Conflict of Interest #3
I don’t know what the hell to say to her. Basically because there’s no right phrase in any manual to console someone for an injustice of that magnitude. So I let my instincts take over, move quickly, and step closer to her to hold her arms firmly, forcing her to feel my presence.
“I believe you, Alicia. I really do believe you.”
“Yeah, you believe me… but deep down you’re doubting me and wondering what this is going to cost you,” she says, drawing out her words very slowly, with a latent disappointment.
I shake my head desperately. “Besides, if you believe me so much, why the hell are we having this conversation right now?”
There it is. The part of the script that my cowardice didn’t want to touch.
“I’m talking about reality, Alicia. About the fact that if this blows up, it could destroy both of our lives and careers.”
Alicia blinks a couple of times in a row, taking in the impact of my words, and then lets out a dry laugh, devoid of even the slightest hint of humor.
“Ah. So that’s the real underlying problem. You’re not willing to lose your ‘wonderful life’ and your professional status just because you’re with a woman like me.”
“Don’t simplify everything in such a petty way, please!” I plead, feeling cornered.
“No, Clara, not at all—I understand it perfectly,” she says, fixing me with a gaze in which I can see her hopes shatter into a thousand pieces.
“You’re worried about your reputation. You’re terrified that your entire impeccable career will go down the drain simply because you’re in a romantic relationship with me, Alicia Puertas, the black sheep and the most controversial player in all of Europe. ”
“What you’re saying isn’t fair to me. You know that’s not true.”
“Oh, really? It’s not fair?”
She suddenly takes a step forward and stands so incredibly close to me that I feel her hot breath hit my lips, challenging me to face her.
“Because from where I’m standing, the message you just dropped on me came through crystal clear and in high definition: Alicia Puertas is a very high professional risk, and I need to weigh whether she’s worth putting my permanent position on the line for.”
“Don’t do this to me, I’m begging you…” I whisper, feeling as if I can’t breathe.
“What? Tell you the truth straight to your face without beating around the bush?”
My heart is pounding wildly in my chest, threatening to burst out.
Because yes. Because I’m terrified. Because a deeply wounded part of my past keeps screaming at me that falling in love with someone at work is a very sophisticated and painful form of mass self-destruction.
And because admitting that cowardice to her makes me feel like the most miserable person on the planet.
I look her straight in the eyes, making the hardest decision of my life.
“Maybe… maybe the most sensible thing—and the best thing for both of us—is to stop this before it ends up destroying everything around us.”
Alicia doesn’t react right away; she freezes completely, and honestly, that lack of reaction is what hurts me most of all. Because when she finally does react, there are no screams, no loud accusations—just a silent pain that flashes across her eyes and tears me apart.
“Sure…” she says in a whisper. “In the end, this was exactly what you were looking for. An excuse to run away.”
“Alicia, listen to me…” I try to reach out to stroke her arm.
“No. Don’t even think about touching me.”
She shakes her head with astonishing coldness and takes a giant step back, breaking any physical contact. She turns away, gathers her things, and faces me again.
“I suppose I should even thank you. It’s always good to find out as soon as possible who’s willing to stick by your side when things get rough and who prefers to jump ship at the first sign of trouble.”
“It’s not about choosing between you and my job!” I try to explain, my voice completely broken by my held-back tears.
“Well, look, it sounds exactly like that. Tell me one thing, Clara… what exact part of your statement ‘this could destroy our lives’ doesn’t imply a fucking conscious choice on your part?”
She strides toward the door, and it’s right at that moment that I finally understand that fear, no matter how much it disguises itself as prudence or common sense, is still the same cowardly fear as always.
And that, in one of life’s ironies, I’ve just done the very thing that scared me the most: repeating my own past, but this time playing the role of the executioner who runs away first out of cowardice.
Alicia turns the doorknob and flings the office door wide open. She turns on her heel one last time and gives me a very subtle, icy smile—the kind that makes your blood run cold:
“Don’t worry. Breathe easy. I’m going to make this ridiculously easy for you. I’m not going to tarnish your impeccable professional record.”
The door to the rehabilitation room closes behind her with brutal gentleness, and I’m left standing there. Completely alone. Surrounded by a silence that buzzes in my ears and with the painful certainty that I’ve lost absolutely everything in just a few minutes.