been trying to avoid and prevent for years now. Not even being in the lush comfort of her apartment, her building, her street could make the tightness behind her eyes disappear. Going to her bodega for a pack of Reds also didn't help. She went through the entire pack in a day.
The flight back from Atlanta was tortuously long, and seemed to drag on for ages up in the air. Usually those little 2 hour flights are a time for her to unwind and reflect back on her work and effort. All Maria could come up with in her mind was his face. More specifically his eyes and how much she wished to be looking directly at them in that very moment. The thought carried her through landing, baggage claim, the car ride into Manhattan, in the elevator up to her floor and still sits with her as she lays in bed attempting to convince herself she's fine.
Snow falls outside her floor-to-ceiling windows, slides down the glass into a miniature white mountain on the sill. Maria watches each snowflake whir past, the voices of the women arguing on her TV warbled in her ears. She just can't focus.
She's in it now, no escaping.
Placing her sock clad feet on the floor, Maria forces herself out of bed from under the weight of her duvet. Looking back at her spot in bed, the deep indentations of her body make a hollow shape in the mattress. Ignoring the cold nip of the AC on her skin, she trudged her way to the bathroom. She's been in bed since she got home, 3 days ago. Her friends and cousin Carmen have been blowing up her phone, asking all kinds of questions like: How was your flight? Are you feeling alright? Are you sure you should be alone? Do you want to talk about it? Has he called yet? None of which Maria really has any answers for. None of which she cared to answer anyway, they weren't questions and messages filled with care and concern from him. She feels terrible not answering anyone but she didn't want to speak to anyone that wasn't who she's been waiting for. Maria hoped they understood that.
The image in front of her in the bathroom mirror was that of a very disheveled and visibly distraught woman. The vision of heartbreak. Her hair was oily and knotted, the back of it completely flat and molded to the back of her head with how long she'd been laying in bed. The bags under her eyes dark and puffy, her eyes swollen: she's been crying too much. Her skin was dull and gray, the red veins in her cheeks more prominent. She let out a heavy sigh at her reflection, "Jesus christ, why me..." she let the last word die in her throat with a high whine.
Letting cold water fill the sink, she held her breath and plunged her face a few inches into the water; chilled to perfection from the slowly freezing pipes of her building in the New York winter.
She held her breath, opened her eyes and stared at the bottom of her sink. The white porcelain gives her eyes a rest from the overwhelming visuals of reality tv. Her head broke away from the pool of cold water, instantly gasping for air. Her lungs burned from the sudden intake of air, her breaths coming in shallow yet painful pants. This is bullshit. This is ridiculous. She couldn't believe how upset and alone she felt.
She watched the water pour down her face in fat droplets. The longer she stared at her flushed face, stared at her own features in the mirror; the more she thought of his own. His mouth, the scruff hugging his jaw, the tip of his nose: often she found herself imagining how they would feel against her. He is beautiful.
And he's not here.
He's thousands of miles away. He's so far away and she can't stand it.
It's not fair.
Maria allows her emotions to finally run rampant through her body. Emotions she'd been holding for months, things she barely spoke about, emotions she denied herself. She let it hit her all at once. Maria couldn't deny it any longer: she missed him. She wanted him right here next to her to contradict every negative notion popping up in her brain right now. She wanted him to comfort her to tell her everything was ok, they were fine. That he loved her. The way she loved him, something she couldn't deny anymore. Why else would his absence be so detrimental? Why else did his eyes stay in her mind, why else did she mourn their time spent together? Why else does she bring her fingertips to her lips and hope they feel like his mouth planted on hers?
Maria wanted to avoid this. She had rules, safeguards, in place to prevent this exact situation. She abstained from casual sex, she refused to let someone use her, to leave her questioning her own worth and standards. She'd never date or even fuck someone she was working with. She'd learned her lesson at 19. But when she met him at 25, she barely remembered why she had them in the first place. Even in that moment she knew. This would be treacherous.
She convinced herself this could be different. She didn't have to fall madly in love. She had control. But she was also a very good actress. 'Award winning ', she thought to herself.
She lied to anyone that asked if this was something to be worried about. "No, it's totally platonic! I'm just really comfortable with him!", she'd say; not entirely believing herself. Maria knew the risks, she'd assessed them long before they had reached the point of no return. Her initial aversion and hesitancy to even approach him with her feelings was enough to deter her. It should've been enough to drown out the voices and opinions of friends, We just want you to be happy. Give it a chance.
The fear of rejection, heartbreak, and everything negative she associated with being vulnerable with a man stopped her every time she felt the courage to tell him everything. No matter how much she liked everything about him she couldn't pull herself out of this cynical hole she'd dug herself into.
The last time she felt that bout of bravery was during their departure from set for their holiday break. She whispered her goodbyes to him in their friendly embrace, pleading he call her whenever he wanted to. 'Don't be a stranger.' she'd smiled at him through tears she couldn't explain. He held her gaze, each pair of eyes trying to communicate something deeper without having to say it. She was going to tell him, she wanted to tell him.
