Page 101 of Robbin’ the Rich

How had I been so wrong?

I thought of myself as someone who could read people. I could meet people and see their intentions. I had a strong gut and I trusted it. That was a core piece of me. Yet, I had been so wrong about Micah.

I thought about the first night we met. The ridiculous priest costume. The wink.

All of it from the night we met to the night we watched a meteor shower under the sky. I replayed every conversation, every moment I'd let my guard down. Somewhere along the way, I'd stopped questioning him. I'd trusted him. Completely.

The realization made my stomach twist because trust wasn't something I gave easily. I knew that about myself. Years of experience had taught me to be cautious and investigate and verify. I lived with a perhaps unhealthy amount of skepticism.

Then Micah arrived and somehow convinced me to ignore all of that.

I closed the account records and leaned back in my chair.

I pulled up a different site. It was one to run background checks. This was something I should have done after he left that morning, but he’d been so disarmingly nice, I didn’t. That mistake was on me. I should have known better.

I typed his name in and he popped right up. It was time to start digging, to see who Micah Nottingham actually was.

After about an hour I stopped. From all accounts and digging I could find, he’d told the truth about everything else. He was a high achieving student, went to an Ohio University, came home and started teaching. He played in a band. Apparently won first prize in a science fair for making a telescope. Everything tracked exactly to who he told me he was.

Everything except the fucking church website. That site showed a devout son and purported man of faith. He played in the church band and smiled in photos with his family. He had a smile I didn’t even recognize. This man I didn’t know, yet I continued to stare at him trying to make sense of it all. I needed to see where the truth was. I needed to trust myself again because right now I felt so lost and utterly heartbroken.

Outside darkness had fully settled over the city. Thanksgiving continued somewhere beyond my apartment walls. Families were eating pie and falling asleep on couches. Meanwhile I sat alone in front of glowing computer screens trying to determine whether I'd lost a relationship while discovering the truth.

Unfortunately, I had no idea which answer was correct.

I migrated back to the couch and fell asleep sometime during the opening credits of a movie I wasn't actually watching. The nap should have helped. It should have given my brain an opportunity to reset and approach the situation with something resembling perspective.

Instead, it turned into the kind of sleep that leaves a person feeling worse.

I drifted in and out of consciousness for hours, never fully resting. Every time I woke up, I found myself thinking about Micah. The image of Pastor Nottingham proudly introducing his son was seared into my brain. Pleasantries were exchanged while my entire world quietly imploded across a Thanksgiving dinner table.

Then I would fall asleep again.

Then wake up angry.

Then fall asleep.

Then wake up hurt.

The cycle repeated for several hours when I finally gave up, stumbled into the kitchen, and made coffee despite the fact that it was a terrible idea.

I drank it anyway.

At that point I was operating almost entirely on caffeine and spite which was how I found myself sitting on my couch at twelve o'clock at night slaughtering digital zombies.

The familiar sounds of Project Undead filled my living room as I tore through wave after wave of infected monsters with a level of aggression that probably warranted professional attention. Normally, I enjoyed the strategy aspect of this game. Tonight I was mostly there for the violence.

The zombie currently being introduced to a flamethrower had done absolutely nothing wrong, but unfortunately it occupied the same general universe as Micah Nottingham and therefore became collateral damage.

I stayed there on my couch until eventually exhaustion overtook me and I fell asleep for the night.

My phone had spent the entire day attempting to remind me that other human beings existed. My parents called. Belle texted. Zella had apparently entered a panic spiral and sent approximately fourteen increasingly dramatic messages asking if I was alive.

I hadn't answered any of them. Including Micah… especially Micah.

The thought of reading whatever explanation he was trying to offer made my stomach tighten. I wanted to call him an asshole and a liar and write him off. Yet, I know in my heart that is not who he is. That didn't make any of this hurt less.

How could I have not seen this coming? I felt so dumb. That bothered me almost as much as the sadness. Fuck! I hated this.