The Unwelcome Clarity

Summer bled away along with the last effects of her pharmaceutical adventure, and Me felt something she hadn't experienced in months: clarity. Not the manic intensity of her breakdown period, nor the cotton-wool contentment of her medicated phase, but a clean, sharp awareness that felt like waking up after a very long, very strange dream.

She was returning to the state she'd been in before the work burnout, before everything went wrong—analytical, skeptical, uncomfortable but authentic. The soft, compliant version of herself that everyone had seemed to prefer was dissolving, revealing the harder edges of someone who asked inconvenient questions and noticed uncomfortable patterns.

It was in this newly clarified state of mind that Handsome Man texted her about a fall opportunity.

"I'll be spending a month looking after a friend's farm and horses," he wrote. "Would you like to join me?"

"Of course!" Me replied, still operating under the assumption that they were friends sharing an adventure.

"Good. Can you ride a horse?"

"Yes, I can."

"I could have taught you."

The response stopped her cold. *What a pity?* Why would her existing competence be disappointing rather than convenient? Why would he prefer her helpless rather than skilled?

The comment lingered with the persistence of a wrong note in an otherwise familiar melody. Something about his tone suggested teaching would have involved more than riding instruction.

When Handsome Man reappeared in September, he followed his usual ritual—immediately taking a shower as if needing to wash away evidence of wherever he'd been. They went to eat at 14's place, but found it closed, so they settled at the bar in the square.

People passed by with that same staring behavior she'd noticed during his previous visits, their eyes lingering with expressions suggesting recognition mixed with something she couldn't quite identify. Curiosity? Disapproval? Professional interest?

A man stopped to greet Handsome Man, exchanging few words in the kind of low, brief conversation that conveyed more information than the actual words suggested. After the man left, Handsome Man suddenly became animated, cheering for a wandering dog—but his enthusiasm felt forced, theatrical, like someone performing normalcy for an audience.

The performance was too emphatic, lasted too long. Me watched with growing discomfort, trying to understand why his behavior felt so calculated.

He noticed her unease immediately. "Should we go back home?" he offered, with the quick responsiveness of someone monitoring her reactions carefully.

Back at her apartment, they chatted about seemingly innocent topics—the farm, the horses, friends who would visit for 'parties,' the fact that there would be a car available for transportation wherever they wanted. The conversation felt like a sales pitch disguised as friendly planning.

When 55 called to invite them over, they stopped again at 14's for sandwiches. "We came by earlier but you were closed," they mentioned.

"As usual at that time," 14 replied, which suggested their earlier arrival had been during some predictable period of closure. This struck Me as odd—why would Handsome Man have brought her there during hours when he knew the place would be closed?

At 55's house, Handsome Man took charge of logistics with military efficiency. He instructed 55 to provide transportation for her to the farm the following month, explaining the bus route would be too complex for her to navigate alone. He emphasized again that there would be a friend's car available at the farm for her use 'anytime.'

The level of detailed planning for her transportation to and from this remote location felt excessive for what was supposedly a casual holiday invitation. Why was independent travel actively discouraged? Why was her mobility so carefully managed?

That night, Me slept poorly, her newly cleared mind processing patterns she had been too medicated to recognize before. Every interaction, every logistics discussion, every transportation arrangement began taking on different meanings when viewed through the lens of systematic manipulation rather than friendly hospitality.

The 'pity' about her riding ability. The emphasis on teaching opportunities. The remote location. The controlled transportation. The friends coming for "parties." The available car that would supposedly give her freedom but would actually be monitored.

She woke in the morning to find Handsome Man had already left for business in the village. When he returned and found her on the couch, his first comment was: "I don't know how you can sleep so much."

The criticism felt familiar—the kind of subtle undermining designed to make someone feel lazy, ungrateful, inadequate. But instead of the apologetic response he might have expected from her previous, medicated self, Me felt something else entirely.

Disgust.

"I want you to leave," Me said, the words emerging with a clarity that surprised them both.

"Don't you want to come to the farm anymore?" he asked, his voice taking on the persuasive tone of someone who had invested too much planning to give up easily. "It's so beautiful up on the mountain, with wonderful scenery..."

The sales pitch continued, but Me was no longer listening to content. She was hearing the underlying desperation of someone whose carefully constructed scenario was collapsing.

"No, thank you," she said firmly. "I don't think so. Please leave. I don't want to see you anymore."

His face went through several expressions in rapid succession—surprise, calculation, anger, resignation. Whatever operation he had been planning would need to proceed without her.

After he left, Me sat in her quiet apartment, grateful for the return of her analytical capabilities and deeply disturbed by what they had revealed. How many months had she been too chemically impaired to recognize manipulation that should have been obvious?

She didn't want to know the answer, but was grimly certain her refusal had disrupted something more sinister than a simple holiday invitation.

The clarity was uncomfortable, but protective. For the first time in months, she was thinking clearly enough to recognize danger while there was still time to avoid it.