This man who has patience for everyone has run out of it with me, and rightfully so.
“No,” I say, my voice rising. “No, I’m not okay. I’m a fucking menace who can’t watch a cat and make pancakes at the same time, and now I’m also a green glitter goblin.”
My hands flex and then clench into fists, over and over again.
And I keep going, my voice hitting a pitch where I’m yelling. “I ran my clothes through the dryer with a red crayon that came from god-only-knows-where, and Mabel had to give me another all-new wardrobe. My parents called again to tell me I’m a complete failure and disappointment, especially compared to my sisters. And I got rejections from a dozen different online news sites that I applied to last week because they all know who I am and they don’t even want me writing fluff pieces under a pseudonym. My life is a disaster and everything I touch turns to glitter-covered shit andI am not okay.”
My shoulders are up by my ears.
My fingernails press into my palms.
I’m actively sobbing harder than I’ve let myself sob, even when my video went viral.
Dots dance in my vision like I’m about to pass out.
And suddenly I’m being pulled into a cold, wet, tight hug by this man whose morning I have completely ruined.
Whose daughter I’ve traumatized.
Whose cat is still covered in glitter and stuck under a couch.
And whose house will sparkle with that glitter for months—possibly years—to come.
Burning it down will be the only solution.
“I’m such a disaster,” I sob into his skin, which is warming by the second. “I thought I was getting better, but I’m still a disaster.”
“We haven’t evolved enough as a species to have unfettered access to the internet,” he murmurs back. “It breaks our brains and then every other part of our lives too.”
I laugh, choke on it, and sob again.
“Also, you’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs into my hair. “How’s your head?”
My head.
I forgot I hit my forehead on his chin when I ran toward the kitchen.
“It hurts,” I whimper as I realize it is, indeed, throbbing.
Could be the collision with Heath’s face.
Could be the sobbing.
Could be my life in general.
I was getting better.
I was getting better.
“More or less than when you slipped in the bathtub?”
The fact that he can even ask that question… “Less.”
“That’s good. That’s real good. Can you go outside with Lav and sit with her while I set the cat loose and throw on some clothes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Thank you. That’s very helpful.”
