But I didn’t want to be that girl anymore.
It was right then that I’d realized the severity of what I’d been doing: I’d been stalking. For the first time in years. I’d fallen off the wagon with probably the worst person I could fall off the wagon with. If I’d thought restraining orders and lawsuits had been a nightmare when they were filed by Ian, my last object of obsession, imagine what it would be like with a powerful man like Hudson.
But even more than that—recovering from my addiction to Ian had been hard, but possible. Hudson, though…I couldn’t even bear to think about not being around him in some way or another, no matter what the context.
Hudson was waiting for my answer. I could feel him studying me. I hugged my arms around myself and took a deep breath. “I, uh, I wanted to see if you were back.”
I nearly sobbed with the honesty of my statement, but if Hudson noticed, he didn’t let on. “I got back late last night. You could have called. Or texted.”
My mind reached for the steps of talking through unhealthy behaviors. I’d learned them many times in therapy. Communicate your fears openly and honestly. Closing my eyes to stymie my tears, I said, “You don’t answer my texts.”
“I didn’t answer one text.”
I opened my eyes and found him staring at me intently as he leaned against his desk. I brushed away the one tear that had escaped down my cheek and met his gaze. “It was my only text.”
I heard how it sounded. Ridiculous, an overreaction. We weren’t together. Why should he answer my texts? He had to be regretting his choice for a pretend girlfriend now. Now that he saw the extent of my crazy.
Our eyes remained locked, but I could read nothing in his expression. It seemed like forever before his face softened and he said, “I didn’t realize it was important to you. I’ll make a better effort to respond in the future.”
My mouth fell open.
He straightened to a standing position. “But you can’t just come here like this. How do you think it looks to have my girlfriend wandering around the lobby, riding the elevators when I’m not even in town?”
“How did you…?”
“I pay people to know things, Alayna.”
He knew. Of course, he knew. I’d decided to communicate honestly, but had hoped I didn’t have to be that honest. That he knew I’d been by his office several times, that I’d roamed the building…I was humiliated.
More tears fell. “I…I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Please, don’t do it again.” He was stern, but did I detect a note of compassion?
His reaction was all wrong. He should have been more pissed, more freaked out. “Why are you being like this?”
His brow wrinkled. “Like what?”
“I’ve f**ked things up, Hudson! You should be calling your security to escort me out. I’m a mess and you’re taking it all in stride.” The tears fell fast now. There was no stopping them.
His face eased and he stepped toward me. “No,” he said softly, his tone embracing me even though his arms didn’t. “That’s what I meant about being around someone who understood. I know about compulsion. I know about having to do things you know you shouldn’t.”
He wiped a tear from my cheek with his thumb, his hand resting there longer than necessary. “When you feel you can’t help yourself, talk to me first.”
The anxious knot I’d felt for days dissolved under his words. Had he been right? Could we help each other through our pains? Could we fix each other?
I looked into his eyes and wanted again to believe as he did, this time much closer to saying that I did.
But before I could say anything, his secretary’s voice boomed through the office. “Mr. Pierce, your one-thirty is here.”
Hudson sighed, dropping his hand from my face. “I apologize for cutting this short, Alayna, but I have another meeting now. And I’m leaving again this evening.”
My spirits sank. I didn’t know if I believed him, but I did know I didn’t want distance between us. That was what had spurred my obsessive episode this week. Well, he’d asked for me to share... “I hate that you’re leaving. It makes me feel a little distraught.” A lot distraught, actually.
His eyes lit up. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He took my hand and squeezed. “Join me tomorrow night for the symphony.”
My heart flip-flopped. “Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up at six. Wear the dress.”
***
I made it to group that afternoon before meeting with David. I’d made a mistake, but Hudson was willing to look past it. More than willing. And that made it so much easier to believe that I wasn’t doomed to be totally freaky with him. I had to make an effort to stay well.
Not comfortable telling my situation to everyone, not when people might know about my connection with Hudson, I was vague on my turn to share. “I’m…I’ve slipped a bit.”
It was an accurate enough statement. My behavior hadn’t been as bad as it could have been. But every journey starts with a single step—even the journeys we shouldn’t be taking, and at the rate I’d been going that week, I’d be well on my way down the obsession road before I had a grip.
Lauren nodded sympathetically. “When you get home, I’d like you to write out a list of your recent negative behaviors, including behaviors you only thought about engaging in. Then come up with a list of healthy behaviors you can substitute whenever you feel compelled to engage in an unhealthy one. Do you need any help?”
“No.” I’d done this before. More than once. I still had all the substitute behaviors memorized from the last time I’d gone off the wagon: Run, do yoga, take an extra shift at work, concentrate on school, visit Brian. Obviously my list needed updating.
“Good. You know your patterns. Are you still journaling?”
“I haven’t in a while.” A long while.
Lauren smiled. “I recommend you start again.” She was always good for a swift kick in the butt.
“Okay.” And I would. But something told me that of all the suggestions I’d received that day, the best one had been from Hudson himself: When you can’t help yourself, talk to me.
I was quiet the rest of the session, replaying an old favorite quote over and over in my head, committing myself to modifying my actions. If there is no struggle, there is no progress. If there is no struggle, there is no progress.