Page 13 of Running Feral

Ugh. I deliberately let my brain soften, kind of like when you make your eyes unfocus for a minute. I can reconcile all these things later. Right now, I just need to breathe and exist.

I must drift off, because it feels like crawling out of the deepest part of the ocean when someone eventually shakes my shoulder. I know it’s Gunnar before I even open my eyes, because he always smells expensive. Like a real grownup. Some kind of cologne that doesn’t come from the drugstore and probably lists its scent as something hyper-masculine, like ‘leather’ or ‘whiskey’ or something.

Knowing it’s him doesn’t stop my skin from humming with fear for a second, but I take a lungful of that cologne as I open my eyes, and it helps my body catch up to my mind and settle itself.

“I’m glad you called,” someone says. I don’t recognize the voice, and it’s barely a whisper in the dark room.

As soon as my eyes focus, I pick out the figures in the blackness. Gunnar is kneeling next to the couch, one hand still on my shoulder, looking at me with the same grimly compassionate expression he seems to pull off so well. Standing a few feet away is Sav, whose face is tight and carefully neutral. Like he’s trying to control his anger.

For my sake, I’m hoping he’s angryforme, not at me, because the man is even more jacked than Eamon and has enough tattoos to tell me he’s higher ranking, as well. The gang cumdump doesn’t get invited to a lot of inner circle meetings,but I know enough aboutSavage—mostly from Eamon bitching about him—to know that him showing up here was important for the Banna. If he’s really getting out, like Gunnar said, it’s going to be a very big fucking deal.

Next to him is a man I don’t recognize. He’s almost as tall as Sav but more lithe than muscular, and he has the kind of delicate, boyish features that make it hard to guess his age. Older than me, but probably not by that much. He’s pretty. And he’s looking at me with practiced, detached compassion that would screamnurseeven if Gunnar hadn’t told me already. He has a little bag that looks like a portable first aid kit slung over one shoulder.

“Hi,” he says as soon as I look at him. “My name is Micah. Gunnar asked me to take a look at you, if you’re okay with that?”

I’m still a little groggy, so the words don’t come out as quickly as they’re supposed to, and Gunnar fills the silence.

“Micah is Sav’s brother, remember? You can trust him.”

“Stepbrother,” they both correct in unison. Probably with more energy than is really required.

“Former stepbrother,” Micah continues. “It was a long time ago. It doesn’t matter.” He walks away from Sav’s side so he can crouch down in front of me beside Gunnar, leaving Sav flexing his fingers in the air next to him and looking uncharacteristically awkward before he decides to back up to the wall and stand there like a gargoyle with his arms crossed.

Once Micah is on eye level with me, he looks at Gunnar briefly before tossing his head. Gunnar takes the hint and also steps back, although he seems even more reluctant than Savage.

When Micah speaks to me again, it’s in a quiet voice. Just between us, even though I’m sure the others can hear.

“Look, I’m sure you just want to sleep right now and the last thing you want is some stranger poking around your space. I’m not going to force you to do anything or say anything, even ifGunnar asks me to. But you do look really roughed up, and we can just take it slow. This is my job. I work in an ER, and I’m also certified as a Sexual Assault Nurse Examiner. Which means I’ve seen people who’ve gone through pretty much the worst shit imaginable. I promise not to hurt you or force you to do anything.”

The words are meaningless. But there’s something about the lulling, calm sincerity in his tone that is getting to me. An upswell of emotion threatens to hit me square in the chest, and I hate the thought of looking even more pathetic in front of these people, so I push it down.

“Whatever, it’s fine.” I choke the words out through a throat that feels like it’s swelling shut, my voice more croaky and rough than I expected. “Can we just… Not do this here?”

Micah nods, giving me a faint smile. “Sure. We’ll go into the bedroom. Do you want anyone else in there to sit with you, or just us?”

“Just you. This is humiliating enough.”

Micah makes the same face I’ve seen Gunnar make a lot tonight, like he’s holding in the urge to lecture me. As long as he keeps holding it in, we’re fine. Normally I try to control my tendency to be morbid and self-deprecating, but if there’s any day I get a pass, it’s today.

What part of this situation would scream ‘I’ve got my life together and should be proud of myself,’ to them, anyway?

“Gotcha.”

Nobody says anything else. I feel Gunnar and Savage tracking us with their eyes as Micah helps me up from the couch very slowly and carefully, before helping me limp my way over to the bedroom. He sits me down on the bed and thankfully turns on the bedside lamp instead of the overhead light before closing the door behind us with asnick.

I thought I was okay. I thought I could power through this. But as soon as we’re trapped in here together, it feels so much more exposing than I expected. Like his eyes are on me and he can already see everything, even though my clothes are still on. I see him move a little and immediately flinch, even though he’s nowhere near me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, avoiding eye contact. I blow out a breath and then shake my head, like I can shake out this weird, pulsating anxiety that I suddenly contain. Even though the shaking makes the throbbing in my head that much worse. “I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.”

Micah looks at me for a moment, and I feel like a puzzle or something that he’s trying to crack. When he speaks, his words are slow and careful. His voice is soft, but he’s not giving me the hangdog pitying look I’m already sick of from Gunnar, which I appreciate.

“When humans go through something traumatic, it often takes a long time for our brains and our bodies to catch up and be in sync again. They’re operating from completely different information sets. Your body is reacting to all the immediate stuff: what just happened, how hurt you are, how much cortisol is tearing through you, etc. As well as the long-term effects of dealing with abuse on a regular basis, which takes a toll.

“But while your body has been chipped away a little at a time, your brain can get used to it. So, your brain is telling you that everything is normal, that you know how to deal with this, that how you feel in your body is clearly an overreaction. But those thoughts can be partially a product of your brain trying to protect you from how bad things have gotten, and partially whatever conditioning the world around you has given to reinforce why you should just take what’s happening. Man up, or whatever. It’s all bullshit.

“Your mind and your body are trying to alert you to how bad it is and insulate you from it at the same time. They’re doing their best. The more you can try to listen to yourself and be honest about how you feel, even if how you feel doesn’t seem like how you think youshouldfeel, the easier it’ll be for you. I promise.”

I only manage to absorb about half of what he’s saying, but it helps a little. I feel steadier. Or maybe it’s just how steady he is while he’s saying it. Like he’s completely unperturbed by me writhing out of my skin over here. It lets me dial back the static in my brain a little and I nod, so we can get on with the next part.

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