Page 123 of Ruined Vows
A man in love?I’m not sure. We’re warring with each other, afraid to give the other one control. I’ve been trying to control everything in my life to never be hurt, but to what end?
I’m alone. I’m in a sterile condo, afraid to pick out a color to make it mine. Would committing to Meatball or Vukan be so terrible?
We walk Meatball around the small park next to the shelter, the sun warm on our faces, the dog happily trotting between us like he’s already decided we belong to him.
The shelter worker comes over, smiling. “We were hoping someone from the event might come back for him. He needs a home.”
I glance at Vukan, feeling his eyes on me, steady and patient.
I could. I could take him home. I could build something small and good. Start small and dream of bigger things.
I want to. God, I want to.
I stroke Meatball’s big, blocky head, feeling him lean into my touch like he already belongs to me.
But the thought tightens something ugly inside my chest.
Home. Safety. Stability.
I don’t have those things. No really. I make it look good, but inside I’m a mess.
I stand slowly, wiping my hands on my jeans. My heart feels like it’s torn in two.
“I can’t,” I say, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “I’m not settled. It wouldn’t be fair to him.” Fear consumes me. Fear of failure or fear of bonding to someonewho will only hurt me in the end, because I know nothing is forever.
He rises too, and he’s close enough that I feel his body heat and his strength.
The shelter worker nods, disappointed but understanding.
“We can always hold him for you,” she offers gently.
I shake my head, stepping back. “It’s better if someone else gives him what he needs. Someone who can promise him forever.” My voice cracks on the last word.
Vukan doesn’t say anything. He simply takes my hand, lacing our fingers together, and leads me back outside.
But the sunlight feels too bright and too harsh after the shelter’s dim hallway. And with it, the possibility of Meatball in my home, and I’m sad.
He’s texting something on his phone as we climb into his car.
There’s a hole inside of me, and I don’t know how to fill it.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I keep my eyes down and blink hard as we leave Meatball.
I don’t look back because if I do, I might break.
37
BIANCA
ONE SIP AWAY
When Vukan called, he didn’t even bother with pleasantries.
“Coffee,” he said, like it was an order.
“Good morning to you, too,” I answered, already suspicious.
