Page 41 of Misguided
“Put it on.” He nods to the clothes.
I hold his gaze and twist my lips to the side. Humor him, Mel. If anything, it’ll just reinforce my feeling that playing pretend isn’t going to be a walk in the park and maybe he’ll leave me alone.
All under his keen eye, I strip the shorts, sweater and loose tank I had on, off, and then tug on the much tighter, much more revealing outfit he laid out. His dark eyes blacken as he watches me from his spot leaned against the wall, his arms folded and his stare positively starved.
“There’s nothing wrong with bein’ something beautiful for people to appreciate, Mel. It’s soothing to a scarred soul.”
The stiffness of the pants seems foreign; a feeling I used to love, the way leather softens as it warms to your body. The vest however … the weight of it on my back, the ties that bind the sides tickling under my arms …
Fuck I’m sick of crying.
“Feel like home?” Dog asks quietly, his chin down as he regards me with a hooded gaze.
I swipe the stray tears from my cheeks and stiffen my jaw. “Yeah. It does. Too fucking familiar, actually.”
“It’s who you are, Mel.” He pushes off, closing the space between us. “That girl there”—he gestures to the baggy clothes on the bed—“is what circumstance created. That wasn’t you. That was survival.”
I stare at the sweater that’s a size too big, the cut-offs that are a full inch or more longer than I usually wear. They hid me, covered my curves and turned people’s heads the other way. But why? What was I really hiding?
“I got so used to being invisible, forgotten,” I mumble, my brow pinched. “It didn’t feel right drawing everyone’s attention.”
“Why not?”
I shake my head and run my hands over the leather on my thighs. “I don’t know.”
Dog steps forward, toe to toe with me, his finger coaxing my chin up to meet his gaze. “Guilt?”
I flick my gaze between his eyes, picking out the flecks of gold amongst the chestnut. “At what?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple prominent. “At feelin’ good.” His thumb skims my bottom lip. “At living.”
I turn my face in his hold again to look over the baggy clothes once more. His breath feathers my temple as I realize how right he is. I felt lost, not because I’d been out of the life for so long, but because I didn’t know how the person I was before I left, a happy carefree girl, fitted in amongst the grief and shock of what went down while I was away.
How can I come skipping back in here as though I don’t give a fuck what these people did for me? It just doesn’t sit right.
I turn back to Dog, finding his eyes intensely locked on me. “How do I do it, then? How do I be myself when it’s just so … wrong?”
“It ain’t wrong, baby.” He smiles sadly. “You just gotta see it’s what they need.” He leans in and places a gentle kiss on my forehead.
I reach up and take his face in my hands, holding his lips to my head. He’s so genuine, so raw. Why doesn’t he share this with anyone but me?
“I love this side of you, Dog,” I whisper. “Don’t ever hide it from me.”
“I promise,” he murmurs against my skin, his hands sure and firm on my hips as he tugs me closer.
I turn my head to the side and rest it against his chest as I wrap my warms around him and whisper, “You’re such a good friend to me.”
Even if the beat of my heart thundering in my ears tells me we’ve already crossed that line and moved on to something more, I’m terrified if I label this thing between us too soon I might startle him away and not only lose the thing that I cherish most—our friendship.
I couldn’t name what we have if I were asked, but whatever this thing is between us—a partnership, an understanding—it’s more than I could have asked for, and hopefully not more than I deserve.
Because right now, I still don’t feel like I deserve anything at all.