Page 143 of Reluctantly You

“Thanks. I just…he overwhelms me. I don’t know how to feel.”

“Sometimes it’s okay to not know.”

“He just keeps calling me and the messages he leaves…” My voice breaks, and I stare at the ceiling of my van. “I want to call him back, but not yet.”

“You still feel betrayed.”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know what to think.”

That’s not true, not strictly. I think about him all the time. I can’tstopthinking about him. But as for how I feel about his lies? What I want now?

Yeah, that I’m not sure about.

“I get it. But if you ever want me to spill the beans about where you are, I’ll be ready and waiting.”

“Thanks.”

“But Mitch, I honestly wouldn’t put it past him to hire his own investigator and find you himself. He seems pretty determined.”

My heart beats unsteadily. God, I want him to come find me.

Come find me, Gideon. Save me.

“Yeah, he may.”

Magnus shares a little about the kids before we hang up, and I resume staring at the house before shaking my head and turning on the engine.

“I’m not ready yet, Little Pants.”

She just stares up at me and meows.

Fuck. I’m not fucking ready.

I spend another few days driving past his house, sitting outside, and running away like a chicken. I’ve never seen him come out the front door, but I have seen a few people meander in and out, far too young to be the man who made me.

So, here I am, across town in a small hippie restaurant, a salad before me and some kind of kombucha drink in my hand.

Jesus. I think this drink may clear me out.

I take another sip, Little Pants in a small portable animal stroller I bought earlier. I didn’t want to leave her in the van, so I caved and bought this instead.

There have been far too many times someone has stopped to congratulate me on my child.

I fucking hate this shit.

Stabbing at my salad, I glance through the messages Gideon has sent me over the past few days. They’ve grown shorter, less desperate, which I attribute to him being over me. He’s obviously grown tired of this shit.

Tired of me.

Just like everyone else.

Swirls of blue and gray move through my vision and I close my eyes tightly, trying to keep those images from my head.

Instead of sitting in them, I’ll put them to canvas later. It’s a little cramped in my van, but I’ve made it work.

I stare at my paint-covered fingers and sigh.

“Love the kitty,” a deep voice says.

---