Page 16 of Susie's Orc

It usually comes up a half-dozen times whenever I come back to visit, and it never fails to make me squirm with discomfort, feeling distinctly like an impostor.

Sure, they might see it as impressive, but I still feel like I barely know what I’m doing most days, bumbling my way through adulthood, attempting to find myself in a world I would have had no place in just a few years ago.

I’ve always had a little chip on my shoulder about it. Not only in the small-town-kid-heads-to-the-big-city sense, but in the sense that all paranormals have felt in some degree since the passage of the Acts. Being visible, being a part of the human world, going up against centuries of legends and folklore that would paint us as monsters to be feared, as well as against allthose people who hold the opinion that the world was better off before we were an acknowledged part of it.

It’s all been a lot to handle, and I can’t imagine my part in it being anything to write home about.

“All I’ve accomplished,” I say with a scoff. “Yeah, sure. Even if that means I’ve been a terrible son and brother and barely make it back here once a year.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“I still feel bad,” I mutter. “I haven’t been home as much as I should since I left for college.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” She leans over and nudges me with her shoulder. “You’ve always been too hard on yourself.”

I grumble a denial, but she just rolls her eyes.

“You have been, and you know it. And you also know you can loosen up, right? You don’t have to be everything to everyone, and you don’t have to be so perfect all the time. You’re great just the way you are.”

Her words strike a nerve. Raw and sensitive, something that’s been gnawing at me for years.

I’ve been carrying it around even before I met Susie, but I’d be a damn liar if I tried to pretend it hadn’t gotten worse this last week. This old, tired need to prove myself, make something of myself, be a ‘success’, whatever the hell that means. Like I always had just a little further to go before I was worthy of good things.

But maybe that’s not so true anymore.

Maybe it’s never been true.

Who knows?

Being home always makes me feel like this, like I’m not doing enough, not here enough, not repaying all my family and all this entire village has given me throughout my life. Like I’vegot this bar I’ll never quite reach, this magical ‘good enough’ that will always be just out of my grasp.

It’s the same way I’ve felt about myself, my body, my sense of confidence and willingness to go after what I want.

But Gemma’s still looking at me with that half-patient, half-superior expression on her face, like she knows she’s right and she has no problem waiting until I pull my head out of my ass and realize it, too.

And even while I don’t want to give her the satisfaction, the words feel different this time around. Maybe it’s getting older. Maybe it’s the way I’ve finally been finding my confidence and settling into my skin these past couple of years, but I decide not to fight her on it this time.

“Maybe you’re right,” I mutter.

Gemma’s eyes go wide and a gloating smile curls her lips. “I’m sorry? Can you say that again?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Come on,” she taunts. “Just once more. So I can savor it.”

“Gem,” I say, exasperated. “You’re right. Okay? Let’s not make a bigger deal of it than we need to.”

She lets out a whooping laugh. “Oh you bet your ass I’m going to make a big deal of it.”

I grumble some more, and am just about to stand and leave her to soak in her victory, but she reaches over to lay a hand on my shoulder.

“And you should make a big deal of it, too, Jonah.” Her voice has taken on a different quality. Softer. More sincere. “You deserve all the good things in the world, and I really hope you know that.”

The nerve strikes again, somewhere closer to my heart this time.

I cough around the sudden lump of emotion in my throat. “Thanks. I’ll try to remember that.”

“Good,” she murmurs.

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