No Perfect Hero(61)
It's because he’s warm. Because he’s human. Because underneath that constant grouch-cloud following him around everywhere is a decent man.
A kind, thoughtful man who may wear the mask of an asshole, who may be into craziness I can't even wrap my head around, but who uses it to hide his own gentleness.
That's what makes him gather me into his lap now and hold on while I cry myself out.
“Warren, I...”
I don't even know. Because it's on me like a force of nature.
I never really had that big fuck-you cry over the dead engagement and the betrayal.
This hits me like that – the catharsis I need to set this aside to become a memory so I can truly pick up and move forward.
“You're good,” he rumbles, pulling me even deeper into his grip. “Long as I've got you, you're safe. You're good. You're free.”
Oh, sweet Jesus, he has no idea.
I fall to pieces. It feels like I cry for an hour. The whole time, Warren holds me patiently, keeping me close, saying soft things I can’t quite understand. But the steady murmur of his voice lulls me until I no longer feel like I’m shaking apart with every deep, rasping sob.
And as I gradually fall silent, huddled against him, scrubbing at my eyes, he asks, “Better?”
“Better,” I answer hesitantly, pillowing my head to his shoulder. “I’m sorry. This must seem ridiculous.”
“No apologies, Hay. You heard me the first time.” He gives me a warm, gentle squeeze. “You get to feel whatever the fuck you want right now, and it’s okay.”
Maybe he's right, I realize.
He’s not just saying it. Actions speak louder than words, or so they always say.
He’s here for me. Here, in all his big, inked, rock hard flesh.
So I tilt my head back, looking up at him, studying the stark line of his jaw and the clean cut of his bearded profile, that hint of mountain roughness that makes him seem like a wild animal.
I bite my lip. “Thanks, Warren. I won't forget this.”
He turns his head, looking down at me with a small smile.
“No thanking me, either,” he teases softly. “I’m only doing this to get rid of my karmic debt.”
“Nice try, Mister. I forgive you, but I think you’d have to save ten more orphans to smooth things over with the gods,” I throw back, feeling a smile peeking past my own dreary clouds.
He answers with a grin that lights up his eyes. “I saved a stray. Make that nine more orphans, Hay.”
“What worries me is, I’m not sure if you’re talking about Mozart, or me.”
“Considering half the time you’re madder than a wet cat in a bag–”
“Hey.” Chuckling, I shove lightly at his chest. “...you’re not wrong, though. I’ve just...I’ve been trying not to be so angry, but it’s hard. It’s like the whole world decided to take a dump on me all at once, so yeah, I’m pissed. At Eddy, at ex-bestie, at the suits who gave me my pink slip, at the gallery owner, at the people who looked at my paintings and just never cared.” I make a frustrated sound in the back of my throat, knowing I sound way too much like the entitled artist. God. “But...none of them care if I’m angry at them. They barely remember I exist. So it feels pointless, and yeah, I wind up being mad at everyone. And it’s useless. It’s all so pointless.”
“Not pointless.” Warren squeezes me again. His big, strong arm around me makes me feel safer, more secure, after I’ve felt adrift for days. “We get pissed for good reason, Hay. A lot of times, anger is the thing we need most to keep us moving forward in the face of shit that'd make us shut down, give up, and freeze. It’s just important to know when your anger's useful, and when it’s hurting you so much that it’s time to let go.”
He makes sense. Far more sense than I want to admit.
If everything hadn’t made me so angry, I might not even be here in Heart's Edge.
I might've just gone slumming over to my sister’s and curled up in her guest room and refused to function for a few months. Instead, I decided to pack up and hit reset on my life.
And sure, everything’s gone catastrophically wrong since then, and I’m semi-stranded in some backwater mountain town flashing cleavage for enough tips to truly start my new life in Chicago, but it's not all bad.
I’m not stagnating. I’m in control. And I’m kinda having fun.
Looking up at Warren, I know something else – the scenery here in Heart's Edge isn't close to half bad.
So maybe, just maybe...I’m ready to stop being angry, too.
“So if it’s time to let go of being mad,” I ask carefully, “what then?”
“Then?” He exhales slowly. “You figure out what you want to feel. What needs to happen for that to be real.”
I don’t know what that is. Mostly, I think what I want to feel is just happy. Hopeful.
Like if I keep forging on, there’s something good waiting for me on the other side.
It’s not so hard to believe it right now with Warren holding me and a bit of the ache in my heart soothed. Even if I despised seeing Eddy today, it was the closure I needed.
Deep down, some part of me was convinced I’d done something wrong to drive Eddy into Britney’s arms. That maybe I’d deserved both of them being such two-faced shits.