“That doesn’t mean we should. We’ve put them through enough. They haven’t come for us yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. You and I both know they’ll come for us eventually. Until then, why seek problems when we don’t have any?”
“Oh please. They’re too busy focusing on rebuilding since we crushed them.” Jeff, the fearless annihilator, spends several minutes trying to fold the large map. He curses, and I try to hide my laughter.
“Need some help?”
“No,” he says, seemingly insulted and embarrassed. “I’m perfectly capable of closing a map, thank you.” He continues his struggle.
I roll my eyes.Why are men so stubborn?
He finally gets it and lets out a huff. He waves the folded map up before stuffing it in his pocket.
I can’t speak for all men, but I have a hunch where Jeff gets his ego. Jeff isconvincedhe’s inadequate, one of my favorite frenemies who sparks a sense of competition between us. He’s always wanted to be important. Trying to get close to Colin, he used me to slip into his declared “inner circle” but never fit in.
I don’t think Colin was always fair to Jeff. Instead of throwing Jeff a bone, Colin would just make him work even harder. It was like Colin was punishing his past self through Jeff.
That’s why I don’t get upset when Jeff takes insult to my offer to help. To Jeff, it likely seemed like I got everything he could ever want without even trying. And in some ways, he’d be right. I never cared for attention. As long as I could exist without ridicule, I didn’t care what other people thought of me. On a good day, I tell myself this is enough for me. On a bad day, it’s more than I deserve.
“Okay, I’ll take some of the guys North with me.”
Approving of his decision, I nod once. Closing my book, I set it next to me, having had enough lessons on morality for one day. I point past Jeff toward the stack of books in my bookbag. “Could you hand me that book in there, please?”
“Sure.” Jeff stands and walks over to my open bag.
Like my life, my satchel is being held together with duct tape and a prayer. I own essentially five things: two books, an extra pair of clothes, and that bag. All of which I’ve stolen. The only thing that has ever truly been mine from the start is a photo I keep—a small print of me from when I was born.
“Got it,” Jeff says as he waves the book in my direction.
He returns to his seat, a stump that is cut unevenly, giving it a natural back. With the exception of crinkling paper and people asking me questions, I’ve gotten pretty good at blocking out the world and escaping into my books.
I crack open my romantasy novel. The one where the villain gets the girl. She’s kind, soft-spoken, innocent, and feminine. Everything I would like to be. But life has never made it so easy to be. If someone else had been the villain in my story, rather than myself, maybe I could have been the heroine.
That’s why I like this story.
I’ve read it a dozen times, and it never gets old.Beyondmorally grey, he performs heinous acts to protect her innocence from the brutal world. . . There’s a comedic aspect to their relationship I enjoy. He’s always using some threat of force behind her back, exacting vengeance in her name, which makes everyone under his rule follow her lead. Don’t get me wrong, she, herself, is strong and can stand on her own, but he wants everyone to knowsheis in charge. So, when people are overly-eager to indulge in activities only she could like, she’s suspicious.
And I laugh.
What I love about him is that he is her enforcer. She may be in charge and calling the shots, but if he wanted to, he could wreck her world.Heis the one to fear, but only if you hurt her. With him, she gets to be who she wants to be.Softin a world that is hard. Without him, she can’t.
He needs her, too. She is his light. They are opposites from extremely different worlds, but somehow, they find common ground.
I tell myself this book is my secret weapon against my depression. The escape is nice, but let’s be real. It’s a bandage. I can pretend I’m her, but eventually, the story ends, and I’m just me again. And what kind of hot garbage is that?
Jeff crosses his arms. “Are you okay?”
I slowly manage to pull myself from the story to meet Jeff’s eyes. “Hm?”
“I said—”
“Oh! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”
He shrugs.
I don’t blame him. Telling people that I’m struggling is not one of my skills. I don’t want to be a burden.
Three kinds of people exist: people who can’t see I’m drowning, people who do and insist on knowing what’s wrong and people who know something’s off but don’t insist. Jeff knows the vibes are off. If you didn’t know him, it’d be easy to write him off and say he doesn’t care. But in reality, he does. It’s hard for him to see me this way. Having seen me act like this often, he knows I’d rather put on a show and handle things alone.
“Alright. Well, I better get going. Can you watch Casey for me tomorrow?”
