Page 3 of My Shy Alpha

Jenny relaxes into her plush armchair, bouncing her foot as she re-crosses her legs. “Then I’d say go for it - using the one you’re familiar with, if possible. But please, Aliya, call me if anything comes up around this. This isn’t the only solution.”

2

Aheavy weight in my chest drags my feet through the dusty path home. Now that I said it aloud, tracing my dream’s steps in the forest sounds silly. More like I’m in denial about how much my dating life sucks. Chasing a fever dream won’t change anything. I don’t think I’ll be going into the forest, after all.

Light drizzling dusts Greenfield Forest as I exit the Westfield city limits, but that’s nothing my hood can’t solve. With fluttering bird wings above my head and a sea of swaying, green flora at my sides, I take the long way home across the countryside, lost in my thoughts. It’s finally the weekend, but I’ll probably spend it with my scrapbook. My childhood best friend has a third-anniversary date with her wife, whom we met in college. With how much they bicker yet gush over each other, I swear they’re simultaneously an old married couple and honeymooners. It’s a treat to see my two favorite people so in love.

Now that I think about it, they’re my best living example of a loving partnership. My shoulders soften – at least I have one shred of proof that what I’m seeking exists.

Even though I’m now a permanent third wheel. I guess tonight is another lonely pizza Friday.

I can’t say I’m too bothered about living alone after living with Steven. As long as I stayed within his lines - whether that meant curling in over myself to make myself as small as possible or to erase my voice entirely - we’d be “okay.”

Then my parents died five years ago, leaving me my childhood home. My first safe escape route appeared, and my “life partner” warped into something monstrous, my traumatized mind allowing me to see reality for the first time.

He didn’t like that.

I take the turn that’s supposed to lead to my old, inherited cottage, but I don’t find my mossy landmark tree. I freeze, knowing I can’t afford to walk any deeper if I took the wrong turn.

But it’s too late. I’m immersed in the forest outskirts.

Twisting every direction and scuffing my worn work sneakers even more, I slump into myself, a familiar dread seeping through my bones. Gargantuan trees shoot into the sky, obscuring the forest trails between dense thickets. The path home is nowhere in sight.

Forget losing my way in the forest outskirts; I’m deep in the thickets, with no idea how long I’ve been walking.

Fuck, Mom was right. Everyone was right. I’m going to get myself killed in the forest.

Okay, no, I’m not doomed yet. Maybe I just need to get out of this thicket.

I whip out my phone to check the map. Droplets splat onto the screen as they spill from overhead leaves, but as usual, there’s no service beneath the trees.

I whistle out a slow breath as I analyze my surroundings for familiarity. If I knew where I started, this would be no problem, but three rivers slice Greenfield in a confusing zigzag that messes with my internal compass.

But the riverbanks can’t look identical, right? I trudge deeper into the forest, veering left when I find a trickling stream - growing wider by the minute with the oncoming downpour. I blink past the rain to sniff the air, dive into my gut senses, and analyze rocks and birds for clues, but my capabilities never came close to my father’s knowledge of the land. He could navigate it in the dark, but I wouldn’t dare.

No matter how much he knew, Dad still died in this forest. Not anywhere near here; Mom was right, I should never trek that deep unless I’d like to face grave consequences. Maybe Dad shouldn’t have either. But his death wasn’t the forest’s fault. At least, I don’t think it was. Someone shot him. A hunter. The cops believe it was a mistake - the hunter’s guilty conscience sending them sprinting in the other direction - but it never sat right with me. They left him lying there to bleed out. Deep down, I think they killed him on purpose.

I can’t stop checking my phone screen. A daunting 5:47 PM stares back. Soon, it’ll be pitch black. The dream and my parents’ old warnings weren’t the only things keeping me from trekking too deep into this forest; what if someone shoots me here too? My shoulders raise as unease crawls over my exposed back.

My feet scurry ahead on their own, desperate for some sort of clue. But all I see are trees. More trees. Trees wrapped into other trees. Even baby trees sprouting their first leaves.

The dribbling streams become mini rivers, whispering hints of my location. I jog after them, their speed increasing with me as they merge into thicker clusters.

The river’s gushing roar calls to me before I can see it, pulsing between my raging heartbeat. A pebble of hope forms in my mind, betting that this is the river to follow upstream, leading to the old cottage.

But at the river’s edge, I don’t recognize anything.

The water threatens to swallow me whole as I peer into it. And when I lean a little too far, my sleek, black braid tumbles over my shoulder. Despite watching it happen in the river’s reflection, I yelp in surprise at a snakelike “attacker” coming for my face.

I’ve had enough adventure for one day.

Whipping around to run back to where I came from, I stumble over a rock, catching myself just in time with a stampede of frantic steps.

Maybe the forest wants to humble me. Or maybe I’m missing something.

I face the sky to gulp desperate air, but it doesn’t help; my stomach plummets at the first sign of indigo creeping over the forest canopy.

Darkness is a familiar foe. I can’t get an accurate enough look behind myself to make sure no one is there, leading me to check over my shoulder compulsively - which, of course, only makes me more convinced that a vicious stranger waits in my vision’s edges. Another man protecting himself from my awareness so that I can’t protect myself.