I can’t sleep, that’s for sure. I pull on a pair of boots and leave the cottage. It starts as just a quick walk to calm my nerves, my body, and maybe tire myself out. I’d give anything to sleep and stop thinking about all this.
I thought I was over him. I guess not, because it hurts too much just to exist in the same space as him, painfully close and still not enough.
I had spent a lot of time mad that Shawn hadn’t stood up to his family for me in the way I needed him to, hurt that he hadn’t done enough. But I hadn’t realized how hard it must have been to have done as much as he had.
I probably would have kissed him in that hallway if the conversation hadn’t turned so morose.
I don’t know what to make of that little revelation. I mean, I guess family tragedy is always hard to explain. It does seem to me like thirty years is too long to let it control you, but then again, a lot of his family issues never made any sense to me.
Seeing Shawn here with his family contextualizes him in a way I’m not quite sure how to put to words. Something’s clicked, and I feel like I understand more than I did when we were married. It’s in the little things, the way they interact, the things they do and don’t say, cutting around the shape of something I can’t quite make out yet.
It’s such a small thing. It doesn’t make him seem so different now that it’s worth trying to reconnect with him at all. Not that I would even want to.
I don’t want to feel sorry for him. Not when I’ve spent years teaching myself to have better self-worth after what our marriage did to me.
It’s not really the closure I wanted, but the knee-jerk anger I used to carry about Shawn and how he handled our relationship in the face of his family’s disapproval sits oddly cooled in my chest. Part of me still struggles with hurt that he never toldme any of those things about his family, but it’s not fueled by senseless anger now.
I stop at the sound of a distant howl. Coyotes, I remind myself.
Do coyotes even howl? It’s long and low, oddly melodic. And complex. And...is that fucking Bohemian Rhapsody?”
No. No way. But I hum a little along to it.Figaro, Figaro. Yeah, that’s it.
I stand outside a good couple minutes wondering if I’m maybe losing it. It could happen, I’ve had some pretty weird shocks this week. Another few minutes and I’m questioning if I actually heard what I think I did.
What is going on with me lately? I don’t think I’m old enough for even early menopause. Is this what PCOS is? Do I need to Google that again? Is Google actually going to helpfully answer the unstudied medical mysteries that are having a uterus?
Then again, none of that would explain how specks of dirt and leaves ended up in my bed, or where my pajama bottoms went.
Why can’t good things just stay good? Why’d he have to show up here and ruin a perfectly fine job for me? Why couldn’t things just be easy? Why can’t I go back to having my little family? Maybe not a real family, maybe just an overly friendly employer and their delusional catering partner.
No, that was stupid to want.
Hot, frustrated tears well up around my eyes as I linger over it. I just wanted a distraction from all the drama happening at the main house, and now I’d made things worse.
And now here I was, getting lost in the woods because I couldn’t stand another minute in the place he’d rejected me.
Why’d he have to ruin our relationship in the first place?
It’s dark and I make the decisions of which way to go haphazardly, thinking I recognize the slope of the hill and this cluster of trees until I stop nearly recognizing any of it.
No, I know this path, maybe. I think I can see the house through the trees, or maybe that’s someone else’s house. But I’m sure there’s a bench just around the bend, and it’s still part of the grounds. Why couldn’t I have just opened a window and done jumping jacks in my bedroom?
It’s only when I hear the snap of a branch behind me that I remember the animal attacks.
The woods are dark, the trees almost blending in with the night. But I can see something there, something moving in the tree line. It’s only barely perceptible.
I should not have wandered this far.
There’s no running this time. I begin to turn and immediately slip on some wet leaves the moment I take a step, just as it snarls and crashes through the bushes.
I stumble into a wide tree, the bark biting into my palms as I try to use it to steady myself, my body ringing with the impact. I’m able to catch myself from hitting my head, but as soon as I look up, there it is, crouching over me, filling up my whole field of vision.
The monster’s dark-brown eyes hold me, pinning me to the tree. It’s the same beast I met before, I’m sure of it. I know those eyes.
I nearly forgot that strange dream I’d had a few nights ago, with everything else that had been happening. I didn’t think it had been real.
There’s intelligence in its expression, an understanding I couldn’t ascribe to just any creature.
