Chapter 13 #2
I had to drop her a few months before I moved to the sanctuary because of bullshit with my provider, and I couldn’t cope with dealing with insurance claims anymore, and then I got the interview for the refuge, and it felt pointless to start the whole process again, and now I was here, and I didn’t even know what mental health providers there would be available.
And did I even have the time to follow through with appointments?
Saúl might insist on me not overworking myself and sticking to my shifts, but it was a live-in position for a reason, and he was also the first one to call if there was an emergency outside of my shifts.
Would a therapist understand if I had to rush out of an appointment because two panthers were trying to kill each other? Probably. Would the insurance people do? Definitely not.
It would just be another source for a headache.
I did have a psychiatrist appointed—mostly because I needed Xanax, and because he didn’t expect me to stay on the phone with him for more than fifteen minutes at a time. Did that speak badly of psychiatrists?
I’d had some who tried to fill the role of psychologists and ran hour-long appointments.
I didn’t know who was on the right, though, and I was not going to bother looking it up.
“Cam.”
Not fair.
Why didn’t he get angry? I had never seen him angry. Unsure, yes. Full of fear, yes. Worried. Tired. Downright exhausted. Sad.
Frustrated, even.
Exasperated.
Never angry.
I didn’t know if it was that realization or the sheer calm in his voice, but I opened my eyes.
Saúl had moved, which made me confused because I usually was very aware of where he was in reference to me at all times, but I also knew I lost awareness of my surroundings when I was struggling with the need to get some air in my fucking lungs and—
Whatever.
It meant that I could sit up, so that’s what I did. The blanket bunched up around my hips, and it was too heavy, but I didn’t know if I could unclench my hands to get it out of the way, or if I wanted more of the cold air hitting my chest.
“Sorry,” I rasped out.
I wasn’t on my probationary period anymore. It was a good thing, or I’d be fired the second we stepped back in Colorado. Who the fuck wanted to keep a guy hired who couldn’t spend twenty-four hours without completely losing his cool?
“What do you need?”
“Stop doing all the right things.”
I spoke to my neck, but I didn’t doubt he’d heard the words. They just came out because it really was unfair how he managed to do just that time after time.
“Answer me.”
Even then. There was no exasperation or even sharpness to his tone. I got the feeling that he saw me as a project at times, like one of the horses he rehabilitated because, unlike me, he really had a magic touch with animals, but I didn’t have it in me to be annoyed by it.
It might be because seeing me as a project or one of his horses didn’t equate to treating me with the condescension or the belittling I associated with it.
The latter got even worse if the person learned about the age play, and then I started running like the guy who made videos waving red flags and running around in utter chaos.
“Meds.”
My throat was dry, but I forced the word out.
I didn’t like it. Shame was still attached to it, to the idea that I needed the pills, but I was…
I needed to come down, and like… I knew how I worked.
Was I calming down? Yes. But it would only be temporary if I didn’t take something to make sure I stayed there.
Then again…
I started shaking my head.
“Do you or do you not want meds?”
I covered my face with both hands and mumbled into them. “If you go grab my meds, you’ll see I unpacked everything instead of just the basics like a normal person, and you’ll hate me, and then—”
If he didn’t hate me already.
Anxiety spiked again as I considered the possibility.
At the end of the day, why wouldn’t he? He might just be here with me because I was the only vet available, and because he was the kind of person who wouldn’t say shit to my face if he found me insufferable. Why wouldn’t he find me insufferable?
Everyone did.
Or should.
I didn’t know.
“Are your meds in the wardrobe?”
“Uh-huh.”
The mattress dipped with his weight as he moved. Steps could be heard through the wooden floor that had seen better days. I peered through my fingers as he opened the doors to the wardrobe. I hadn’t even hung all the clothes because there had been no time.
Oh shit, I really was the worst.
I readied myself for grunts and huffs and maybe a sudden bang on the door—although I really wished he didn’t do that. The wardrobe had creaked enough when I stuffed everything in. It wouldn’t surprise me if the door came off its hinges with the barest of pressure.
“Here it is.”
Huh?
It was easy to tell that I was very much out of it because it took me an embarrassingly long time—fine, like five seconds—to realize what he was talking about and get moving.
Get moving, obviously meant to grab the bottle of water he handed me and the pill.
He’d even taken it out of the plastic thingy.
I always forgot the name. It never felt important until I had to use it, and then I grew frustrated with myself.
It wasn’t as if it was a word so far out of my scope.
Animals needed meds, too, and they came in the same stupid—
“Cam.”
Shit.
Fun fact: staring at a pill and/or holding it didn’t magically make it work. Who would’ve thought?
At least I had the type of metabolism that meant pills worked extra fast on me. No one had been able to explain it or convince me that it wasn’t my anxiety making my body work extra fast, but it was a thing. Had been for as long as I could remember.
“I’m going to get very foggy.”
That was another thing—they had a stronger effect than they did on an average person. Nothing life-threatening, but I noticed it, and that was enough to have it buzzing around in my head.
“I know how Xanax works,” he said.
He just said that, because nothing fazed him, and—
Ugh.
“Okay, but I’m just saying.” I pouted before I reached backward so that my back hit the headboard of the bed. The Xanax was supposed to help me sleep, but I didn’t want to fall asleep randomly. That would just make it more embarrassing. “I’m sorry. About this.”
“It’s fine.” He sighed before he sat on the bed again.
He was on his side, close to the edge with one knee bent, but he might’ve as well been right next to me. Did I want that? I… I did. I was fucked.
Saúl had locks of hair getting in his eyes. I itched to tuck it behind his ears, but there was no universe where I could.
“Can I tell you something?”
One would’ve assumed it was a simple question. Saúl mulled it over as if the weight of the world depended on the answer.
“You don’t learn a lesson, do you?”
“What do you mean?” Oh. Right. Because this was how it had started both timesI’d ended up spilling my guts and then panicking because I’d said more than I’d ever wanted to say. Oops. “Okay, but this doesn’t make me seem like a monster.”
“You are going to blurt it out at some point, no matter what I say, aren’t you?”
“Probably.”
There were two days in the truck ahead of us, and two weeks in Houston, where I didn’t know anyone, and I’d have to deal with mingling with strangers and upselling shit as if I knew the first thing about it. Those nerves would have to come out at some point.
Why did I keep doing this shit to myself?
“Go ahead then.”
Saúl didn’t look too enthusiastic. Any other day, it would’ve stopped me. Enthusiastic consent was important and all. Any other day, though, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.
I should’ve never agreed to this road trip. Or two weeks in Houston with him and no one else to run interference. No idea what the hell I’d been thinking, but I was not proud of whatever had happened there with my brain cells.
“Um. So.” I wrapped my hands around my knees. “I’ve never had a Daddy.”
In my head, for a fleeting second, telling him had made sense.
“Okay…?” Saúl blinked slowly. Or was I the one blinking slowly? Xanax acted fast, but did it act this fast? “Why does this matter?”
“Well, because you’re a Daddy, and you saw me in a diaper, so you must’ve made assumptions, and it’s important to curb those.” I managed to tilt my chin up. I didn’t feel too defiant, but appearances were important. “Assumptions are bad.”
“I… agree.”
I didn’t know if Saúl was fighting the urge to laugh his ass off or the urge to run away and find a way to drive to Houston all on his own.
It wasn’t as if I was a lot of help as a copilot, as today had proven, so he could probably manage it just fine.
And Sheryl didn’t look like a serial killer, so I’d be fine, too.
Probably. Unless there were other serial killers in the motel that I hadn’t noticed.
“You’re not going to leave me stranded here, are you?”
I would entertain it if I were him, but that didn’t mean I had to be happy about it. Besides, we’d already established I shouldn’t be a role model for anyone.
It wasn’t my forte. I didn’t know what my forte was, but it wasn’t being a reliable person.
“No, Cam, I’m not going to leave you stranded.” He scrubbed a hand down his face before he started watching me funny. “Why don’t you get back in bed? It’s a long day ahead tomorrow.”
“That’s it?”
A small smile appeared there. No amount of pills was going to keep me from zeroing in on it. “That’s it.”