Page 76 of Existential
My immediate instinct is to say I’ve tried, but isn’t that a lie? I’ve listened, I’ve let him in on a tiny part of who I am by telling him about my father, but have I actually sat down and talked through what we have going on? No.
“I don’t know what I’d say.”
“Try it out on me.”
“What?” I look up at the guy. “Tell you how I feel about him.”
“Yeah.” That damn troublesome smirk returns. “Practice, if you like.”
“I don’t know …”
“Go on.” He steps forward, nudging me lightly in the arm with a loose fist. “You know it’s a good idea.” He steps back, arms folded. “If you had to list one reason, one thing about the guy that you like, what would it be? And don’t give me bullshit about the beard; we get it—chicks dig beards.” He rolls his eyes. “Give me something real, sweetheart.”
What is it about Hooch that makes me drop my guard around him? I run through each of our interactions in my mind, Dog waiting patiently while I do. My hands wring the hell out of my bag strap as I focus in on the emotions he pulls out of me, and it twigs.
“I guess, when I’m around people who have it together, who’re confident in themselves, it makes me feel shitty because it highlights everything that’s wrong with me,” I say. “But when I talk with him, I … I think because he seems just as lost as I am that I can relate, you know? He makes me feel comfortable, like I’m on an even par with him. He’s not judging me, and I don’t judge him. I mean, shit, who would I be to chastise the decisions he’s made in life when I’m a walking fuck up, myself.”
“Good,” Dog coaches, winding his hand. “So he makes you feel …”
“Like I’m at home.” The realization sucker punches me in the gut.
He makes me feel secure, wanted, and like I matter. And isn’t that what scares me most? Getting attached again only to find it’s all a lie?
“So why are you leaving?”
I suck in a sharp breath, hearing the man in question’s deep, husky voice directly behind me.
Dog laughs, spinning on his heel to disappear inside the clubhouse.
“That wasn’t nice,” I call after him, but it’s too late.
It’s just me, and the man I called home.
“You got an answer for me, fairy?”
I turn around to face Hooch, and wilt. I’m on the back foot here, and I sure as hell don’t like it. He stares down at me, his shoulders broad as he stands with both hands jammed in his jean pockets.
“You promised me you’d stay.” The pain in his voice is a knife straight to the heart.
“You know why I’m going.”
“Because I hurt your feelings?”
“You did more than that,” I snap. “You used me, again and again. You can’t help yourself.”
“Maybe I’m just findin’ excuses to keep you around?”
“Is that what I am? Entertainment? A distraction?”
“Is that such a bad thing if the need is real?”
I want to argue the point with him, God how I want to. But he’s hit the nail on the head. Maybe he went about it the wrong way, but those precious moments in the laundry prove the truth to his words: he needs me. He’s said it. He’s showed it.
“What do I get out of this, though?” I whisper. “I get that you need me, for whatever reason, but I can’t just keep on giving without getting anything back to replenish the well.”
He sighs, reaching out and running a thumb over my cheek as he cups the side of my face. “You’ve got to tell me what you need before I can give it to you.”
Snap. He’s got me on that.