Pushing off him, I spring off the loveseat and stomp down the stairs. I sit down on the couch to get the damn knee-high boots back on, once again cursing my fashion sense for interfering with practicality.
The boots are a serious impedance right now to my dramatic exit. I finally get them back on and continue my stomp, which sounds much more satisfying now with the solid soles on, to the front door.
He chases after me. “Please. Lieshe, please stop. Let me explain.”
I continue my angry stomp. His voice is like a hammer on the broken crystal shards of my heart. If I let myself, I could hear the pain, the absolute devastation in his voice. But I can’t. I’m too busy trying to keep one last little piece safe for me.
One last little piece to keep my heart beating. I need something to push the blood through my shaking limbs, to keep my rational mind pushing me toward safety. I latch on to my anger to get me through.
“At least let me walk you home.”
“Nope,” I sass, popping the p. “I’m fine to walk by myself,” I throw over my shoulder. I know I sound like a petulant toddler right now, but I can’t even stop myself. I’m angry. Betrayed. Hurt. And so extremely disappointed.
Deep down, I know I really will be fine. I’m always fine. I’ve survived worse and fallen back on that stupid word a million times before. Home is right around the corner, and I think the most dangerous thing in the neighborhood is now pursuing me down his hallway.
I don’t let the sneaky feelings of how nice it is to have someone worried about me and wanting to protect me worm their way into my head or heart. Nope, stalker man doesn’t get to make me feel cherished or wanted. Not after what he did.
He follows a few feet behind me as I stomp the whole way to the corner, down the alley, and up the stairs leading up to my door. All this stomping feels a little foolish, but I can’t stop now. I’m committed.
As I start up the stairs, I look over my shoulder to make sure he isn’t following me. Because I don’t want him to.
No, really, I don’t want him to have a reasonable explanation for any of this or follow me up and salvage what was a beautiful burgeoning beginning. Of course, he is still standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring at my door and scowling.
“What?” I snap crossly, wrapping myself in anger like a sad attempt at fixing that vase with scotch tape.
“Nothing. Good evening,” he murmurs as he turns and walks away.
I throw open my door and slam it closed, racing across to the kitchen windows, so I can watch him walk back to his place. Just one more look at this man that I had been falling hard for. But after several minutes, I still don’t see him. He could have gone for a walk or something to blow off some steam.
For some reason, not seeing him makes me far sadder than it should. I shake off the strange disappointment, double-check the lock and deadbolt on the door again, and head to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Fuck this day. Fuck my life. And fuck him.
Seeing Luke’s mark on her door enrages me all over again. She is mine. I miss the days where there was no end to my ability to exhaust my anger and I could paint the world red with it. But the world is a different place now, and I had turned away from that dark time, vowing to never become that monster again.
Yet the darkness of the night calls to me, so I walk around the windowless alley where I know I will not attract the wrong attention and let myself shift into my bat form, fluttering up in graceful swooping arcs that feel like a direct contradiction to the despair pulsing in my veins.
As I soar up into the cold, clear night, I let my mind drift back, long before this time, to the first time I had shifted. I had wanted to escape that time into the cold, dark sky as well.
Back then, crystal clear stars filled the night, so unlike the murky skies of today. That flight had felt like I was soaring amongst the stars themselves, leaving my human form behind with its bleeding heart.
I had flown deep into the desert and into the safety of a cave, far from anything. And there I stayed for years and years, lost in my misery. Until I felt her calling me from my self-imposed exile. I pursued the strange pulling sensation, following it to the source.
I had watched her from the shadows, confused, scared to even breathe, hoping against hope that it was my beloved, returned to me. She had been gathering water from a well, but paused and looked out into the setting sun, shielding her eyes. In the shadow of her hand, I saw them, the same golden eyes I had lived and breathed for, and knew it was her.
The pools of gold were different now, one stained with our curse. With him. But I recognized her soul despite the change in her eyes.I saw her.And in my excitement, I ruined everything in that lifetime through a string of clumsy and clueless mistakes. Not just that one, but so many others. Stuck on repeat, my torture knows no end.
I swoop in a few more lazy arcs, bringing my mind back to the present, and come to rest on her roof, right where I know her bed to be. I lay above her, feeling her soul pulse below me.
I transform back to my original form as a sorry excuse of a man and work to calm my breaking heart by imagining her essence pulsing in my veins, coursing through like iridescent honey. I envision it chasing away the darkness and the anger, leaving pure love and light in its wake.
My body responds to every thought of her, but I push the physical feelings away and retreat into my mind, losing myself in lifetimes of memories. And once again, I fight the desperation that I have ruined yet another one. Because I cannot fathom surviving any longer without her. One way or another, this will be the last time.
One day slowly plods into the next. I go through the motions of my life, but my mind is stuck in rumination mode. I turn over each moment I spent with McHottie and analyze it for truths and lies, hidden agendas, and motivations.
By turns I am suspicious, sad, angry, irritated, and everything in between. I’m also thankful that I hadn’t fallen completely in love with him, but it had been a damn close call.
All has been quiet on the Luke front as well, though I’m not surprised after the disastrous way our last encounter ended. I’m secretly grateful. I need to focus on myself and my internal growth. Both of these infuriating men are so damn distracting.
I also consider resuming counseling with the childhood memories and insecurities that have been dredged back up. Between that and the waking dreams that have returned, I know if I stay on this path without intervention, I could spiral. Finding the time is the hardest part, but this isn’t optional.
