Page 84 of The Sidekick

I burst out into the wind. The music is less loud here, which is good. I make my way to the side of the building, hand braced, and try to regulate my breathing like Dr. Robinson taught me. A breath in, count to five. Breathe out and count to five. At first, I can’t make it past two, and the panic increases. I sit on the ground, cross-legged with my spine straight, arms at my sides, and try again.

The familiarity of the position kick starts my body into, hey, we’re doing yoga mode, and my breaths start coming easier and easier. I let my body go through what it needs to and focus only on my air intake. I’m not sure how long I sit there, but by the time I feel at peace, my hands are resting on my knees as if I’m meditating. I guess, in a messed-up way, I am. Thank you, yoga.

I become aware of the night around me slowly, taking my time. There’s no rush, I can drift for a second, it’s ok. By the time I open my eyes, I’m starting to feel really embarrassed. I totally just flaked in the middle of work.

But this isn’t my job anymore. I came to a place that I don’t feel safe in anymore and got hit by something. The environment hasn’t been friendly. I’ve been flipping between my customer service persona and trying to be numb for hours now. It’s a toxic situation, and I don’t blame myself for not seeing it. I just need to be better about walking away when I should instead of staying to be punished.

My next thoughts are much harder and feel like a lie even as I force them to come. It’s a part of the process, and I need to do the whole thing.

I don’t deserve to be treated badly. I am worth more than that. I have the strength to get through any situation and the knowledge to know when to walk away.

All lies that make me feel even more pathetic than I did before. If I was really that type of person, I wouldn’t have to chant it to myself, right? Ugh, I hate that part.

I open my eyes and scan the cars around me, counting how many there are and what colors. I don’t know types or body styles or anything, but I could learn. That seems like a good technique to invest in. It would be fun.

“Tera?” Max’s breathless voice reaches me, and I look over at him with a wince.

“Do not apologize. You have a right to your feelings.” Dr. Robinson’s voice cuts through my automatic reaction to inconveniencing someone. I take another deep breath and hold it for five.

“Hey,” I say weakly and wave my hand without taking it off my knee.

“Fuck,” he continues swearing as he walks over to me with a glass of water and a towel. When he crouches down next to me, it’s like a shield descends, and everything in me loosens. My body sways towards him, and I rest my head on his chest. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around me, dropping the towel over my shoulder. His lips press into the top of my head, still spilling out curse words filled with rage.

“Sit with me for a second,” I suggest, suddenly finding the humor in his freak-out. I have words of affirmation, and Max has nonstop cursing. I don’t feel like either method is wrong. But one is definitely more hilarious than the other.

He shifts around and ends up wedged between me and the wall, arms and legs wrapped around me with his forehead pressed into my shoulder. The barrage of insults is muffled more that way. I wrap my arms around his, threading our fingers together as I listen to him switch back and forth between Spanish and English.

How can this feel so right when, just a minute ago, I was ready to pass out?

He’s just winding down when a few customers pass us and give a wolf whistle that starts him right back up again. This time, he’s yelling right in my ear and glaring as they get into their vehicle and drive away.

“Max,” an amused voice reaches us, “that’s enough.”

Satan walks over, just out of my line of sight, as I focus on the cars again. I try to stay relaxed, but with him so close, I feel fidgety and guilty. I’m out here being held by his boyfriend, and I’m not sure how he’ll interpret it.

“Fine,” Max tilts his head back, revealing more of Satan in the light of the parking lot. “Tera, you’re going to have to take over.”

I let out a surprised bark of laughter at the thought. I didn’t even know there were that many curse words to begin with. And some of them didn’t sound anatomically possible. I can’t beat that.

“You did a great job,” I giggle. “Very thorough. I don’t think there are any words left.”

Satan lets out a soft laugh, and Max shakes his head.

“Just say fuck once. Please?” His arms squeeze me, and he rocks us side to side.

“No,” I laugh again.

“It would make my night. Seriously. Pleeeease?”

“Don’t you have a job to get back to?” I tease.

“I quit.”

“No, you didn’t,” I shake my head as I laugh.

“Then I’m doing it now. Trevor?”

“Yes, Max?”

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