Chapter 48
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Things seemed to get much easier after that day in the clearing with Betsy. Not that managing my emotions, magick or power suddenly became easy. But it did seem like something hard and heavy had dissolved in my chest, opening me up to being able to try to exercise the control that I needed.
I had harbored a secret hope that somehow, my magick would negate the more troublesome characteristics of my ADHD, but alas, that was not to be the case.
For instance, I was putting things away in the refrigerator yesterday, got distracted, and left the door open.
Fortunately, Flint noticed my lapse. Unfortunately, he was unable to notice it until he was home from work, and by that time, none of the food in the fridge was salvageable.
We ended up going grocery shopping late.
He claims to find it adorable. I just chalked it up to one more ADHD tax.
I have learned how to block out the feelings of the people around me, though, unless I actually want to feel them.
Most of the time, I don’t. I already have to deal with people almost every day, which can be bad enough.
But most people just lug around these heavy clouds of feeling all day.
They don’t even realize how heavy the feelings they’re carrying are, how much they’re being weighed down.
I do, though. And learning how to block myself from that has been life-saving.
Occasionally, I do drop the filter at home.
Most often when it’s just Calida and I hanging out, but I’ve started doing it when Flint is home, as well.
I can’t read all of his emotions. I guess that as a warrior, he is probably required to have some pretty bad ass shields of his own.
I do pick up on some here and there though, when his guard is down.
It’s weird to know, without a doubt, that he really is that unshakable — even internally.
He really is that stable and secure. With my brain, I could never.
His steadiness centers me and the feelings of contentment I feel coming from him wrap around me like a warm blanket most evenings, as I’m snuggled against his chest, drifting into sleep, or laying with him on the couch reading the evening away.
Weeks pass and I feel like we’re finally settling into a nice, normal-ish life. I’m slowly getting better at not manifesting every feeling that courses through me.
Tonight, after Flint falls asleep, I sit by the window with a cup of tea that’s now gone lukewarm in my hands, staring out into the distance. The moon is hanging low and yellow, the air incredibly still. Too still. This kind of quiet always makes me feel like something is listening.
I’ve tried not to think about Brett.
It’s easier to pretend during the daylight, and believe that that whole ordeal is behind me.
That the wards Flint and Betsy helped me put up are strong enough.
That my magick, new and unpredictable as it is, will be enough to protect me if I should need it.
But something about tonight, the dark and the stillness, make me feel like that confidence is just an illusion and the shadows are peeling it away.
I glance over my shoulder, where Flint is sprawled over the entirety of the bed, Calida a lumpy weight draped over his feet.
I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing.
Carefully, cautiously, I reach out, testing the perimeter we’d established around the building.
I don’t sense anything — no foreign emotions, no prickling unease in the air. Still, something inside me feels tense.
And if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that I should never ignore that feeling.