There is a particular emotion that I often see afflicting A. One that I didn’t believe I’d ever wind-up feeling. Although perhaps it is more appropriate to say that it is a lack of emotion. It’s a numbing that afflicts the body. That’s what I felt the morning after our little rendezvous. You could attach live wires to me, and though my body would flail around and scream, my mind would go on in this cold bathtub I’m floating in.

I don’t mean to sound like a spoiled child who doesn’t get what they want and then mentally shuts down. My entire existence has been one of silence and rejection. Then, for a moment, I felt hope. It was so warm and inviting, and even though I knew that I should be careful not to overindulge, I sank into it without restraint.

This was the result. After all of my schemes, and fate itself twisting to favor me, A found a way to best me. Even when I thought for a moment that I had the upper hand, forcing A to finally confront me, I was brushed off like an insignificant mote of dust. It was this unique blend of helplessness and despair that birthed the numbness.

One thing that I have observed in A is that this frozen aloofness becomes its own form of addiction. A particularly dangerous one where the highs are just an escape from the chill of disappointment, while barring yourself from ever truly feeling warm again. So, I stopped indulging.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

The fact remains that he has had every advantage up to this point. Despite my clawing at his heels for so long, I never knew what he thought of me. If I were able to bring him down on the first go, wouldn’t that have invalidated my past efforts? I had forced him to turn around and face me, and it was this fact that snapped myself out of my murky state. Even if he tried to diminish that accomplishment, it had never happened before. Something had changed.

If I have to pin my hopes to fate, then I have to accept the fact that the path is winding, and perilous. Falling is a requirement. Despite all of A’s posturing and swagger, there was the undeniable fact that he had to acknowledge me. This was only confirmed as he went about his “routine” the next day.

That old rigidity in how he made his bed, and got ready for the day made one thing very clear. He could lie to me, but he was troubled by what had happened. This pulled me back off of the edge, and propelled me to do more. I realized that if I studied all of his decisions and habits more closely, there were moments that either hadn’t existed, or I hadn’t noticed before. Moments where he was vulnerable to my influence.

When he was spacing out on his walk, debating his next move, I was able to guide his feet. It was a gentle push. Just enough so that he couldn’t be sure whether it was him or me that had led him to Clara’s. It would have been nice to get him even closer, but watching him run away was worth the price of admission.

I still lacked any control while A was awake, but I began to see when he was susceptible to influence. Not only that, but he was desperate enough to think that these influenced decisions were exactly what he needed.