Page 79 of Running Feral

I am surprised by the way he’s seemed to grab hold of it with both hands and refuse to let go since that first time. Metaphorically and literally, I suppose. It feels like the more sex we have, the more he wants it. Like he’s burying himself in it.

Of course, I have no idea if it’s a healthy way to cope, or if it’s even my place to make that judgement. For now, I’m going along with it. He’s telling me straight up what he needs, and it’s something I can give him.

That doesn’t mean I’m not keeping an eye on him, though. He’s treading water. Anyone can see that. He’s still drinking every day, but choosing when and how much very carefully. I think that’s mostly to appease me, even if I haven’t said anything out loud since we first spoke about it.

He comes down to the bar with me. Every time he looks just as on edge as the last. It never fades, and neither of us ever forgets the looming threat that’s keeping him from settling, whether it’s real or not. The cops have absolutely nothing to help us, except their blind conviction that Eamon skipped town.

I want to talk to Sav about it just so I can get anyone’s fucking opinion that isn’t my own, because there comes a point where you’re so deep in a situation the words don’t even make sense anymore. He’s called out so many times in the past couple of days, though. I haven’t seen him apart from the first night I brought Tobias downstairs, when he was covered in bruises and even more taciturn than usual.

I can’t get Tobias to feel less uneasy when he’s outside the apartment. I can’t get any actual information from people on either side of the law. And no matter what my fantasies are telling me, I’m probably not capable of tracking Eamon down wherever he’s hiding and strangling him to death so Tobias can finally know some peace.

The only thing that seems to make him feel calm is sex. It feels counterintuitive. Like sex should be the last thing he wants, and especially the kind of visceral, heart-pounding sex we’ve moved on to since the first time. But after we’re done, once we’ve cleaned up, and he curls into my chest to finally fall asleep, is the only time I see him look truly tranquil.

This morning, he’s anything but tranquil. From the second he wakes up, there’s a deep groove etched in his forehead and mountains of worry behind those honey-brown eyes. He rests on my chest, his head rising and falling steadily as I breathe, letting me card my fingers through his hair. But I can feel the disquiet seeping through him like a toxin.

I can’t push him. If I push him, he gets even more withdrawn. Instead, I try to keep myself as steady as possible. I’m not sure if he’s even aware of it, but I’ve finally figured out that wheneverI’m physically the most predictable—calm, still, breathing slowly and doing nothing or some kind of repetitive, mundane activity—those are the times he finds it easiest to open up to me about things. It makes sense when I think about it. I kind of feel stupid for taking so long to get to this point. Conveniently, I’m generally a calm person whenever the world isn’t burning down around me, so Tobias can hopefully take some comfort in my natural state.

“Can we go see my lola today?” he asks, shattering the silence.

I frown down at the top of his head, even though he can’t see me from this angle, but I don’t stop running my fingers through his hair.

“Of course. We have plenty of time before the bar opens. Is that what’s bothering you?”

Silence. I can practically feel all the guilt and anxiety churning in his brain, but none of it comes out in the form of words, no matter how much time I give him, so I keep talking.

“Tristan’s been taking care of her, like I told you. He’s buddy-buddy with all the nurses there and he goes to visit her literally every day. I know she’s worried about you, but she knows you’re not there for a good reason, and she’s not all alone. Everyone understands why it’s been hard to go back.”

Tobias keeps silent for a little while longer, before turning over to prop up his chin on his hands, still on my chest but able to look me in the eye now.

“I appreciate it. I really do. I know that she and Tristan are weirdly close for a random old lady and her paramedic.” I huff a laugh, because it’s true. But Tristan is that kind of person. He doesn’t make a lot of friends, but whenever he does, they’re the most unlikely kind and he seems to latch on and not let go. “But it’s my job. I’m supposed to be there. I don’t even know when she’s getting released or what care she needs. Taking care of her is probably the only thing I’ve ever done right in my life, and nowI’ve let it all fall apart, to what? Lie around here all day? So what if the hospital fucking terrifies me? I’m fucking terrified here, too. At this point, I’m pretty sure you could bring me Eamon’s head in a cardboard box and I would still be terrified, even though there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s like it’s baked into me.”

He shivers as he says the last part, and I pull the blankets up around his bare shoulders before hugging him to my chest as hard as I dare.

“It’ll get better, honey. I promise. Everything gets better eventually.”

Tobias turns his face into my skin again so he’s not looking at me, and his words are muffled when he speaks. “Or maybe I’ll just get so used to it, it’ll seem normal. I don’t really care anymore. Let’s just go, so I can do one productive thing with my life.”

It takes all I have not to sigh, because this is starting to feel like a conversation we’re going to have ad nauseam.

He needs to talk to someone about all this guilt before it weighs him down so much he can’t breathe.

Tentatively, I broach the subject.

“Baby, I know there’s a lot going on right now, but can we please talk about therapy? I think it might help. I went for a long time after everything with my dad and Lukas, and I honestly think it’s the reason I’m here right now as a functional human being.”

Tobias snorts, still not looking up at me, his breath hot and damp against my skin.

“Sure. With all the money I have lying around. And all my legal, marketable skills.”

“I’m sure we can find the money,” I say, already knowing I’m edging into dangerous territory.

Now his head does pop up, and there’s fire in his eyes.

“No, there’s no ‘we’ here. I’m not letting you take care of me all day and drain your bank account at the same time. It’s just me.Ineed money to live, and money to pay Lola’s medical bills.Ineed to find a job and some way of sustaining myself that doesn’t involve organized crime. The last thingIneed is to start throwing money away, talking about things in the past that I can’t change. I might as well put cash on the lawn and set fire to it for all the good it’s going to do me.”

He ramps up in intensity as he speaks, even though he’s not pulling away from me. I can see the fear simmering just below the surface of all this anger, though. Not just the anxious, residual fear of his trauma, but his fear of an unknown future. Which bugs the shit out of me, because that’s the part I can help with, if he’d just let me.

I can keep him from getting too in his head about it, I guess. We can revisit the other stuff later.

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