Page 62 of Save Me
My throat becomes less tight, and I let out a breath. Micah is different, though. He doesn’t play exactly the same way, and maybe that’s why I didn’t see the move coming. I need to learn Micah’s game instead of Arthur’s game. Well, both games at this point.
I let out a heavy breath.
I should run. I should take Princess and run and never come back. I can find another job, right? I can change my name. Live off-grid.
Only, all of that requires money.
“Fuck!” I rip at my hair. I take a step, then trip over something. I glance down. It’s the carpet for someone’s floorboard, and annoyance floods through me. People just throw anything out the window. Fucking useless, fucking assholes!
I’m not sure how long I pace, paralyzed. It takes me a while to realize that I left Princess unattended in my car with all kinds of things to chew on. I stride back to the car to see Princess is trying to climb over the center console into the backseat, presumably to scrounge for more snacks.
“Hey.” I grab Princess and put him in my lap. His weight is immediately calming, and a massive wall of guilt hits me. I put him in danger. Hot tears well up in my eyes.
Princess ignores me completely, trying to climb into the backseat again.
“Hey,” I say. “I don’t know if you can eat any of the stuff back there. It might make you sick.”
Princess doesn’t care, continuing to launch his rotund belly over the console. Much like me, I realize. Running toward danger instead of away from it.
“No.” Gently, I scruff him, bringing him back to my lap.
I don’t know what to do. I have no idea. The thoughts are paralyzing. But Princess is desperate in his attempt for food, and suddenly clarity falls over me. Princess is hungry, so I’ll go get Princess something to eat.
I get the car started, feeling more stupid and useless than I ever have in my life. I should know what to do, but I don’t. My best solution is a fast food hamburger, and like fuck is that going to save me.
But it’s all I can do.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
19 years old
“Please let the puppies come to you.”
My leg bounces in my chair, and I watch it absently, almost like it isn’t my leg. The puppies are coming!
There’s a stirring of…something in my chest, and I almost groan. Things are easier when I’m floating in my own head. But apparently, I’m a freaking glutton for punishment because I’m at a puppy adoption event. I thought it would make things…better, not that it would unlock the only peace I’ve managed to find.
My throat is so, so tight, and pain washes over me, as fresh as…however long ago it was when I held Dad’s hand as he died. His blue-tipped hand. A few days? Maybe a week? I couldn’t tell you.
Bounce, bounce, bounce. Maybe if I bounce enough, I won’t cry. Again. I’m not sure how I even have tears left.
There’s a commotion at the front of the room, and I rip my gaze up to the door where a puppy bounces in. There’s a tiny stirring in my chest alongside the grief, and I sit up straighter.
A puppy will help. Puppies always help.
All of us are lined up in chairs in a circle so the puppies can pick who they’re drawn to. The first puppy jumps on someone close to the door, trying to lick their face. As if it was drawn to their soul. Matches.
They let another puppy in, a pug with all kinds of rolls on its face and legs, toddling like it needs someone to help it walk. I can help him or her. I lean forward. The dog sniffs around and goes to an older woman’s feet, chewing on her shoes. She makes an awed sound and goes to pick it up.
My chest tightens.
They let puppy after puppy in, and one by one, they pick people other than me, and it gets harder and harder to breathe.
Then they lead a German shepherd in. The puppy is hesitant, showing the whites of its eyes as it looks around and tucks its tail. It looks small too, like it was just taken from its mom. Poor thing is terrified. Immediately, I feel drawn to him or her. I was also just taken from my dad.
My throat is tight. They just need someone to help them feel safe. Loved.
I lean down, gently holding my hand at their level.
