Maladaptive

Chapter 10 #2

“Okay, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just… say it.” His voice was hoarse, like his body was physically trying to fight the words from getting out. “But you have to promise you won’t freak out and leave. Deal?”

My heart was practically doing backflips in my chest, and my brain couldn’t string together a single coherent thought. The fact that I was standing in this ridiculously fancy building with Chris Jones was already too much for any human brain to handle, so maybe I deserved a little grace.

I tried to block out the parts that made this surreal—the part where he was famous, where he’d been my celebrity crush, where he’d been the main character of my maladaptive daydreams for the past twelve freaking years.

I tried to imagine this was just a regular guy.

A regular guy who called me by my name, who looked at me like…

that, even though we’d never officially met.

Be rational, Jules.

Maybe he had found something online. Maybe I was blowing this up in my head (as always!).

I was trying to make it make sense. Trying to talk my heart down from whatever cliff it was dangling off.

But even with all my desperate attempts to stay grounded, something deep inside of me said otherwise.

From the second I saw him—the real him—at Comic Con, my gut had been buzzing with this quiet certainty that there was something else here.

Something big. Something too complicated to explain or understand.

Well, I’d asked for the truth. No more spinning myself into confusion. I needed to hear it. So I nodded, swallowing the nerves scratching at my throat.

“I won’t go anywhere.” Whatever it was, I could handle it.

He stepped closer, his eyes locked on mine, and I could feel his breath against my skin. It was way too close, but I stayed put because I’d promised. Then he whispered.

“I’ve been…” He took a deep breath, lips thinning like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of whatever he was about to put out into the world.

I could see it in his eyes—clear, raw… fear.

Fear of what, I was about to find out. But seeing him like this, almost made me turn around and start running.

“Dreaming about you. About us… About a life that’s not this one. ”

My brain short-circuited. My knees were like jelly.

This was not what I was expecting at all.

Of all the explanations my loud, messy brain had frantically drafted in the seconds I’d been standing here waiting for him to say something (and there were a lot, trust me), not one—not even the most unhinged ones—came close to this.

I hadn’t really bought the “I found you online” explanation like a sane person might’ve, but this? This?

My eyes were wide, my throat dry from having my mouth dropped open too long. I couldn’t form a single word. I didn’t want to stay frozen, but my brain was simply not braining.

“I’m sorry. What?” I finally managed. I wanted to laugh or scream, but all I could do was stand there, stunned.

He looked nervous, as if he were genuinely afraid I was going to run— which I was considering.

“Like Sleeping Beauty? A ‘Once Upon a Dream’ thing?” I went with the humorous comment.

It was that or collapse. He appreciated and let out a laugh before his expression shifted back to a more serious one.

“Something like that,” he said, but there was more, because his eyes and shoulders looked a little more relaxed, but not all the way.

Like he hadn’t let a full breath out. So I braced for whatever was coming next.

“At first, I thought it was my mind messing with me, you know? Like some deep, unconscious thing about wanting to settle down and have kids. So I kept looking for someone who was like my dream… wife.”

Wife.

WIFE?

My inner monologue was losing its mind, my heart on the precipice of a worrying pace, but I strayed frozen, processing, trying not to freak the fuck out. I had kids I needed to raise, and Carol would never forgive me if I dropped dead in the middle of a date on a random Wednesday.

He stepped back and paced, rubbing the back of his neck. His steps were reluctant, his breaths low and deep but nowhere near steady. Oh. There was more. My brain begged for a pause button, but nope. We were in it now.

“If you follow any of the tabloids, you know… I didn’t find anyone,” he said, his voice quieter now, like it didn’t have the strength to share it out loud.

“I was always comparing every woman I got involved with over the past, I want to say eleven, twelve years, to you. They were never enough, and eventually, they would all get tired of competing with a ghost.”

My ghost?

My brain was really struggling to make sense of it. Not because it was a foreign concept, because it wasn’t, I’d been dreaming about him too, but to make sense of the fact that I had been living on his head.

“That’s… insane,” I said in the shakiest of voices. I wasn’t sure if I was saying it to him or to myself. My hand instinctively reached for the wall behind me, desperate for something solid to hold on to before my legs gave up on me.

Chris saw the panic written all over my face and didn’t hesitate. He got closer and took my hand gently. His touch was warm and so… familiar. Too familiar. He knew this was exactly what I needed at that moment, as if he’d done it a thousand times before.

“That’s what I thought, too,” he said while his eyes met mine. “But then… I found you. And you are her. You look the same, you sound the same, you… taste the same.”

Taste.

For a second, I was back in that kiss. In the warmth of his lips, a strange, familiar feeling like déjà vu on steroids. I didn’t even realize our fingers were intertwined now.

“It’s okay if you want to go.” He said, slowly letting go of my hand and taking a few steps back, giving me space. I could feel how hard it was for him to retreat, but he was trying to give me a choice.

My mind was a complete mess. Even messier than it usually was. What about Nova? Was he dreaming about her as well? Was this some elaborate prank? I bet there were hidden cameras around and a whole production crew waiting to laugh at my expense. That was the only plausible explanation.

I took two deep breaths, one after the other, pushing the panic down with each inhale.

Chris’ eyes had already accepted defeat.

He could barely look at me now, like he was bracing for the moment I’d turn, open the door, and leave.

He had no idea of the why I was freaking out like this.

He was probably expecting me to call him crazy, to suggest him find a therapist ASAP.

He didn’t know his level of crazy matched mine exactly.

I had to say it. The truth I’d been too afraid to say out loud. And before I could even stop myself, the words slipped out.

“I’ve been dreaming about you, too.”

Chris’ expression shifted, moving from shock to something softer, like he was trying to process what I’d said without freaking me out. At least he wasn’t running for the hills, so… small win?

“What did you say?” He asked.

I took another shaky breath and closed the distance between us. It was out there now. Say everything you have to say already. My voice felt stronger this time, the words clearer and truer than I expected.

“I’ve been dreaming about you, too. Sometimes, even when I’m awake.”

He blinked. “What does that mean?”

“I found out it’s called Maladaptive Daydreaming,” I managed, my voice still shaky. “I daydream a lot, about this… other life. One where we’re together.”

His eyebrows shot up.

God, I sounded absolutely insane. And yet… he didn’t look away. He didn’t back up or laugh it off. He… stared at me.

Say something. Or maybe don’t.

Whatever he was going to say next, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.

“Like a Walter Mitty thing?” He asked, referencing the joke I’d made earlier.

I was wrong. That was perfect. I almost smiled. At least he wasn’t calling me crazy or looking for the nearest exit.

There was no turning back now. I’d been carrying this for years, shoving it down, trying to live my life like this shadow didn’t exist. And now here he was—this impossible, real-life version of my daydreams—giving me a chance to finally say it out loud.

“My marriage fell apart,” I said, the words tasting heavier than I expected, “because I was always drawn into this fantasy. This other world, one that only existed in my mind.” Shit. Tears were now slipping down my cheeks. I swiped them quickly. “This life, where you and I are together.”

Chris’ expression softened, his shoulders finally relaxed, his eyes no longer darting around looking for something to quiet his mind. They were resting on mine. And I could see he wasn’t recoiling or running but leaning into the moment.

“That’s…”

“Crazy?” I cut in with a self-deprecating smile.

“Yet comforting, somehow…” He said softly. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his hand came up to my face. He brushed a rogue tear away, and the way he looked at me—like he wasn’t afraid of my messy, insane truth—made me feel something I hadn’t in years: safe.

Was that the reason our bodies were pulled together like magnets? I usually wasn’t a fan of physical touch, especially with someone I barely knew, but with him, it felt different. It wasn’t just comfortable. It was needed. It was like he filled a space I didn’t even know was empty.

His eyes traveled to my mouth—it wasn’t a rational action, just a smooth shift, unforced and natural. But my body reacted nonetheless, a comforting heat blooming in my chest, almost enough to make the nervous pain in my stomach subside.

There it was. That invisible thread tugging at us, pulling us together. And then, as if on cue, the waiter opened the door, his voice cutting through the moment.

“Excuse me, sir. Where should I put these?”

I jumped like a startled cat, and Chris, visibly annoyed, waved toward the spot we’d been sitting in earlier. The poor waiter picked up on the tension, so he quickly set down the plates and wine, doing his best to be invisible.

I noticed Chris’ impatience, the way he barely acknowledged the guy, and felt a flicker of irritation.

It was weird. I’d catch glimpses of the guy I’d dreamed about for years, and then, he’d switch back to this Hollywood stereotype.

This wasn’t what I wanted, and he could tell by the look I gave him. So he muttered a stiff “Thank you.”

It sounded forced, but at least he tried.

The young man looked a little relieved, and I jumped in to smooth things over, giving him my warmest smile.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to signal that someone here had manners. He disappeared as fast as he’d come, leaving us alone again.

“What do we do now?” Chris asked, still rooted in the same spot. Maybe he thought I’d slide back over to where I was before the waiter showed up, so he finally kissed me. I knew he was about to do it before we were interrupted. And I wanted him to. So badly.

But if he kissed me now, I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself from going all in, and I needed a minute to wrap my head around whatever this was.

If I let that insane pull win, I didn’t think I would be able to see clearly again.

I would be completely and totally absorbed by it. Mind, soul… and body.

So, I exhaled slowly and looked down at the plate beside us. The food looked delicious. Shrugging, I gave him a small smile.

“Eat?”

Act human. Now.

Chris wasn’t doing as good a job as I was at acting serene.

“I’m not sure how this works. I’m not exactly a religious or deep-science kind of guy.”

Neither was I, but it’s not like I had any answers.

What were we supposed to do? Whip out our phones and Google, “Why am I daydreaming about someone I’ve never met IRL?

” I imagined the results would point me to a mental health hotline or something.

The thought made me laugh softly, almost breaking the tension as I took a seat.

He tilted his head, studying me. “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“I am.” I really was. My mind? Total chaos.

He didn’t look convinced. His eyes studied every inch of my face, searching for micro expressions that might say more than my words. He wouldn’t find any. I had mastered the art of masking.

“No, you’re not. You’re, like, the calmest person I’ve ever met.”

I smiled, shaking my head. At this point in my life, I couldn’t give him my honest freaked-the-fuck-out face even if I tried.

The reaction was imprinted in my bones. And even though, for some unique and mystical reason, I felt safe around him, my body wouldn’t immediately snap out of automatic.

But that feeling of safety was enough to have me admit:

“Trust me. This is me freaking out. There’s a whole version of Jules up here,” I said, pointing to my head, “banging her head against a wall, trying to make sense of this.”

I had spent years being taught to look calm while my brain was losing it. I couldn’t stop it. That was how I’d trained myself to survive in a world where my genuine reactions were often called too much or dramatic.

I took a bite of the salmon that tasted as good as it looked and followed with a sip of the wine. I wrinkled my nose.

“I’m not really a wine person, though,” I admitted, setting the glass down.

Chris sat across from me.

“Why aren’t you banging your head out here?”

“Survival mechanism, I guess,” I smirked, lifting my fork again.

He glanced at the wine and then back at me.

“Sorry about the wine.”

I shrugged with a playful smile.

“It’s fine. I like tequila better. Obviously not with fancy salmon.” But truth be told, tequila with about anything worked for me. Nothing beats a glass of tequila on the rocks with a good squeeze of lemon.

His mouth curled into a small smile. “I’ll remember that.”

“Tequila, dogs, Halloween, snow, traveling, my kids, and amusement parks.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What’s that?”

“My favorite things,” I explained, leaning in a bit. “What about you?”

He thought on it, then grinned. “Whiskey, football… dogs, Halloween, snow, traveling…” His grin widened as he finished, “And yeah, I really like amusement parks too.”

“Good match,” I said, taking another bite of my salmon.