Page 99 of Misguided

THIRTY-FOUR

Mel

I’ve never a met a person who wants me to cry in despair for them as much as he does. He’s so heartbroken, so lost, and yet he hides the bullshit behind this façade of stupidity.

I honestly thought he’d flunked school, he makes out he’s that simple sometimes. But what I’ve got to know these past days is a man who’s so insightful, so heartfelt, it makes me want to weep for whatever happened after his mom died that left his father so angry with him.

It hurts Dog, the rejection. I can see it. Surely his father can see it too?

I use his sweatshirt as a kind of privacy screen, sitting hunched over as I remove my clothes underneath and leave just my bra and panties on. He’s got another sweater in the bag should he get cold, and besides, the smell of him on me, around me, all over me is comforting. As though he owns me.

And I don’t mind that one little bit.

He moves around outside the tent as I settle down on one of the two bedrolls he threw out, sliding the shared blanket over me. It feels naughty, as though we’re a couple of teens sneaking around, sharing a tent. A smile breaks over my face as I suppress the giggle that wants to break free.

Yet as soon as I feel that joy, that comfort he brings me, I’m instantly reminded of why I felt so vastly different mere weeks ago, why he offered to take me away for a break to begin with.

My heart aches for the loss of my father, for the fact I never got to resolve the tension that stuck between us after the incident with Sawyer. But the person I’d do anything to reach out for is Dana, my sweet baby sister. I lay, staring at the empty space beside me, imagining her face there, looking back at me.

She’d be smiling, if I told her the depth of the feelings I have about Dog. Telling me it’s about time I moved on, let go of my grudge with Daddy and lived a little. She was always the more reckless of the two of us, going wherever her whim took her, pushing the boundaries harder, giving Daddy gray hairs.

I miss that, her shit-eating grin as she’d tell me to “Watch this” and then go get herself in trouble.

Breathing hurts by the time Dog holds the door of the tent open and slips inside. The fire outside has died down, yet the one inside of me burns brighter than ever: with anger, the need for revenge, and despair.

I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep so he won’t talk to me, urge me to voice what I’m feeling. I couldn’t. Putting weight behind the thoughts, turning them into real life issues by talking out loud, would make the pain that much worse. They’re better in my head where I can continue to mold and bend them until they don’t seem real; almost like a bad dream I’m trying to wake from.

He hesitates as though watching me. I steady my breathing, concentrating on not showing any outward emotion despite the fact the girl inside wails as she reaches out for the people she loves. The blanket tugs on my hip and I catch the distinct sound of clothes sliding from skin.

Dana bumps my shoulder in my mind, giddy at the prospect of Dog undressed, beside me, under the same blanket. My fists tightens over the fabric, the tears harder to fight the longer she taunts me with her memory.

His legs bump mine, the blanket a ripple over my side as he adjusts it over himself also. I long to reach out and hold on to something real, to find that anchor. But there’s no need when his body heat envelops me with the same relief. Warm breath fans my forehead, and I visualize him there, lying face-to-face with me.

How close he more than likely is.

How welcome.

The whole situation hits me square in the face when I expect it the least. I’ve cried for my losses, lamented the end they met, and done my best to move on—yet until now I haven’t cried for me. For what I’ve been through. For my own loss.

I lost a life I loved. One I didn’t appreciate enough when I had it; always selfishly assuming I could have better. I had everything I needed, I just couldn’t see that.

I try so hard to hold it in, to suppress the turmoil waging war inside me while I lay there, beside a man who’s shown me no ounce of ill-will the whole time I’ve been back at the club.

And that’s what undoes me.

Dog’s empathy for a girl, no, a brat brought back to earth in the worst kind of way. I learned my lesson about abusing my privilege, not being thankful for what I had, and I learned it the worst way imaginable.

I’ve pretended that being strong was the best way to deal with the grief, but in reality, all I did was delay the onset.

My chin dimples as I roll to my other side, giving him my back. Pain radiates through my fist as I clutch the blanket over me as though it could shield me from everything that I feel, past, future, and present.

“Don’t lock it up,” Dog whispers in the dark. “It ain’t healthy, babe.”

Fuck him. Fuck him and always knowing the right thing to say. Fuck him and this amazing side of him I feel blessed to know.

“Fuck you,” I choke out, my body shuddering with unspent sobs.

“Fuck me?” he echoes. “Why?”