Page 25 of The Other Side of Wild
Chapter 13 – Greyson
I’ve never brought anyone here; I’ve never told anyone about this place. Obviously, my family knows it’s here; we’ve had picnics here before, but the only person who knows its significance is the woman standing beside me.I probably built this lighthouse thing up in my head way too much. She’s going to hate it.
“Wow.” It’s breathless, almost a whisper. If I hadn’t been so tuned into her at the moment, I would have missed it. The giant red and white lighthouse stands tall on a jetty. The rocks around the edge are big and jagged from the waves constantly crashing into them, but the land we’re on is sandy and dense. I sit and pat the ground next to me, indicating I want her here with me. She plops down, and I immediately wrap my arm around her shoulder and drag her into me. We sit in silence for a minute before I finally break it.
“I’ve been having a hard time the past few days,” I begin, my voice quiet, almost as if saying it out loud makes it more real. “So when my mom called yesterday asking me to bring you for lunch, I agreed. I’m sorry I acted without talking to you first. I got excited over the prospect of spending more time with you and just reacted.”
She angles her head up to look at me; there’s a softness, a level of understanding in her eyes that makes my heart squeeze. She brings me such an unexplainable level of peace; I’m about to say ‘screw it’ and jump in with both feet.
“I...” I blow out a breath, trying to articulate how I’ve been feeling the past few days. “Everything about this trip feels heavy. Like I’m willingly stepping back into the darkest moments of my life.” My chest tightens, the fear sinking deeper into my bones. “Then, my mind starts to play dirty tricks on me. ‘Was it really as bad as you say it was, or are you being dramatic?’ ‘If you had been stronger in the first place, you wouldn’t be in this position’ and so on.” The string of questions swirls faster than I can get a hold of.
My chest feels hollow like someone took an ice cream scoop and took out my soul, like nothing is enough to fill the emptiness inside me. Even the few shots of tequila I had last night didn’t numb me enough to quiet the clanging cymbals in my head.
“I feel guilty,” the words tasted bitter on my tongue. “I have such a blessed life; I have most of what I’ve worked so hard for and dreamed of. I know I’m more fortunate than a lot of people, yet sometimes the days just feel dark and heavy. Like I’m constantly trying to outrun a tornado, but there’s a fifty-ton brick right in the middle of my chest, and I can't move fast enough.” I can’t keep the pain out of my voice. “The thought of having to go back to a place where I was at my lowest. It’s pulling me under. And it seems so trivial.” We agreed we’d heal together; this is me trying to keep my word. It’s not comfortable by any means. In fact, I’d rather swallow glass than show my wounds to this beautiful woman. But a deal’s a deal.
She turns so her legs are draped over mine; she takes my arm off her shoulder, intertwines our fingers, and places them in her lap. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything Kitten. Always.” Her eyes meet mine, the turbulent waters of my soul settling for a brief second.
“If your dad called your name as you were leaving the house, would you start to run through everything you could have possibly done wrong in the last twenty-four hours?”
I’m caught off guard by her question; it makes me pause for a second and really think about why she’d ask. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. I’d probably think he wanted to give me a hug, or I forgot something. Why?”
Her nails are dragging up and down the inside of my forearm, from wrist to elbow. Back and forth, the movement is as relaxing as it is stimulating. Having her hands on me is making my brain go haywire; half my brain is trying to pull me under, and the other half is trying to anchor myself to her.
“To me, my dad acknowledging my existence meant I either did something wrong, or I was due to be ‘put back in my place.’ To you, your dad acknowledging you is, as you put it, trivial. You wouldn’t automatically think the worst.” She pauses her movement for a second, then she rests her head against my collarbone. .
“What I’m saying is, just because something is trivial to someone else, doesn’t mean it is to you. Acknowledgment from your dad won’t bring you to your knees, but it did exactly that for me. You can’t discount the things you’re feeling to make someone else comfortable. To placate someone else or even to keep up the image of some hotshot pro athlete. Some of the most outwardly happy people are depressed under it all; mental health struggles don’t just affect us mere mortals, Grey. You aren’t exempt. But you also aren’t alone.” She continues her prior movement of rubbing my arm with her nails.
I have no adequate words at the moment, so we sit in comfortable silence. The waves hitting the rocks in the background are the perfect soundtrack to the moment. I wish I knew how to get myself out of this. I wish I could snap my fingers and have it all be okay. I can’t. But she helps, like Epsom salt to sore muscles; she soothes me in a way no one ever has.
“Dozer, are you okay?” Her voice pulls me out of my fog; she pulls herself back to look at my face. I didn’t realize I started shaking. I wrap my arm back around her shoulder and pull her into me.
“I’ll get there; thank you for sitting with me. I’m sorry I sneak-attacked you this morning. I can be a bit trigger-happy.” Blessed is the sound of her laugh; I needed to record it and make it my ringtone.
“It’s okay, I like spending time with you.” It’s official, I’m a goner for this girl. We’re locked in this intense staring contest. My eyes fall to her lips; they part as she realizes where I’m looking. The brown specks in her eyes reflect the sun like a mirror; they’re almost hypnotic. I could stare at them for hours. She breaks the spell I’m in when she clears her throat, my eyes slowly moving back to hers. “Do you want to head back? Lunch is probably ready by now.”
Her voice is deeper than normal, husky even. Damn, I want to hear it like this all the time. I want tofeelthe weight of her words in that rich, sultry tone. The shift in the air is undeniable, and it snaps what little control I had left.
Without thinking, my hand snakes up her neck, and my fingers brush against the soft skin behind her ear. The tension acts as a livewire between the two of us. I close the gap, my lips finding hers in a slow and gentle kiss.
She’s still for a moment, and I start to think I’ve misread every sign I swore she gave me. But then she responds, her lips warm and soft pressed against mine. Her hand finds its way to the back of my neck, pulling me closer and deepening the kiss. It’s not the type of kiss that makes your heart race and your toes curl with need; it’s the kind of kiss that promises trust and safety.
It’s an “I’m here” kiss. An “I’m not going anywhere” kiss. An unspoken promise that we’re in this together. That wecanheal together, no matter how heavy things get.
I pull away and put my forehead to hers, her silence making me uneasy. “Did I push too far?” I ask, vulnerable in a way I’m not used to.
“No.” She looks a little unsure as she starts to pick at the skin on the side of her thumb, but her eyes never leave mine. There's a hint of uncertainty in her voice, not of fear–more like a silent admission that her feelings mirror my own.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Dozer.” She confesses raw honesty, lacing her words. “But whatever it is, I want to do it with you.”
My chest warms with hope and relief all at once. I crash my lips against hers once again, more urgently this time, not out of desperation but desire. The desire to make this real.
Our kiss deepens, and the world around us fades to nothing but the sound of our breathing. In the way she responds to me, I can feel it: something permanent. I pull back just for a moment to get out the words I desperately need to say. “You’re mine, Hannah,” I whisper, the words feel as natural as breathing. “Whether you know it or not, you’re mine.”
I don’t need her to agree; the connection between the two of us is more than enough. This is real; I know, without a doubt, that one day, Hannah Lowery will be Hannah Wilder.
I holdher hand as we walk back to the house. I feel lighter after talking with Hannah; she gets me on a level most people don’t. Before we get to the side gate, she pulls at my hand, getting me to turn towards her, “Just checking in one more time before we go in and have to deal with people. Are you okay?” My therapist told me that one day, I’d find someone who wouldn’t see my fight with depression as a burden but as something they’d fight along with me. I’d never for a second believed him, but there’s a part of me here in this moment that does.