Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 91(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Matthew. Dad. Painting. My art. My job. My former company. My old boss saying, ‘We don’t always get what we want, Daniela. If you’re going to be difficult, you might as well leave. The company can find another one like you. Easily.’
I bite my lip, drawing blood, and bury my face in my now-muddy hands. My shoulders shake, and I can taste the hot, salty tears in my mouth.
I cry for my naive younger self.
The hopeful teenage girl who thought she could make it in the big city. Who believed her art teachers when they told her she was exceptionally talented. In the company where I used to work, however, I was nothing more than another ordinary employee.
For the first time in a long time, I allow myself to feel the full extent of my frustration and exhaustion. The deep, resonant boom in the distance doesn’t faze me, but I jump at the feeling of big hands on my shoulders.
After finding the courage to look at him, I see his face and tone soften. “Hey, let’s go. It’s not that far.”
Something warm laps at my arm, and I turn to find Goldie. I can’t bring myself to stand, maybe because I can’t even recall the last time I ate, and I burned the last of my energy with that crying.
With a sigh, Matthew takes the backpack from me, scoops me in his arms, and carries me all the way to his home. If I’m going to keep embarrassing myself, I might as well go all in.
3
MATTHEW
My 18-year-old self would be pumping his fists in the air right now.
Wasn’t this what I wanted before? Bringing my girl home bridal style?
What a mockery this feels. Not only is there a minimal chance of a happy ever after between us, but there’s something broken in Dan. I can tell because I have first-hand experience in that department.
Seeing her in the flesh brings back memories of how I was after she left, how I spent the next few weeks and months an absolute mess. I was in such a dark place that waking up every day seemed like a chore. Everything was black and white and gray. I couldn’t taste the food. I didn’t want to move from sitting on my couch for hours.
One day bled into the next, and it was like my whole life turned upside down … for the second time. My parents’ deaths were a huge blow to me, but Dan was by my side. I could handle anything as long as she was with me.
So when she left, it rearranged my brain.
I hated the ranch because everywhere I looked, I saw her—the barn where we made out, the kitchen where she used to chat with my mom, and the fucking bedroom, of course.
It was out of sheer desperation that I packed a tent and camped in the mountains. When I woke up the next morning, I could see color for the first time in a long time. I breathed calmly, and all my overthinking just … quieted, the dark thoughts clearing.
That didn’t mean I stopped thinking about her, though. On those days when my resolve was at its weakest, I found myself jerking off to thoughts of her, and I would spend the next hours being disgusted with myself.
Dan squirms and slips her left arm free from between us, wrapping it around my waist, fisting the back of my windbreaker in her fingers. I know she’s just trying to get comfortable, but my rogue body doesn’t seem to get that. My caveman brain doesn’t, either.
I become hyper-aware of her nearness, and I have to tamp down the desire to inhale her scent or graze the skin on the side of her neck with my lips. The way I used to. The way she wanted me to.
Jesus H. Christ, asshole. Stop acting like a hormonal teenager.
I don’t even know why I was furious when I saw her. It’s been years—we were both still teenagers when she left, and now we’re in our 30s—but seeing her unmoored me. It’s like picking at a scab, reopening the wound, and making it bleed all over again.
When she didn’t follow me, I was hell-bent on leaving her, but then, I heard her cry and realized I didn’t have it in me to be cruel. She was obviously going through something. In that moment, all angry thoughts and feelings about her evaporated because here’s the thing about Dan. She seldom cried. I’ve known her since we were twelve and only ever saw her cry twice—when she lost her mom and when her neighbor’s cat snuck into her house and ate her pet goldfish.
And that cry earlier was so full of anguish that it tore at me. I shouldn’t have felt something, but I did. And all I wanted was to make things right for her, or at the very least, try not to be even more of an asshole.