Page 5 of The Other Side of Wild
“Do you want to talk about it?” She huffs, looking at the ground, and for the second time today, I find it impossible not to touch her. Bringing my hand to her cheek, I angle her face up until she’s looking at me. Those eyes are going to do me in, I’m sure of it.
She smiles a watery smile; it wobbles a bit at the corners. The compulsive fixer in me wants to find this guy and give him a piece of my mind. “Kyle and I dated for 2 years in college. It didn’t end well.” The tips of her ears turn the prettiest shade of pink.
She turns her attention back to the ground and takes a deep, shaky breath. Her arms come around her chest like she’s giving herself a hug before she speaks again. “I was looking for attention in all the wrong places. I had a bit of a rebellious stage in college. I was one of those hands-off girlfriends. I didn’t really care; I just wanted someone to fill in the emptiness at the end of the day.”
A long, low sigh passes through her lips. It’s one I recognize all too well–guilt and shame. She licks her lips; my eyes track the motion. It’s a movement that has no business being sexy, given the conversation we’re having. “He told me he had an out-of-town basketball game one weekend. I didn’t care enough to verify it. I didn’t even think I needed to. I worked with the sports teams; I knew there wasn’t a game that weekend. Abby called me out on it, so we showed up at his house, where we found him in his underwear with another woman next to him in just his shirt.”
She clears her throat and wipes her hands down the front of her pants. “Needless to say, that was the end of that.” I would certainly hope so. No one deserves to be cheated on. If you aren’t happy, just leave. Common sense isn’t so common these days, apparently.
I lose the battle of keeping my hands to myself and end up pulling her into my chest. Her cheek finds my chest, and mine finds the top of her head. It’s hard to ignore how well she fits pressed up against me. That is the absolute last thing I need to be thinking about right now.
Chapter 3 – Hannah
Exhaling a deep breath, I look back up at him. I feel like he can sense my embarrassment. No one likes to run into their ex. Even more so, no one likes to admit the reason why they’re an ex. It’s moments like this that remind me, not for my lack of trying; I failed to see the signs I swore up and down I’d never turn a blind eye to. That’s what stings the most, and it’s self-inflicted. I have no one to blame but myself.
“I have some things to work on,” I put my hands behind my back and start to pick at my skin, giving me something else to focus on besides the embarrassment coursing through my veins.
“You and I both. But hey, your worth is not tied to anyone other than you and God. It’s certainly not tied to any man or accomplishment. From where I’m standing, I see a woman who acknowledges she has some things to work through. That right there requires a hefty dose of bravery and self-awareness. Do you know how many people go through life blaming others for their own issues they won’t even acknowledge, let alone attempt to work on?”
I scoff. Not tied to any man or accomplishment, my ass. I’ve spent my entire adult life trying to prove a dead man wrong.
“Hit the nail on the head, did I?” Okay, checkmate, Mr. Wilder.
“Don’t worry. Being able to read all your deepest, darkest secrets is a superpower of mine. I’ll keep them to myself, though.” He winks and, who makes a wink look that good?! I try to wink, and people ask if I'm having a stroke. This has crossed the line of friendly into flirty, homie don’t play that.
Clearing my throat, I take a step back. “Thank you for not judging me on all that.” I wave my hand in front of me, trying to cut through the tension building here. I don’t need to be spilling my life problems to someone I just met. He nods his head before shoving his hands back in his pockets.
“I will gladly listen to you word vomit anytime, Kitten.” The palms of my hands start to itch. I’m out of my element here. I should have just gone home after work. My ex, rearing his ugly head, brought a catalog of issues to the forefront, one being my clearly awful decision-making skills. I should probably quit while I’m ahead.
“I should get going. It was nice meeting you, Greyson.” I turn and quickly walk toward my car before he can say anything else.Always a runner, Hannah.Shut up, brain.
My mind is still reeling when I get home. I grab the leash for my beautiful furry princess, Harley, and attach her harness. I’ve been conditioned to internalize everything. Need help? Forget it, figure it out yourself, or let it go. Someone hurt your feelings. What is it that you did to cause them to do that? Oh, your ex-boyfriend cheated on you. You must have been neglecting him.
My brain's default setting is “What did you do to provoke this? What didn’t you do that resulted in this outcome?” It’s exhausting,the constant run around, chasing my own tail trying to figure out where I went wrong. Why am I not enough for anyone to stick around? Why am I not enough for someone towantto stay? Blah, whatever. I don’t have the energy to dissect the trauma wounds caused by good ole’ Dennis Lowery right now. But dang, if I don’t want to slap him from beyond the grave.
Jolting me out of my internal mental spiral, Harley yanks on the leash, pulling us both towards something I can’t see. “AH!” It comes out ridiculously high-pitched as I see what she’s darting after: a mouse or maybe it’s a rat. I’m not sure, but it’s gray with a long tail and I am not about it.
Digging my feet into the ground while pulling her leash in the opposite direction, we fight for control. She’s a lab and border collie mix; she’s made to hunt and herd. I, however, am not. Therefore, I’m going to do everything I can to keep her from getting the mouse–rat into her mouth. I love slobbery puppy kisses, dang it, don’t ruin it for me, Har. Garnering questioning glances from people walking by, I finally get her away from the animal in question, and we continue our walk around the block.
The sun is setting, making the sky resemble the most beautiful cotton candy. Hues of orange, pink, and red with thin, wispy clouds weaved throughout. It’s one of my favorite parts of Tampa, getting to witness God’s artistry every night when he puts these sunsets on display. It’s a gentle reminder that every day is new, different.
Just as you never see the exact same sunset twice, you never have the exact same day twice. That fact comforts me on a primal level. Like the sun putting the day to rest, I’m choosing to put my past and all its drama aside.
By the time we get back inside, I’m covered in a fine layer of sweat; my cheeks are flushed, and I’m a bit out of breath. I unclasp Harley’s harness, hanging it on the hook by the door. I rub behind her ears as she presses her head into my hand, making me smile. This girl is my soulmate, so in tune with my emotions, always there with those brown, beautiful puppy eyes, my heart on the outside of my body.
I may have rescued her from the shelter, but she rescued me more than she will ever comprehend. Just her presence is comforting. Running my hands through her fur brings me peace. Megan, my therapist, says it’s a hit of endorphins, and who am I to argue with a professional? She’s always there, always ready to listen when I need to sort my thoughts out. She’s always there to catch my tears, and even better, she never gives unsolicited advice–you’re familiar with the types. My guardian angel wrapped up in black and white fur.
Hopped up on an emotional overload, I head into the kitchen and start cooking. What exactly am I cooking? I’m not sure. I’ll figure it out as I go. I dance and sing as I throw Italian-seasoned chicken and balsamic-coated broccoli into the oven. Moving on to taco bowls, the music does a drastic one-eighty from A Day To Remember to Brooks & Dunn. I drop the spatula on the floor, Harley not missing a beat as she licks up the spilled food. I don’t know how much time passes as I stare at the wall, remembering all the times I listened to this song with my brother as kids.
We used to run down the trails in the forest behind my parent's house, pretending it was the Red Dirt Road they sung about. The tears well up in my eyes as all the emotions of the day wash over me.No.I shake my head of the negative thoughts heading my way and refocus on making Abby’s meals for the week.
A few hours later, I hit a wall. Cleaning up the kitchen and turning off the lights, I decide it’s time to call it a night. Harley and I head to my room; I plop down on my bed, grab my journal from my nightstand, and start to write out my feelings about today’s events. While mindlessly rubbing my left hand down her back, I drift off to sleep.
I woke up in a haze, confused about where I was for a second. I drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. Looking at myself in the mirror, I stifle a groan. I look like a raccoon — a full-on trash panda. My day-old makeup has taken on a life of its own, clearly deciding the 80s hair band look is the direction it's going today. Kiss has nothing on the black circles under my eyes at the moment. My hair fits the bill, too. Score!
I take a makeup-removing wipe and clean my face, making sure to take extra time under my eyes. Then, I brush my teeth and hop in the shower to address the hair situation. After a deep conditioning session accompanied by a shower concert sponsored by 2000s Alternative, I get out and wrap my hair in a towel, letting it soak up the water until I finish getting dressed.
I run a brush through my hair as I walk into the kitchen to start making coffee; I see Abby already there with one in her hand. “Consider this my apology for not kicking Kyle in the balls.” She reaches her arm out towards me; I chuckle while I shake my head and take a sip. A low hum comes from my throat. Iced coffee with four pumps of peppermint, three pumps of white mocha, and, of course, cold foam on top. It’s my favorite way to consume caffeinated bean water. Like a candy cane in liquid form, a Christmas hug every day of the year.