A few weeks ago, James and I attended a homeowners counseling class. It was more like a one-on-one meeting through a nonprofit organization which describes the process of buying a home. Three hours of talking money, credit, and government programs later we decided to go to lunch. While driving we went from casual conversation about our "top five list," suggested by the counselor, which includes one's priority characteristics that the house should have. We agreed on a nice neighborhood, fenced in yard, garage, and so on. As we got near the restaurant parking lot, the light and fluffy discussion concerning our dream house (and life) dramatically transformed into a brawl over money.

It all started when we stopped in the parking lot, ready to get out of the car. After a frustrating conversation about what to include as income and debt, I felt a knot of pent up hostility starting to unravel.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this then...just keep living at your parents house forever," I said in a sarcastic tone. As he gets up I feel a huge sense of remorse as he replies with "oh shut up!" That was it, any feeling of regret was washed away as I was overcome with rage. Fuck you! I don't need you...I am too good for you...go to hell!

Although there were numerous blows to each other's egos, the most evocative came as we were walking toward the door. "What do you have to show for yourself? At least I have a degree," I replied after he told me that I can't pay for anything.

After flashing my degree in his face, like a five foot tall gold trophy, he came back at me with another sly remark. It was something along the lines of: yeah and look what good that's done.

Inside I was laughing the comment off, it was just another ignorant comment coming from a uneducated farm boy who didn't know how the world works. However, after lunch while driving home, I was hit with devastation from the remarks impact as a fly slamming against a semi-truck on the highway. I was struck, not knowing the repercussions, oblivious to the pain that will result. To think that the work I've done the past four years, work that absorbed my life, was somehow worthless.

When we arrived back at my apartment, James stayed approximately two minutes before he leaves. In the dark to where he was going, my heart racing, I spring for the slider door and I see him walking towards his blue Dodge truck. "Where are you going?" I yelled frantically. He turned around briefly and replied "for a drive!"

Oh great Melissa! Way to drive him away!

The moment I saw him drive out into the distance I could feel the heavy beating of my heart as I was thinking of the worst possible scenario. James has never done something like this before...I must have gone too far this time.

I scurried to my bedroom and quickly pick up my cell phone, dialing his number. I must have called at least five times with no answer. "Please don't leave me...I'm sorry...please come back." As I am speaking the words to the voice message box, I came to a conclusion: I have an overwhelming fear of abandonment.

I finally get a hold of James thirty minutes later and he tells me that he was at the store and would be back shortly. After desperately telling him to come back, he tells me that he just needed to clear is head. When he gets back to my apartment, we both reach for an embrace as my heart finally begins to maintain a steady pace. He did not leave me for very long, nor do I believe he would truly leave without a trace. However, there still lies an underlying fear that he will eventually disappear from my life.