No More Feelings for You

1: 1

I was born with an overactive amygdala, which made me extremely sensitive in relationships.

A single look, a single sigh, and I could tell whether the other person's love for me had shifted.

Because of that, none of my past relationships had lasted more than three months.

Everyone said I was too sensitive, too starved for security, unable to let a single grain of sand pass in my eye, and destined to never find real love in this lifetime.

Until Lawrence Landon came along.

For ten years he treated me the same, steadying every mood of mine, catching every feeling I threw at him.

And yet my anxiety only grew worse. If I wasn't afraid he'd stop loving me, I was afraid I wasn't good enough to deserve him.

The doctor said living like this was exhausting, and that I'd be better off having my amygdala removed, except the price was that I would never be able to feel romantic love again.

Lawrence refused outright. "If your anxiety flares up, that's my failure as your boyfriend."

"Cecily Gilbert, I love you. I can't accept a life where we can't love each other."

I thought that as long as I worked hard to overcome it, I would eventually have a normal relationship with him.

Until, by chance, I found the ultra-thin condoms in his office that he'd used with his secretary.

"Cecily is so clingy. Her emotional needs are exhausting. I'm really worn out."

"You're better. An independent woman. We can give each other space."

"God, why did I ever stop Cecily from getting her amygdala removed?"

"Her love is honestly just dead weight."

I didn't scream, didn't make a scene. I turned around and booked the amygdala removal surgery.

Maybe not being able to feel love was what suited me best after all.

......

After the surgery, I spent more than ten days in the hospital.

When I got home, Lawrence was curled up on the couch, playing a game.

His expression was easy, as if it had only been a few hours since he'd seen me.

"So you finally decided to come home? Baby, you sulked a little long this time."

That day in his office, I'd actually been hiding in the cabinet to surprise him for his birthday.

I hadn't expected to find the things he'd used.

Or to overhear him talking with his secretary.

He didn't know all of it had already come out.

He thought I was sulking because the staff at the company had been teasing him about him and his secretary, Susannah Henson.

"I ordered you some takeout. I'm just too tired today, don't feel like cooking for you."

After he said it, he glanced at me without thinking, then quickly turned his head away.

The air went quiet in an instant.

This kind of scene had always played out before, and this behavior of his was an obvious sign he was lying.

Last time he said that, the truth was he'd already eaten out with Susannah.

Over time, Lawrence had learned exactly which of his moves would set off my sensitive nerves.

"What? You want to fight with me again?"

"But Cecily, I'm really tired, and I don't want to explain myself to you."

"Your high needs really are a burden to me."

I shook my head.

"No. Never again."

Lawrence froze.

"What?"

"I mean I'll never be sensitive again, never anxious again, never high-need with you again."

Lawrence muttered a curse under his breath.

"Psycho."

"What are you playing at now?"

I couldn't quite remember when he'd started growing impatient with me.

Before, if he'd said any of this, I'd have been crushed for sure, furious, ready to fight.

But now, I truly felt a calm I'd never known before.

"I'm not playing at anything. And I really am not angry."

I looked at myself in the mirror without so much as a furrow in my brow.

"Cecily, if you want to fight, just say so! Don't put on this fake calm for me and then sneak off to cry in the middle of the night like you're dying! I don't have the time to coax you anymore!"

Good.

I still wasn't angry.

The surgery had left my memory a little off. I'd almost forgotten I'd come back to pack my things.

But it seemed I hadn't fully recovered.

I'd only walked a few quick steps before my head spun and everything went dizzy, and I dropped straight to the floor.

"Cecily!"

Lawrence shouted in a panic and, without thinking, came running toward me.

2: 2

But I fell anyway.

Lawrence darted to my side on instinct.

Then, the instant his hands touched me, he snatched them back.

The fall hurt. It hurt down to the bone.

Lawrence went stiff, at a loss.

"That I thought you were faking it, throwing a fit at me on purpose."

"I didn't think you'd actually fallen."

The air went quiet again.

Lawrence crouched down carefully and held out his hand to me.

"Cecily you're not still angry, are you?"

I shook my head again.

"Lawrence, I told you. I'm never going to be angry again."

"It was my fault before. I was too sensitive, too suspicious. I didn't give you space. I'm sorry, and I promise I won't do it again."

Lawrence froze once more.

"Never mind that. If something's on your mind, just say it. If you're upset, let it out. Don't bottle it up."

He drew a deep breath, crouched down, and held me tight.

"Cecily, have you forgotten what I told you before?"

Before.

Before, my emotional condition made me turn Lawrence down again and again when he was pursuing me.

But he kept at it, insisting his love for me was real.

No matter how much I needed from him, he swore he'd always be there to catch it, that he'd never let me down.

Whether I lost my sense of safety in the middle of the night or woke up sunk in a low mood, one phone call was all it took. No matter how important whatever he was doing, Lawrence would come right away.

He learned every one of my food preferences, all my little habits.

Even the ones that ran exactly opposite to his own.

He just smiled about it.

"My only fear is that I'm not doing enough, that I'm letting you down."

Later I came to see my own oversensitivity more and more clearly, but I also felt the depth of Lawrence's devotion.

Little by little, I learned to hide what I needed and to push my feelings down.

I was truly afraid my "illness" would scare him off.

But I was just too sensitive. Feelings pressed down inside, piling up day after day, and my depression and anxiety only grew worse.

The day I was diagnosed, Lawrence held me tight and told me, solemn and firm,

"Cecily, whatever is on your mind, you have to say it."

"I'd rather you fight with me than keep it locked up inside."

I took it to heart. Every time something didn't sit right with me, I made myself calm down and talk it through with him.

At first, he really did explain the things that bothered me, gently and patiently.

"I didn't hold your hand on the street because it was too hot out."

"I didn't check in every day on my business trip because I wanted you to learn to manage on your own."

"Susannah Henson and I are honestly just coworkers. Baby, I can't cut off every woman I know just because you're sensitive."

But back then, it truly did hurt.

As if something under the surface kept telling me his behavior meant he no longer loved me.

Two little figures inside me tore at each other. One told me I couldn't let him down. The other insisted his behavior meant he didn't love me enough.

I felt like my illness was getting worse.

"I'm sorry I didn't want to fight with you I shouldn't be so suspicious."

But Lawrence had already leaned down and kissed me.

"It's a good thing my baby's suspicious. It means you care about me."

That's what he said back then.

"A rose always has thorns. I want to raise my baby into the brightest, sharpest rose, so no one else can ever pluck her away."

But the further we went,

the more worn out we both became.

"There's no need, Lawrence. Really. I really won't get angry."

"I really will never fight with you again."

I dug my medical records out of my bag, wanting to show him.

And sure enough, he tensed on instinct.

"You went to the hospital these past few days?"

Right after that came the accusation.

"Your illness really is serious. My coworkers were just teasing Susannah and me, making us link arms for a toast and kiss on the cheek at the team outing, and you got yourself so upset you ended up in the hospital?"

"Baby, I can put up with your temper. But once you step out that door, who's going to coddle you like this?"

I stayed calm.

"What did the doctor say? Do we need to"

Before I could finish, his phone rang.

A shrill, breathy woman's voice came through.

"Mr. Landon there's a cockroach in the office I'm so scared aaahhh, can you come right now?!"

Lawrence sprang up and was gone in a blink.

A long time passed.

Only then did his message pop up on my phone.

*I'll be right back. Susannah's afraid of bugs.*

Something in me finally seemed to stir.

Not anger. Just the irony of it, and a small sense of clarity.

Independent or not, clingy or not.

Loving someone needs no reason.

Not loving someone comes with ten thousand of them.

He simply didn't love me anymore.

Calmly, I typed into the chat box.

*Lawrence, let's break up.*

3: 3

Lawrence didn't answer for a long time.

I spent half the night packing up the apartment.

Ten years together. There was a lot to sort through.

And even more shared memory folded into it.

Every sharp table corner in the place, for instance, was wrapped in a padded guard, something Lawrence had designed himself.

"Cecily is sensitive. She bruises easily inside. I want our home to be as soft as she is."

Or the way the whole place was done in pale colors.

"The doctor said pale tones ease the nerves. It'll help with your anxiety."

The flowers on the balcony too, every color, giving off that clean, fresh smell.

All because the doctor had said a few more plants around the house would lift my mood.

So Lawrence, who was allergic to pollen, put on a mask and tended to them faithfully, day after day.

Maybe it was because he'd been so perfect back then.

That was why, later on, the smallest change in him would leave me clinging and afraid of losing him.

My phone lit up with a message.

It wasn't Lawrence.

It was Susannah.

*Everyone, my Lawrence was so brave today, that huge roach, and he killed it in one hit!*

*I was so scared of the roach I couldn't even move, so my Lawrence just swept me up bridal-style and carried me outside.*

Then she attached a photo.

Shot from below, Susannah tucked into Lawrence's arms.

*Doesn't it look just like a girlfriend's-eye view?*

My mood stayed level.

*It does. The two of you suit each other.*

I could even reply to her.

The screen showed it for a long while: the other party is typing

Then, two minutes later.

Susannah recalled every one of those messages.

*Oh no, so sorry! I meant to post that in the company group chat as a joke.*

*I really wasn't trying to hurt you.*

The old me, I thought, would definitely have been angry.

The doctor's questions surfaced in my mind, the ones he'd pressed on me over and over before the surgery.

"Miss Gilbert, are you truly sure you want the amygdala removed?"

"Even though afterward you won't cling or panic anymore and your moods will be very stable, feeling nothing at all may not be a good thing either."

"I'm afraid you'll regret it."

And right now, I didn't regret it at all.

If anything, there was a faint sense of relief.

The phone rang, and it was Susannah, of all people.

That soft, coaxing voice, with a hint of showing off tucked underneath.

"Miss Gilbert, I really didn't mean it."

"Please, you mustn't be upset with me, okay~"

I was more grateful than ever that I'd had that surgery.

The whole world was genuinely convinced I was a sensitive woman who got angry easily.

"I'm really not angry."

I explained it patiently, and I meant it.

But the other end went quiet for a long time.

Then came the soft crying.

"Miss Gilbert please, stop scolding me, I honestly didn't mean to send it to you! At the office we all call Mr. Landon 'my husband' as a joke, just coworkers messing around, I swear!"

"You can yell at me all you want, just don't make yourself sick over it!"

And right after that, Lawrence's voice, furious.

"Cecily! If you're angry, take it out on me! What kind of person picks on Susannah?! Ha, you say you're not angry, but inside you're nothing but small and petty!"

"Lawrence."

"Believe me or don't. I wasn't trying to fight. I only wanted to remind you to check the chat."

4: 4

Lawrence had finally seen my message.

The silence on the other end of the line stretched out again.

"So instead of just saying you're angry, you've learned to twist the knife, is that it?"

He hung up in a rage.

"Fine! You want out, I'll give it to you!"

A moment later, he posted in the company-wide group chat.

@everyone, @Susannah Henson. From now on, at the company, you can all call her the boss's woman.

As for Cecily Gilbert, she gave up the position of her own free will.

I'd founded the company with Lawrence, so of course I was in the group.

It was just that all these years, ruled by my own emotions, I'd never had the energy to put into running it.

The group chat exploded, message after message of congratulations pouring in.

Honestly, I've had it up to here with that sensitive old woman!

If you ask me, a woman should be independent. All that daily whining about who loves whoit's just pathetic.

It's a joke, really. A clingy little parasite jerking Mr. Landon around every single day. I couldn't stand watching it.

It's women like Susannah, independent women, who really earn everyone's respect!

I read through all of it.

And found myself, strangely, agreeing.

The words were ugly.

But objectively speaking, they made a lot of sense.

Then Lawrence posted again: Tomorrow night's industry charity gala. Susannah will be attending with me as the company's boss's woman. The rest of you had better be prepared too.

At last a faint, peculiar anger stirred in me.

Not anger that my place had been taken.

Anger that Lawrence kept ignoring my request to break up.

I had to think of a way to make him face it.

Better if everyone in the industry knew we were already finished.

The next evening, the charity gala.

I arrived early, dressed in a formal gown.

Under the glittering lights, Susannah stood at the center of the stage with her arm looped through Lawrence's.

The two of them clasping hands and holding each other, gazes locked, looked for all the world like a real couple.

The crowd below clapped and cheered without thinking.

Then, catching sight of me, they went silent as the grave, not daring to make a sound.

"Was my temper really so terrible before?"

Not a challenge. Just curiosity.

Ever since the amygdala was removed, I'd begun looking at my former self in a whole new light.

In the end it was me who led the applause, loud and fierce, breaking the hush over the ballroom.

"Oh my God? What on earth is going on?"

"Looks like there's going to be a show tonight."

"Miss Gilbert is famous in this circle for being jealous and starting scenes! Fight! Fight!"

I watched Lawrence up on the stage.

His face was frighteningly dark, with a trace of timid dread in it, but mostly a deep, deep anger.

I turned and looked at the people gossiping about me.

And forced out a proper smile.

"Everyone, I'm not angry. Really."

But no one seemed to believe me.

The murmuring only grew louder.

"What exactly do I have to do to make you believe I'm truly not angry?"

I thought it over.

Then I walked straight up onto the stage.

Lawrence instinctively planted himself in front of Susannah.

"Cecily! I'm begging you, stop causing a scene!"

"I'm the one who dragged Susannah into this to spite you! In front of all these people, you'd better not bully Susannah!"

I raised my hand high.

And only pushed the two of them slowly apart.

All I wanted was to cast the photo of my medical report from my phone onto the big screen.

The enormous hospital diagnosis was laid out in front of them all.

The patient's amygdala has been removed.

"I'm sorry, everyone. I came here to sincerely wish Mr. Landon and Miss Susannah Henson well."

"And, of course, to get Mr. Lawrence Landon to agree to my request for a breakup."

"I really, truly, will never be angry over Lawrence again."

"Why won't you believe me?"