Chapter 50
CHAPTER FIFTY
This is wrong. Nothing feels right. I stumble down the same streets I did with Princess in the stroller, and things just feel…wrong.
I thought leaving would help me breathe, but instead, I struggle to fill my lungs with air, like my lungs are balloons that get stomped on every time I try to take a breath. The panic presses down on me, and as I round the same corner I did with Princess, I feel deeply and utterly alone.
I stagger.
What do I do? I just killed a man. Micah just killed a man. The man I used to date. Who I used to imagine my future with. The man who threatened my safety.
I should feel free. Exhilarated.
Only, I’m not free. This is murder. The cops are going to be after us now. And not just now. They will be forever. This will always chase us no matter where we go.
Us. Me and the man I left behind.
Micah.
My chest tightens.
I left that place so I’d feel free. Like maybe if I just ran from what we did, it wouldn’t be real.
So why don't I feel free? Why do I feel…hunted? Hunted and alone.
I stop there, silence falling over me. There are no funny jokes. No Princess. No game to play.
Because I ran away from all of it.
And…he let me.
My gut twists. He let me. He fucking let me? Something hot boils in my chest. Why did he let me go? No argument, no fight, just let me run away.
The pressure in my chest is so tight that I grab at it.
He doesn’t care.
You asked him to stay.
He’s not supposed to fucking listen!
I thump my chest. He’s not supposed to fucking roll over. He’s supposed to chase me. Force me to stay. Hold me until his fingers dig into my skin and tell me how much he wants me. Scream in my face until the spit makes my skin cool.
I spin in a circle. I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this!
I stagger into a bush by the sidewalk. Then, there’s a sharp whimper.
What the hell? My gaze locks onto the shadowy row of bushes lining the sidewalk. The bushes are only waist-high, and I don’t see anyone. Then, there’s movement down near the ground.
I freeze. The movement comes again, from a small, shadowy form.
A small animal.
I crouch down and hear a thump-thump, squinting to see it’s a…dog? A puppy, crouched down and avoiding eye contact with me. Its entire body shivers.
“Hey,” I say, raising my voice. “It’s okay.”
The words feel empty, but that’s what you’re supposed to say, right? Even if it’s not okay?
The puppy doesn’t move except for its tail thumping quickly.
“Hey there, pretty…boy? Girl?” I bend over to see more, and the dog licks its lips. I can see now it’s a tiny German shepherd puppy with big black ears. It also has a blue collar on, which looks to be tangled in the bushes. It looks terrified.
Immediately, I feel my chest loosen.
“I’ll help you.”
Slowly, I move my hand toward it, hoping it doesn’t bite me. The dog winces, and its shivering increases. Immediately, I make hushing noises. Noises that I hope translate to "I'll never hurt you."
As soon as I touch the collar, the dog whimpers again, and something churns in my gut. Is it hurt?
“It’ll be okay, baby, I’ll help you.”
It takes me a minute to untangle the dog and pull him out.
He grips the dirt to keep from coming with me.
I’m afraid he’ll bite me, but instead he just freezes and shakes.
Like he doesn’t know what to do. Like he’s completely overwhelmed, which oddly makes tears well in my eyes.
I cradle him to my chest. The dog’s body is tiny, and I can feel his ribs.
One of his legs is hanging over my hand despite him tucking every other limb into his body.
Fuck. Is he okay?
Gently, I touch the dog’s leg, and he yelps and tries to run. As if I hurt him. As if he’s been hurt before.
It feels like a burning wall of rage and panic washes over me. Who could hurt an animal like this?
I check his collar, but there’s no tag.
Of course not. Cowards. Don’t want to be held accountable for what they did.
The dog whimpers again, and I realize my body has gone tight. I have to relax. Have to help him.
My legs shake, either from the cold or the feelings in my body. Relax? How do I do that?
My brain buffers. I try to manually let go of my muscles, but they keep shaking. And suddenly I’ve never felt so powerless. I can’t even control my own body. What am I supposed to do?
I’m frozen there in the unknown, trying not to shake the dog too much. What do I do? My world is falling apart, and this dog needs help.
A thought fills my mind, unbidden. Micah would know what to do.
My feet are moving before I recognize I’ve made the decision.
Micah would know. And so, despite it all, I head back to the place I just ran from. The dog just sits in my arms, frozen, relying on me. Relying on me to make the right choice.
Walking feels so slow and rough. Too slow. Way too slow. I start to jog back to the house, being as gentle as I can.
Jogging feels better. Feels like I’m doing something.
Vaguely, I notice that I’m going to ask Micah for help, which is against every code I’ve ever made with myself.
And now, suddenly, everything relies on Micah not playing the game I expected him to play.
Everything.
And I find myself hoping, praying that Micah isn’t playing that game. Because I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this. I want him to be different. Need him to be different.
My breathing gets harder, and that weight that’s been pressing down on me gets heavier.
Hope? This isn’t safe to feel.
But I’m already turning the corner to Micah’s house, and he’s there, sitting on the front step. And just seeing him immediately loosens my chest. Makes everything I’ve been bottling up so tight want to let go.
Micah sees me immediately, shooting to his feet, and holding Princess. His eyes light up when we make eye contact. Then he looks behind me, and they harden. “Are you okay?”
I turn to look at what he’s looking at.
There’s nothing there. I look back at Micah, scanning his face for any of the old tells. For anger, a sneer, a sense of victory.
Instead, his eyes are red, and he looks…scared.
And fuck, that fear punches me in the gut. I don’t want Micah to feel afraid.
Then the dog moves, and I realize why I came back. “He needs the vet.”
Micah glances down, then back up at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I say, and try to calm my breathing. It’s a lot easier now than it was before. Now that I’m back.
Princess struggles and growls in Micah’s arms.
“Who is this?” Micah is looking at my arms.
My throat feels tight, but I clear it. “I found him while I was walking. I think he’s hurt.”
Micah’s face melts into concern. “Bring him in.”
Concern. Like, real concern. Not irritation. Not annoyance. Actual worry.
And something frozen in my heart breaks, letting a tiny bit of warmth in. The tiniest bit of relief loosens my chest, and I follow them inside. Princess fights in Micah’s arms, scratching his side and making him let out a distressed sound. That sound spikes my heart rate. Micah is hurt.
“Buggar.” Micah holds Princess away. “Your nails are so long.” He puts Princess down, who stamps at me and the dog.
I evaluate Micah, who just wags his finger at Princess.
“Right, you’re still the princess of this house.
” Then he turns his attention to the dog in my arms. As he goes to pet him, his hand brushes my arm, making goosebumps rise up along my skin.
This close to him, I can smell him, the sweat on his skin.
He smells good. So good, and I’m hit with a wave of dizziness.
Maybe I need to sit down.
Micah glances up at me like he’s going to ask a question, then his gaze lingers. His pupils widen, and he licks his lips. We stand there, caught up in…whatever this is. Like, there’s so much to say, but neither of us knows how to say it.
Finally, Micah clears his throat. “I uh…where is he hurt?”
Ripping my attention back to the dog feels painful. But as soon as I do, I feel guilty. Why am I focusing on all the wrong things? The dog needs help.
“I think his leg.” The tension starts to creep back into my body as I gently lay the dog down. It hunkers down, trying to get small.
Slowly, Micah crouches down, his voice gentle. “It’s okay, little buddy. Don’t worry about the fart skunk over there. He’s a grouch, but he means well.”
The puppy shivers, and fear hits me. If the dog won’t show he’s hurt, Micah will kick him out. Princess already isn’t happy. He’ll brush the dog right out the door like Arthur did with the pigeons.
Micah keeps talking, but his voice is gentle. Soothing. He reaches out to the dog, who tries to run, and as he does, he limps distinctly.
Micah’s face creases in concern. “Where did you find him?”
I don’t even remember the street name. I wasn’t paying attention. “I uh…I don’t know.” Fuck, I should have paid attention. Why didn’t I pay attention? Stupid, I’m fucking stupid.
“It’s okay, Mads.” Micah’s voice is calming as he puts the puppy in Princess’ cage, and I realize he’s using the same tone with me as he did with the dog.
My face gets hot. Does he think I’m a scared puppy that he needs to baby? I don’t need to be babied.
Micah puts his fingers up to the cage with endless love and patience on his face.
He whispers softly, and then I realize that the endless fog I’ve been wrapped in has receded a bit.
As I watch Micah, I realize he’s also been through an intense amount of stress, yet he’s here… loving on this dog. Like, fully loving.
How? How does he love so goddamn much? Doesn’t he know it’s dangerous? And fucking painful? What fucked up masochistic game is he playing?
Princess has stopped stomping and now climbs up into Micah’s lap. “Ah yes, my Princess.”
Princess sticks his muzzle in Micah’s face and starts licking.
Micah splutters. “Okay, my king! Cheese and crackers, let up!”
Princess does not, and Micah falls back to get away from him.
“Ack, no more celery, poop mouth! Get away from me!”
Princess is relentless, pursuing Micah’s mouth. I watch them, and an overwhelming of…some warring emotions wash over me. It’s a mixture of something warm and…safe mixed with an overwhelming adrenaline drop.
Vaguely, I hear that instinct in the back of my mind. Safe? How dare I feel safe?
I try to shove it down. Micah is helping. Can’t I just accept that right now? Have a single fucking moment of peace?
But the voice is relentless. Nothing is safe right now. Arthur is dead. The cops are going to be after us, and the world is full of shit-ass people. We have a literal curb-stomped puppy.
Slowly, my heart rate increases.
Nothing is normal now. We killed someone.
Nothing will ever be the same.
My heart is thumping, and my skin feels hot. I have so much energy, and I don’t know where to put it. I stand up, feeling like bugs are running under my skin. My muscles feel like they’re being electrocuted, and I meet the gaze of the puppy hiding under the box.
Anger washes through me. How dare someone make the dog feel like that? Rage like I never even felt for myself boils through me. How dare they? The dog has done nothing wrong.
Vaguely, I realize that the dog is the least of our worries right now, but what am I going to do about literally any of the other problems?
This one? I can do something about this one. I can find the owners and make them pay.
As soon as I have the thought, relief hits me. That’s it. I’m going to find whoever did this to this dog and make them feel the same way. Then maybe this cloud of impending doom will go away. Maybe, just maybe, I can feel that warmth again.
I stalk to the door, and Micah sits up. “Where you going?”
“I’m gonna beat their ass.”
Micah scrambles up. “Oh?” He follows, then I see him stop short. I know he wants to follow me, and I see the moment he remembers I hate to be followed.
There’s a tiny softening in my chest that mixes with the rage in a way that feels…oddly good.
“You can come with,” I say, headed toward the door.
“Freak yeah!” Micah is beside me in an instant. “Quick question, who we gonna jump?”