Page 28 of Rejected Plus-Size Mate

“You sure did,” I say, smiling at him again. He smiles back, and the moment of connection is so strong it almost brings tears to my eyes.

How can he be so close with me and push me away at the same time? Is this all an act?

“So, are you working today?” he asks casually.

Not casually enough.

Now he’s the one fishing. I can’t help feeling a little mad, now that I know what this is about.

“Yes,” I answer, taking another bite. He nods.

“It would just be easier for me to drive you, then, wouldn’t it?” he asks innocently.

Why do men do this? Does he think I’m fucking blind?

“We just talked about this,” I say firmly, putting my fork down. “I want to take my own car.”

“But it’s so much better to do just one trip,” he goes on.

“I don’t start for a few hours. I was going to hang out for a while before I get ready.”

“I can wait. I don’t really have a set start time.”

My fantasy of lounging around in my pajamas, having a luxurious shower by myself, then getting into my own car to drive to work is vanishing before my eyes.

“Kyle, seriously. You should go.”

“No need,” he answers. “It’s more important to stay with you.”

Why? I want to scream. He’s acting like he does all this just to be in my company, but then he pushes me away, emotionally and physically.

I’m sick of arguing, so I just give in.

“Fine,” I say, barely refraining from snapping. “I’ll just get ready, and we’ll go.”

“Cool. You don’t want your pancakes?”

“Lost my appetite.”

For the next couple of days, the routine continues. Kyle doesn’t seem to notice that I’m uncomfortable, which makes everything so much worse. It’s like I can feel the stress rising every single second, trapped in a prison where I can’t actually be with him, but I can’t get away from him, either.

Every night, he has a nightmare. It pains my heart to see it, and hurts me even worse that he refuses to share his pain with me. It just adds insult to injury when he finds something nice to do for me each day—like bringing me flowers at work, or buying my favorite chocolate.

It has to be insincere. He’s just placating me. He doesn’t actually care.

Late one night, curled up in bed, I can’t take it anymore. I’ve cried rivers over this man, and something hard and cold is settling into my chest now. I feel like I’m being slowly tortured into insanity, constantly being pulled towards him and then shoved away.

Any minute now, he will have his nightmare, and I’ll have to watch.

I sit up, suddenly determined to get out of here. I slip through the house, shedding my clothes as I go. The back door swings silently open as I let myself out, shifting as I go down the back steps and across the yard.

My wolf takes possession of me, so exuberant that a great howl almost escapes my throat. I hold it in, not wanting to wake Kyle.

The damp, cold soil is so soft my paws sink into it as I start to run up the nearest hill. My nose held high, I draw in all the scents of the wilderness and listen for the sounds of all the night dwellers. After I’ve run some distance into the forest, I finally stop, throw my head back, and howl.

The animals around me briefly fall silent, then resume their nighttime activities. I pace deeper into the dark trails, nose to the ground as I track game.

For quite some time, I lose myself to the wolf. The pain in my chest loosens and disappears. All the tension in my body flows away, erased by my primal instincts and wild soul.

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