He touches my forearm, a gentle restraint. “Let me help you through this, Cal. Whatever you're feeling, we can work it out together.”
“Out.” The word tears from my throat, ragged and desperate. I gasp for breath, fighting against the constriction in my chest. “I need out.”
He pulls open the door, resignation and sorrow etched into the set of his jaw, and hands me something. It takes a moment for the smell to register, for my scattered thoughts to coalesce into something recognizable.
Meat.
I stare at it blankly for a moment, uncomprehending, before taking it and bolting through the open door. The cool night air hits me like a slap, a shock to my overheated skin, but I don't slow down.
I can't.
Tears spill down my cheeks, blurring my vision as I run. Each footfall sends a jolt of pain through my abused body, my ass throbbing, my insides aching.
My lungs burn, my muscles scream in protest, but I keep going. I just need to move, to escape, to outrun the terrifying depth of feeling that consumes me.
Eventually, I stumble to a stop, my body giving out, my strength depleted. I collapse against a tree, sliding down until I'm huddled on the ground, knees drawn to my chest, arms wrapped around myself in a futile attempt at comfort.
Sobs wrack my frame, tearing from my throat in harsh, guttural sounds that barely sound human. I don't know what to do, where to go. All I know is that I can't go back.
Not to Mac.
Not ever.
Chapter 9
Foraging through another house, I come across a can of lentils. Not my favorite but beggars can’t be choosers. Not with the weather turning as fast as it is.
Don’t know how many days have passed since that night with Mac—maybe a week—but the food he gave me is gone.
Sure, I have stuff saved at my childhood home, but I can’t go back there. Besides the two dead bodies inside, he could be waiting.
Same reason I avoid going fishing. It’s the paralyzing thought of running into Mac.
I place the can of lentils into my backpack then continue to rummage through the cupboards.
Slim pickings in this house. Time to move to the next.
Anything to keep me from endlessly thinking abouthim. Or about what happened that night.
How he used me like a plaything.
And while my ass and insides feel better, my heart and mind don’t.
I swipe my arm across the countertop, sending a glass flying and shattering on the floor.
Why does it matter that I went crazy and ran away or that he asked me to stay even after the time was up?
The two hours were transactional.
Mac doesn’t want more. Not in the way I do.
When did this crush turn into something more?
I take a deep breath in and release it, trying to calm myself. But everything still just fucking sucks.
I suck. He sucks. This goddamn world sucks.
If only I could figure out how to turn my emotions off or even just turn down their intensity.
