The Theory of Brewing

Part 2: ...Dispositions

Dating Raven was like living on a tightrope, always dangling between exhilaration and a gnawing anxiety that I tried to ignore. He was magnetic, the kind of person who could turn any dull gathering into an electric scene, and he loved making me feel like I was the center of it all. We'd be surrounded by people, yet somehow, with just a glance or a whispered joke, he made it feel like we had our own little bubble, like the crowd melted away and it was just us.

He was a story machine, too. Almost every date came with a tale that felt right out of some indie film. Whether it was about some behind-the-scenes drama from his modeling gigs or a "crazy coincidence" where he'd just happened to run into a friend who'd toured with a major pop star, Raven always had a way of keeping me on the edge of my seat. I'd listen, completely wrapped up, both in him and in the absurdity of his life. I mean, when was the last time my biggest drama was running into an old classmate at the grocery store? Or that time when I was involved in an office drama at my previous corporate job?

One time, while I was away on a work trip, he surprised me with an ecard. GiftLips? Hmmm that's new. I'd been knee-deep in endless meetings, feeling drained and a little lonely, when I scanned the ecard, and there he was—his face filling the screen with this goofy grin, rambling on about how much he missed me, even making me laugh with some ridiculous impressions of my previous co-workers (based on the bare minimum I'd told him about them). I couldn't help but smile. It was small, simple even, but that ecard felt like a tiny piece of Raven that I could carry with me. It reminded me of all the reasons I was falling so hard for him, all the reasons I wanted to ignore the small cracks starting to show.

Because there were cracks. Little things I told myself didn't mean anything. The way his stories about his "friends" seemed a little too... perfect, a little too "this only happens in movies." Or the way he'd casually "forget" details about where he was or who he was with the night before. Sometimes, the dates just didn't align, like his life had all these blurred lines he didn't think I'd notice. And every time I tried to bring it up, he'd throw me one of those perfect, disarming smiles and laugh it off.

"Oh, babe, you don't actually believe *that* story, do you?" he'd say, flashing those perfectly sculpted cheekbones and raising an eyebrow in that way that seemed to silently say, Oh, sweetie. And like a fool, I'd laugh along with him, thinking I was probably just being too sensitive, too in my head.

But the doubts were still there, creeping around the edges of my mind like little shadows. They'd slip in when I'd least expect it—a quiet moment in the middle of the night, or when I'd catch him on his phone, smiling at a message I couldn't see. Yet somehow, every single time, he'd find a way to reel me back in. A surprise coffee, a late-night call, some little thoughtful gesture that would make me forget all about the doubts, if only for a while.

I still couldn't shake the lingering feeling that something was wrong. In quiet moments, the weight pressed down on me—the way Raven's smile sometimes didn't quite reach his eyes, how his phone would buzz and he'd casually flip it over, his responses clipped and vague when I asked about his day. I wanted to believe that I was overthinking. I wanted to believe that he still looked at me the same way he did in Central Park.

"Am I being paranoid?" I whispered to myself one evening as I folded a shirt, my hands shaking. Maybe I was just scared of losing something good, clinging too tightly to a fantasy that was already slipping away. I tried to dismiss it. Raven always told me I overanalyzed things, that I looked for hidden meanings in moments when I should just breathe and enjoy. But wasn't love about looking closer?

Each time I thought about confronting him, my mind spiraled. What if he thought I didn't trust him? What if he got angry? Worse, what if he said goodbye? I could picture the conversation—my hesitant words, his raised brows, and then the crushing silence that might follow. I feared the end more than anything, feared being the fool who asked too many questions. So I chose to believe him.

And I'd believe him. Every. Single. Time. Or at least, I told myself I did.

But with each reassurance, I could feel the ground shifting, just a little, under the tightrope I was walking. And somewhere, deep down, I started wondering how long I could keep my balance. I tucked away my doubts, wore a smile I hoped looked real, and prayed this storm would pass.

It had to pass...right?

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Song: Just A Fool - Christina Aguilera and Blake Shelton