Page 23 of Love the Way You Lion
“I’m damned tired of everything being awful,” I admit to the empty room. It’s become my mantra, a loop that plays endlessly in my head, overshadowing moments of joy with its bleak refrain. Wilde’s absence might sting less than I let on, and maybe, just maybe, I’m better off without the lot of them.
“Ouch,” I say to no one, wincing at the bitterness that seeps into my thoughts unbidden. I stand, smoothing out the creases in Taurus’s note before sliding it into the nightstand drawer with the care of a curator handling a priceless artifact. There it rests atop his other messages, each one a piece of the puzzle that is us.
Taurus—steadfast Taurus—believes in me enough to make this happen.
Pulling my hair back into a loose ponytail, I approach the window, gazing out into the darkened landscape. The night is still, almost expectant. I press a hand to the cool glass, feeling its solid reality beneath my palm.
“I need a purpose other than running the community,” I reaffirm, watching my breath fog up the surface. Each word acts as a stepping stone, guiding me back to myself, to the life that awaits with open arms.
Taurus might be gone for now, but we’re in this together. Every challenge, every victory—it’s ours to share. I’m not just a bystander in his story; I’m a co-author, penning the next chapter with steady hands. When he returns, I’ll be ready to stand by his side, no longer diminished but renewed.
“Let them try to train me,” I say with a half-smile, drawing strength from the very thought. “I’ll be ready for whatever comes next.”
I shuffle through the clutter on my desk, searching for something that isn’t there. The silence of the room is a stark contrast to the chaos I’ve kept at bay. It’s been months since I’ve had to deal with Shea’s insistent chatter or Rhea and Alistair’s dramatics; their absence is like a balm to my overstimulated senses.
Rafe, bless his interference, has done well in shielding me from Wilde and Sari’s incessant drama. My world feels smaller, quieter, and while it’s not entirely empty, it’s filled only with those I allow. With Taurus’ return looming, a glimmer of anticipation cuts through the stillness of my self-imposed exile.
Leaning back in my chair, I consider the remaining thorn in my side—Constantine. His presence is like a persistent echo, a reminder of connections I’d rather sever. The news of Amanda’s brush with death, or lack thereof, had given him an excuse to latch on, playing up his distress like a Shakespearean tragedy.
“Please,” I mutter to myself as I toss aside another useless paper. “The drama of it all could fuel a soap opera.”
I know I should be more sympathetic, but my patience wears thin. Sari’s grandstanding about having ‘powerful people’ on her side makes me wary of anyone connected to her, especially Constantine.
Yet, I’ve let him hover on the fringes, his sad stories weaving around my better judgement.
“Enough,” I say aloud, pushing away from the desk. Standing up, I stretch out the knots in my shoulders. It’s time to reclaim my space, to prepare for the work ahead and the partnership with Taurus that promises to be my salvation.
“Let them gather their allies,” I whisper defiantly to the four walls. “I’ll be ready for that, too.”
I open the drawer of the nightstand, the one where I keep the rest of his letters—the ones filled with promises and plans. This new one, with its potential for change, slips in with the others, a tangible piece of hope in a sea of messiness. Maybe working with Taurus will be the turning point I need, or maybe I’m just clinging to another dream destined to shatter.
“Either way, it’s something,” I murmur, closing the drawer with a soft click and letting my fingers linger on the polished wood.
For a moment, there’s stillness. Then, with a deep breath, I square my shoulders and turn away from the nightstand, ready to face whatever comes next.
Determination setsmy shoulders straight as I face the closet. The big party looms on the horizon, a beacon of normalcy in a sea of grief and betrayal. I shuffle over to the closet, my hands trembling slightly as I reach for the leather-bound binders. They’re heavy with possibilities—a collection of outfits meticulously organized by occasion and mood.
Wilde’s death left a gaping hole in our tight-knit circle, a silence too loud to ignore. And Sari... her deceit stings like a slap, betrayal from within our ranks festering like a wound that refuses to heal.
My fingers wrap around the handle, ready to rifle through outfit binders for the perfect ensemble when my phone shatters the quiet, its shrill tone slicing through the room. For a heartbeat, hope flutters in my chest. It could be Taurus. I lunge for it, ready to melt into his words.
But no, it’s her. Sari, with her impeccable timing for disruption. Why she chooses this moment to dredge up old wounds, I’ll never understand. My hand hovers over the phone, indecision clawing at me.
“Fuck,” I hiss between clenched teeth.
The timing is impeccable, uncanny even. Why she chooses now, when I’m adrift in a sea of hurt and scheming, to weasel her way back into my life is beyond me. But Sari always did have a knack for picking the worst moments to resurface.
With resignation clawing at my insides, I press the phone to my ear, bracing for her onslaught of excuses and manipulations. Her voice spills out in torrents, a deluge of half-hearted apologies and self-justifications that make my head spin.
“Okay. Okay,” I cut in, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. “No, I’m not busy right this second.”
A lie. I am busy—busy trying to piece together some semblance of control over my shattered reality.
The call ends, and the room echoes with a silence that feels like an accusation. In the reflection of the darkened screen, I catch a glimpse of myself—a puppet dancing on the strings of obligation. With a sigh, I stand, steeling myself for the confrontation ahead, each step a march toward a battlefield I never chose.
“Dammit,” I mutter after hanging up, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on me. All I wanted was to indulge in the simple pleasure of choosing a dress, to lose myself in the fantasy of a party I don’t even wish to attend.
Instead, fate conspires to drag me back into the mire.
