Page 169 of When the Storm Breaks
He stood and went straight to my dresser, rifling through drawers until he tossed a t-shirt, jeans, and a clean pair of briefs onto the bed. Hard.
“Car. Twenty minutes,” he said, already walking toward the door. “And shower. You smell like shit.”
So I did.
And we drove.
He took me to the fucking shelter.
I stared at the building through the windshield of Chase’s car, my fingers tugging anxiously at the frayed hem of my t-shirt.
My stomach twisted with nerves. I didn’t look at him—but I didn’t need to. I could feel his patience thinning.
“You’re not leaving until you pick one,” he said, killing the engine.
I let out a dry, almost mocking laugh. “I can’t even take care of myself. What makes you think I can take care of an animal?”
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face like he was already tired of me.
Believe me, buddy, I’m tired of me too.
“Well, if you’re not going to talk to me, maybe you’ll talk to the dog.”
He stayed at the front when we walked in. Based on the warm greeting from the woman at the front desk, he was in better company there anyway.
A middle-aged woman with an overly enthusiastic smile led me tothe back, walking me through rows of kennels.
The air was different there—colder. Sterile. It smelled like a cleaner trying to cover up something older, lived in.
It wasn’t the kind of place you come to find peace.
But here I was.
The barking rang in my ears, but all I heard was the silence between. Heavy. Pressing. Loud.
The walls were lined with cages, each one holding a pair of eyes that ranged from hopeful to hopeless. Some dogs ran toward the gate, tails wagging, desperate for attention. Others huddled in corners, flinching at every sound, trembling at the sound of our footsteps.
Resigned to their fate.
I couldn’t connect with the hopeful ones.
But the broken ones? They hit too close to home.
A few barked their throats raw, pleading.
I walked past them all, trying to ignore the guilt, but with each step, the weight in my chest grew heavier—pressing into my lungs like I’d never be able to breathe right again.
They were all lost. Just like me.
Each dog felt like a mirror—desperate, empty-eyed, waiting for someone who might never come.
When we reached the last kennel, something stopped me cold.
The dog wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t pacing or crying. Wasn’t cowering in the corner.
She wasn’t asking for attention, but she wasn’t afraid of it either.
The others begged—strained at the bars for affection.
