Page 76 of Running Feral

It hits me like a gunshot.

I’m just… here? I just exist?

What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Even though Eamon is still out there, he knows where I am now, so I don’t have to put energy into hiding like I did before. I should focus on how to stay safe from him, but that still feels impossible, so I push it to the side for now.

I think technically this is supposed to be my ‘happily ever after’ or whatever. Or as close as I’m going to get to one. But all I feel is all-consuming stress and fear with no solutions, and no ability to focus long enough to find solutions. I’d give anything for someone to point me in any fucking direction other than standing here like I’m waiting to be snatched again.

TV did not prepare me for this part. This gaping, empty vastness stretching out in front of me where I’m somehow supposed to build a new life from nothing. If I had the tools to do that, I would never have ended up with Eamon in the first place.

“Tobias?”

Gunnar’s voice cuts through the fog in my head like always, deep and mellifluous, anchoring me to reality.

“Yeah?”

“What’s wrong? You’ve been staring into space for minutes.”

He moves to stand in front of me, tilting his head down, his eyes dark except for that one bright blue segment, but concern etched on every inch of his face. As per usual, when I’m around.

I try to dig deep and find the words to express what suddenly stopped me in my tracks.

“I uh, I realized I don’t have anywhere to go, I guess. Maybe ever? Does that make sense? Like… what the fuck do I do now? Am I hiding up here for the rest of my life in case Eamon comes back? Am I trusting the fuckwit cops to find him? Am I trying to get a job, or what? Who tells me what to do now?”

Gunnar scrunches his face up in a way that would have made me look like a little kid, but he still manages to make dignified. Elegant, beardy asshole.

“I think you take it one step at a time. No one can tell you what to do, so you just figure it out, little by little, and let the people around you help. There’s nothing else you can do.” He takes both my hands in his, enveloping me in his warmth. “If you want my vote, though, I don’t think hiding up here forever is a good idea. I want to keep you safe in case Eamon comes back more than anyone, but I’m worried about you sitting up here in the dark all day. Why don’t you at least come hang out with me downstairs today, and we’ll take it from there?”

I turn the concept over in my mind, and in the end, I nod. I’m chewing on my lip, because the idea of being out in the open, even inside the Feral Possum, still makes me nervous. But the thought of spending another day trapped up here with nothing but my own thoughts for company makes me even more nervous.

More than anything, I want to see Lola. Gunnar has been keeping tabs on her via Tristan, and she’s okay but still in the hospital. I need to see her. I miss her more than I realized I was capable of missing another human. But no matter how much bravado I’m trying to throw down in front of Gunnar, just imagining walking into that hospital right now makes me break out in a cold sweat.

Maybe sitting in the bar all day is a compromise. Like a step in the right direction.

“Okay,” I say, before a thought suddenly occurs to me. “But if you spend the whole time babysitting me and trying to snatch alcohol out of my hands, I’m going to scream.”

Gunnar’s face twists. “Tobias…”

“No,” I interrupt. I don’t even know if I want a drink right now, but I can already picture him neglecting his job to obsessively monitor me, and it makes me itch. “I can’t do the whole controlling thing again. I know you’re trying to look out for me instead of trying to make me submit to you, or whatever, but I still can’t do it. If I have to spend the rest of my life walking on eggshells, wondering if what I’m doing is pissing you off or if I’m about to have a drink yanked out of my hand, I think I’ll genuinely fucking lose it. Not with you. Please don’t turn this into that.”

This time, Gunnar looks like I slapped him. His face is pale and his eyes are wide, while he’s loosened his grip on my hands so much they would drop away from his touch if I didn’t hold them there.

He opens his mouth a few times like he’s about to speak, but no words come out. Finally, once he’s churned through his thoughts for a while, he answers me.

“I’m sorry. I never want you to feel afraid of me. Even if it’s just afraid of disappointing me. I want to take care of you so fucking much, I forget sometimes how far it pushes me. I can’t… I’ll stop. I promise.”

I snort. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Just try. I have to make my own choices, for better or worse, remember? Otherwise, I’m just trading a shitty cage for a nicer one. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a dick, but this is important to me.”

My voice wavers a little, because I realize as the words are exiting my mouth how important it actually is to me. And justhow insane it is that I went from thinking it to vocalizing it all at once, and he’s actually fucking listening to me.

I’ll never get used to this, I think.

“I’ll try,” he says in the end, still looking unconvinced. “I’m worried about you, though. I don’t like the drinking.”

At least we’re being honest now.

“I don’t have a drinking problem!” The words are out of my mouth on instinct, something I’ve thought a thousand times before. “I have a life problem. And a personality problem. And an Eamon problem. Sometimes it gets too much, and booze helps quiet it, is all.”

He sighs, like my individual words have weighed down his chest, one by one.

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