Page 21 of Running Feral

“I think I’ve already crossed a bunch of boundaries,” he continues. “You’re in a difficult position, and I don’t want to confuse you. Or make you think you owe me anything. Or that anything is more complicated than it is.”

He’s barely even making sense now, but I’ve put together the pieces. Despite what he must think is my childlike, innocent intellect.

“You don’t want toconfuseme?” I repeat, my voice dull. “You think I might beconfused?”

I’m drawing out the word, not because I don’t know what he meant by it, but because I’m honestly astounded he had the fucking balls to say that to me.

“You’ve been through enough, Tobias. I don’t want to make it worse.”

For some reason, it’s so much more annoying when people are rude with a full-ass, genuine look of compassion on their faces. It kindles the spark of anger in my chest into a low flame. I’m still too broken to get up and move, but there’s no mistaking how I feel when I speak again.

“Let me get this straight. You think that because I’m so fucking stupid that I ended up in a situation where I got my ass endlessly abused… Where I chose to stay instead of facing the consequences of leaving until the consequences of staying got even worse… You think that because of all that, I’m just some helpless, hapless thing. That I’m so used to being a whore that I can’t delineate kindness from violence, and I’ll never understand that you’re not expecting sexual enslavement in return for my safety. Am I getting that right?”

Gunnar’s eyes widen. “Fuck, no. That’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant.”

I ignore him and continue, because the fire in me is burning hotter by the second.

“Or is it that I’m so much younger than you, and my face makes me look even younger than I am, so I must be all innocent and desperate? Bound to immediately fall in love with you for showing me a little compassion. Like a puppy. Or a duckling.”

The last words come out slowly, letting each consonant pop to get my point across how ridiculous it sounds when you actually say the inside thoughts out loud. Gunnar was shocked at first, but now his face is hardening.

“Stop putting words in my mouth. You know that’s not what I mean.”

“Do I? Because it’s definitely what you’re saying. Oh, poor Tobias. Oh, the poor victim. Oh, he must be protected from himself because he’s too foolish to make his own good choices. Did it ever occur to you that I might have been fully aware that Eamon was a terrible choice this whole time? But a terrible choice is still a choice when there aren’t any others?”

Gunnar sighs but doesn’t interrupt.

“And besides, even if Eamon had tricked me. Even if I used to think I loved him or whatever, it still wouldn’t justify you talking about me like I’m a child. I’m an adult. Help me or don’t help me, but don’t treat me like I’m too stupid to know the difference between generosity and coercion, just because I’ve experienced it. I think that makes me especially fucking qualified to know what coercion looks like.”

For the nth time this conversation, Gunnar runs his hand over his face, looking as weary as I feel.

“I’m sorry. It’s not what I meant. But you also don’t get to piss and moan when this horrific thing happens to you, and I’m trying to put boundaries in place to keep anyone from getting hurt. Either of us. It’s an unusual situation.”

Part of me wants to flag at that, because he’s not 100% wrong. But my anger is still leading the charge, and I have enough bottled up to last a while.

“So help me god, Gunnar, if you say the word ‘boundaries’ one more time, I’m going to scream.”

Gunnar shakes his head. “I need to take a shower. And sleep. It’s been a long day. Would you rather sleep out here or in the bed?”

He stands up as he’s talking, making it clear this part of the debate is over.

I roll my eyes at him, even though I know it’s petty. “I’m fine here. You can sleep in your bed.” At least here I have the TV to fill the gaping maw of silence.

“Are you sure? Because you’re still pretty—”

“Fuck, Gunnar, yes. I’m fine. All I’ve done all day is lie on this couch and it’s probably all I’ll do tomorrow. You went to work and you’re also twice my size. Sleep in the damn bed.”

He nods, turning and heading toward the bathroom. I pretend not to see the sadness in his eyes, even as I shove my own into the box that contains all my other undesirable emotions. We can fight about this more tomorrow. Or never. Or until he kicks me out. I’m genuinely almost past caring.

Chapter Eight

Tobias isn’t sleeping. It’s been three days since he showed up at my apartment, and I don’t know if he’s slept more than a couple of hours in total.

In fact, ever since he installed himself on the couch so I could have my bed back, he’s barely moved at all. The TV is on twenty-four hours a day and it’s always turned to the most gruesome, traumatic shit he can find. There’s only light if I turn them on. He eats and ices his injuries and takes ibuprofen if I make him, and other than that, he lies there.

Every single day I want to at least ask him to put on a sitcom or something, before he slips deeper into whatever dark place his mind is in. But I don’t want to risk another verbal takedown.

He continues to insist he’s fine. We don’t have any other incidents like we did the first day, where he let some of his emotion and vulnerability break through. Which I suppose makes it easier for me to stick to all those stupid rules I made for myself while I was down in the bar the first night, not thinking about my business.

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