Page 34 of A Country Kind Of Love
“Out of my control?” Peyton shouts.
Cleo recoils.
“I didn’t fail an exam or burn my pancakes because I wasn’t concentrating; I lost my mom. I lost the only person in this whole world who knew me, who really understood me, and who believed I could be anything I wanted to be.” Peyton turns sharply, and her sunglasses fall from her pocket to the floor. She frantically searches for them with open palms. “Fuck.”
“Here, let me help.”
“I don’t care. Leave them.” Peyton sets off walking. She knows she’s about to break down if she doesn’t leave. She won’t let Cleo see her that way.
“At least let me take you home.”
“I’ll walk. I need to clear my head.”
“Peyton, it’ll take you over an hour to walk homefrom here.”
“It’s fine. Thank you,” she yells.
The loneliness comes in waves. It stays away longer the older she gets, but on the flip side it comes back like a raging bull, ready to shake every last ounce of composure she’s fought so hard to build. She loves her brothers and her dad. They’ve protected her since her mother’s death; they’ve supported her the best they can, but they learnt her boundaries quickly and never cross them. They don’t push her outside her comfort zone anymore because they know the consequences. Peyton thought moving to Nashville would solve everything. In a place filled with her mom’s spirit she could finally heal. How wrong she was.
A car follows her 90% of the way home. She isn’t concerned. She knows it’s Cleo. That’s the kind of person she is. She feels terrible for causing a scene and potentially ruining the one good thing she has in Nashville, but the grief is still too hardto control.
7
Anxiety seeps from Peyton’s pores in the form of sweat. The eight-legged enemy is on the loose somewhere in the apartment. She’s tried to peacefully cohabit alongside Bugsy the tarantula. She respects his space, doesn’t tap on his tank like some crazed arachnophile, and she allows him to eat his grasshoppers in peace.
Peyton dislikes spiders. Period.
Can you call a tarantula a spider when it’s big enough to drag a small human around by its mouth like a dog’s chew toy? Or at least it can inher dreams.
“Jesse!” Peyton yells. “Shit,shit, shit.”
She tiptoes from one side of the room to the other to standon the sofa.
“Jesse!” No answer. It’s 11 a.m. “Where the hell are you?” She cries out.
The plastic hatch on Bugsy’s enclosure is open. Inside there are some branches and greenery. The enclosure has four clear glass panels and no places to hide. Peyton’s feet sink into the sofa; she isn’t naïve enough to think the tarantula can’t climb the sofa, but weirdly she feels safer than being on the floor.
The door to the apartment creaks open, and Jesse walks in with coffee’s in one hand and a tub of worms in the other.
“Why are you carrying a tub of worms?”
“Probably the same reason you’re stood on the sofa.” Jesse smirks. “Bugsy needed food.” He walks over to the kitchen and places the unsanitary tub of invertebrate onthe worktop.
“Speaking of Bugsy.” Peyton’s eyes dart towards the enclosure.
“It’s fine.” Jesse waves her off and wanders over to the TV stand in the corner. “I let him out this morning. He’ll be behind heresomewhere.”
“Can you maybe warn me when you’re going to let out the eight-legged beast?”
Jesse laughs. “I thought I’d have him back in before you woke up.” He emerges from behind the TV with Bugsy in hand. He strokes the spider’s back like he’s a cat. Peyton shudders.
“Don’t you worry he’ll escape?” It was more of a hopeful question.
“No, he doesn’t go far. Plus, he keeps the house bug free, so I like to let him out once or twice a week.” Jesse places Bugsy gently back in his enclosure and rewards him with a handful of worms. “I’ve only lost him once.”
“Where did you find him?” Peyton gulps.
Please don’t say in my bedroom. Please don’t say inmy bedroom.
