Page 20 of How to Trust a Hellhound
It was a little like being wrapped up in blankets and half asleep. Everything was warm and muffled and seemed far away. Occasionally Toby would send me concerned glances at dinner, but I didn’t want to talk about it. If I thought that Wilder was sending glances my way, too, well, he was a dad. He cared about people. That was all.
I was pretty sure he was leaving me the Lego sets, although he didn’t leave a note. I should have thanked him, but instead, I was avoiding him. I knew it was childish and stupid, and he probably thought I was an ungrateful brat. Iwasan ungrateful brat. He had been nothing but kind to me, and I couldn’t even muster up a thank you. But if I talked to him, I might just end up a blubbering mess again. I remembered too clearly what it felt like to be wrapped in his arms while I broke down.
The thought of his visit embarrassed me, too. I had acted weird, and I knew it. I’d gotten mad over the rent thing, because I didn’t want his pity. I also thought I’d probably offended him. He noticed when I put space between us and when I stepped back. Iknewhe wouldn’t hurt me. I really did, but I guessed old habits died hard. It wasn’t even really a conscious decision, but as soon as I did it, I realized that he was aware of it—he seemed to get a bit stiffer before he relaxed and smiled at me. It made me feel like a stray dog, afraid of any hand that reached out to me.
Who was I kidding—Iwaslike a stray dog. I did think that an outstretched hand was just as likely to hit as to pet. I was just ashamed that Wilder knew it. Which was also ridiculous, because the man could be my dad. What did it matter what he thought? Was I so pathetic that I found the smallest act of kindness attractive andwanted to attach myself to that person? He probably wasn’t even gay, for goodness sake.
Mostly, though, I let thoughts like that float away. I let everything float away. I thought about serial killers, nuclear accidents, internet fraud, money laundering and whatever other documentaries I got my hands on. It was probably weird as hell to have documentaries be my way to relax, but if I was thinking about the horrors of people dying from radiation poisoning and looking up Chernobyl facts on my phone, then I wasn’t thinking about my life. My problems paled in comparison to a nuclear disaster.
The week and weekend passed, and I was looking forward to going back to work and getting lost in numbers, so it was quite a shock to wake up at five in the morning on Monday in a panic, gasping for breath with my heart racing. I looked at my phone for the time, and I took it with me as I got up to look around the cabin, thinking something had startled me awake.
There was nothing. Everything was as it should be, and there were no alerts or messages on my phone. So why did I feel this way? I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I was okay. Everything was fine. I wanted to go in to work, or I could work from home if I felt like it today, so there was no reason to panic over that.
I felt like something awful was going to happen. I didn’t often feel that way, only when… No, I wasn’t going to think about Rick. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I hadn’t made anyone mad. He wasn’t around anymore to get mad at me. There was no reason to feel dread.
I sat down on the couch, letting my head fall between my knees, trying to calm my gasping breaths. I’d been living in a bubble for the last week, not facing anything, not thinking about anything, but now I had to go back to real life. I had to leave this cabin and this property—I couldn’t stay hidden forever.
What if I ran into Rick? He knew my schedule and my patterns. He knew where I worked, where I got coffee, where I liked to go for lunch. I’d just ignored everything that had happened, putting it allout of my head. I’d pretended that Q had taken care of everything, but I knew Rick wouldn’t just let it go.
He never let anything go.
I thought I heard a knock at the door, and I lifted my feet up onto the couch, huddling into a ball. It couldn’t be Rick—he didn’t know where I was staying. I hadn’t conjured him up just by thinking about him. I’d imagined the sound. No one would be up this early. I was all alone.
I was all alone.
I stifled a sob. I thought I heard a noise and curled myself in tighter, unable to help the tears.
“I’m here. It’s okay,” I heard, and then strong arms were wrapping around me, drawing my head into a warm chest.
I knew it was Wilder without even looking up. His voice flowed over me like warm honey. His shirt smelled of evergreens, forest, and outdoor air. The logical part of my brain realized he must have been out walking and heard me. I tried to pull away, ashamed at being caught crying again, but he only pulled me closer.
“You’re okay. I’m here for you, Mei Ume. Let it out,” he murmured, and I felt a kiss on the top of my head.
It was the kiss that did it. When had I last felt such casual affection? I wrapped my arms around Wilder and sobbed, unable to hold back. He gripped me tightly, and I felt like I might fly apart if he let me go. He murmured soft words to me—I wasn’t even sure what, and it didn’t matter. His voice was gentle and calming, and he held me and let me cry, not trying to shush me or make me talk. He just let me cry.
By the time I was calmer, the cabin was softly lit with the rising sun. I unwrapped my arms from around him and went to pull away again, but Wilder just held me tight, leaning us over a bit and handing me a tissue from the side table.
I wiped my face and my nose, small hitches in my breath still coming out every now and then.
“Talk to me, Mei Ume,” Wilder said.
I was struck by that phrase—Mei Ume. It made me feel warm inside. It probably meant something like “son” or “little child,” but I wasn’t going to ask and ruin the cozy feeling it gave me that Wilder had a nickname for me. People didn’t usually give me nicknames.
“Rick never gave me a nickname,” I said.
I felt stupid as soon as it was out of my mouth, but Wilder just squeezed me a bit and made a sound that I knew meant I should go on.
“He wasn’t always like that. I know that’s what they all say, but it’s true. When we started dating, he was charming. He was so impressed with me. We got along and had fun. Rick had a lot of friends, and we liked to go out. I felt exciting when I was with him.
“After we moved in together, he wasn’t so impressed with me anymore. He hated his job. He didn’t care for my friends. He didn’t make enough money. I was boring, dull, and lacked imagination. He had to ‘put up with’ so many things from me. I started to feel bad about myself, like I just wasn’t good enough for him.
“I thought maybe we should break up, but he talked about how much he loved me. He talked about how perfect we were together, how we couldn’t give up on all our time together, and he…”
I trailed off. I knew now what he’d done. He’d persuaded me with sex. He’d distracted me physically, and I’d thought there was emotion behind it. I’d thought he really loved me.
“Go on, Mei Ume. It’s ok—you can tell me,” Wilder murmured.
“He made me feel… attractive. We were… physically compatible.” I blushed stupidly. Some people could talk about sex easily, but I found it awkward.
