I frown at Buddha. Who knows? Magic tea garden, I guess.

My legs are tired. I plop down on the walkway and stare up at Buddha. He’s sitting in the lotus position, the ornate circle of metal around his head etched with a flowery pattern. One of his hands is lifted, palm facing me, fingers curved. The other is near his lap, palm facing the night sky. He looks so peaceful. So sure of himself.

The universe is shoving happiness in my face and I’m the one blocking it out. The psychic teen was right.

Why do I do that?

I don’t deserve happiness, so even as I want it and crave it and desire it, I run away from it. I’m not good enough. Never good enough.

You’re not trying hard enough.

You can’t make a living with costumes.

You need to set realistic goals, like Eloise did.

I’ll never live up to my parents’ expectations.

So then why do I keep trying? I should just do whatever I want, right? But they aren’t wrong about everything. I need a job to live.

I blow out a breath. I can’t think about my future career until I can get to tomorrow.

And I won’t be able to make time move forward unless I get “through it with love” or whatever. I’m already a slave to this time loop. I can’t continue to be a slave to my anxiety on top of that.

Maybe if I do this, pursue this thing with Alex, time will go on. If I open myself up to it all, good and bad. Love and rejection. Is that why I run from good things? Because if I get them, I’ll find a way to screw them up?

Fear. It’s my own fear, my own fake tunnel holding me back from everything.

The brain telling me I’m in danger when I’m not.

I’m taking control back, and it starts now.

“I have to tell you something, and I really hope you won’t hate me.”

Even knowing in advance about this entire conversation, and where it leads, what’s going to happen, I’m jittery and ready to bolt.

My responses are different though, now that I know everything he’s going to say and have had the luxury of thinking through the whole thing. Each time now, our conversation veers in slightly different directions.

And I keep getting stuck in my head and trying to calm myself down, which leads to silence, which leads to Alex speaking before I can get a word out.

“I’m not doing this right. I really just wanted to ask you to dinner, or coffee sometime or something?”

My tongue is thick, stuck to the roof of my mouth. I’ve already gone through this. Just say yes, Jane.