Page 16 of Falling for Fury
“When the world and almost everyone in it disappoints you enough, you learn to stop expecting joy, happiness, or really anything good.” He is silent at that. “Say it,” I scold under my breath. Waiting for the lecture that comes from everyone about how life is only as bad as you let it be, and maybe if I was more positive, positive things would happen, blah blah blah.
“Say what?”
“Whatever positive bullshit you think will cure my permanent raincloud personality.” He’s quiet for a moment before he finally speaks.
“I don’t have any positive bullshit.” His smirk is soft, but I detect some sort of sincerity or pain behind his expression, something I can’t quite put my finger on. “I think someone who seems to be battling as much as you have has earned a bad day or two,” he continues. What? I don’t think anyone has ever allowed me to just have a bad day. Rosie and Casey aside, even still, they are constantly attempting to change my mood, coddle me, and protect me from my ‘sadness’. I certainly don’t expect him to understand, let alone give me a pass for my depressing and rageful moods. “I’m not here to judge.” He shrugs. “Perhaps the shitty interactions you get with shitty people mean you’ve earned the right to assume the worst.” I stop in the middle of the sidewalk again. What is actually happening...?
I look at him with a raised brow. “And how do you know I am battling so much? Or about my shitty interactions?” I accuse, not sure how that was the most important part I picked out of all of that.
“Well…” He looks to the sky, then straight ahead, with his lips pursed and eyes narrowed, he looks back to me.
“I think, and I am making educated guesses here so, feel free to correct me, but perhaps my stupid behavior from earlier has happened before.” His eyes search my face, and I try to leave no answers for him, he continues, “But with someone far drunker than me, someone who perhaps didn’t pick up on your clear no from your body language or even your direct words.” One point to Noah… name a woman who hasn’t had that experience. I’ll wait.
He continues, “Definitely someone far less handsome than me.” Okay, two points to Noah. He winks and my stomach rolls. “I think that maybe you had a shocking previous relationship ending in betrayal. I think that Law School is stressful for anyone, let alone someone who struggles with mental health, has just lost her job, and doesn’t feel like they can trust anyone.” I actually can’t make this shit up—what’s that, seven points? I really don’t know; my brain is mush. He thinks he is off on that last point by the unknown questioning look in his gaze. I look back to the direction we were walking, and our pace continues, this time more casual, as I try to work out how I have possibly been that easy to read.
“Jake.” I mean, he apparently knows my life story. Why not fill in the blanks?
“Hmm?”
“My ex. The horrible relationship you picked up on, his name was Jake.” I look to my feet then and release a breath. “We dated for about six months. I have lived with anger issues and some light depression since high school, so he knew going into the relationship. He still stuck his dick elsewhere, and when I found out, he used my issues as a reason why he wasn’t able to break up with me.”
I look up at Noah and his eyebrows are pinched, his face is in a frown. I decide to continue because to have an expression that isn’t fucking sunshine is nice for a change.
“I don’t think I ever loved him, but he made me feel less lonely.” Okay, too honest, Addison.
I clear my throat to move on. “I don’t actually know if I want to work in a law firm. I just really need the job for the money, and I typically apply to the firm positions in the hopes that when I graduate, it will be easier to find a job as a lawyer. But with every job, my love for law dies more and more. I actually think the only reason I am still enrolled is to prove I can finish something. Show everyone I am not a complete failure.”
“How would dropping out make you a failure?” he asks so seriously, curiosity in his tone. I look into his eyes and decide to answer him, only because he doesn’t appear to be judging.
“My parents. I feel like they always just expect the worst from me. They never saw my trouble with mental health as something that needed treatment, but rather a fault in my personality. Dad always met my rage with rage of his own, and anytime it got the best of me, he would be so thoroughly disappointed. Not to mention, women shouldn’t be so loud and aggressive. ‘It is unbecoming.’ I scoff at the reminder of words I have heard time and time again.
“Ahh...” he says, but with no humor to it. His expression is tight, but he remains silent, quiet permission for me to continue if I wanted to. I take a few breaths and decide this is actually therapeutic.
“My mom, she just always treated me like something made of glass. Too afraid to say or do anything around me for fear of my reaction.” He nods then and his eyes turn to me and a ghost of a smile lands on his face. I clear my throat again, look ahead, and continue.
“Anytime I talk about my life, what I am doing or deciding to do, she always meets it with, ‘oh, darling, are you sure you’re cut out for that?’ or its ‘sweetie, I worry about you, do you think perhaps it is a bit much for you?’ I roll my eyes, hearing my mother’s words out loud.
“Anyway, I think if I don’t finish my degree, it is like proving to them that I was too fragile to finish it, that I wasn’t cut out for it, and really, I am just aiming higher than what I have the capacity for. It is why losing the job hurt so much. It was just another reminder that apparently, I am not cut out for this.” I look down then. Hearing my fears spoken out loud is scary. Like if I continue to voice them, it will give them room to grow.
He looks up to the sky, his lips pursed as if contemplating whether to turn and escape the absolute emotional shitshow I just laid out. He is silent for another few seconds that feel like years, and I start to scold myself for oversharing. What is wrong with me? I’ve never even said this out loud to the girls. Now I’m spilling to a stranger?
“I’m sorry, that was a lot. I didn’t mean to trauma dump. Honestly, I don’t know what got into me. I don’t usually spill like that. God, I am such an id—”
“Addison, stop.” He grabs my arm and turns me toward him, stopping us in the middle of the street, staring at each other.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, and I’m glad you …trauma dumped on me. Your words, not mine.” He raises the left corner of his mouth slightly before it drops and his expression deepens. “You shouldn’t know what any of that feels like, and I am sorry that there is no one in your corner.” His hand remains wrapped around my shoulder and his other arm comes up to tuck a hair behind my ear. My body tightens at the warmth of his hand against my face, and he pulls back to put both his hands in his pockets. I look down and brush my hands over my shoulders as he takes a step closer to me. He hooks his finger under my chin, forcing me to look into his deep brown eyes. His expression is soft.
“None of what you said to me about your experiences was your fault,” he says slowly and seriously, and it steals the breath right from my lungs. Looking deeply into both my eyes, the kernel of warmth in my stomach returns, and tears prick the backs of my eyes. Before I even know what I am doing, I lunge forward, wrap my arms around his waist, and bury my head to his chest in an embrace. He is frozen for a second before his arms wrap around my shoulders, folding me into his chest, and his chin leans on my head as he releases a long breath. The honesty and the seriousness of his words made me feel seen for the first time in a really long time, by a complete stranger no less, and I think I am so shocked to my bones that I feel more of a connection with this man I barely know than anyone else in my life. Between that and the exhaustion of today, all the energy it takes to reinforce the walls around my fury, perhaps it caused my brain to vacate the building. Maybe that’s why I launched myself into a hug with this stranger.
He holds me tight, and a sob slips out of me as the dam walls break and the tears pour out. His one hand rests on the back of my head, fingers interlacing my hair, as his other hand rubs warm circles on my upper back. Like we’ve been doing this forever, like it was natural, an instinct.
“You smell amazing, shortcake,” he whispers. My eyes snap open, brain officially back in the building. I am cuddling in the middle of the street! I snap out of it and pull out of his embrace. He doesn’t stop me, but he remains close. I take a step back, leaving half an arm’s length between us. He reaches his hand to my face, cupping my cheek and wiping a tear away with his thumb, before dropping it back to his side again. I turn to walk back up the street, and he keeps pace next to me without a word.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I promise I don’t make a habit of… that.”
“And you say I apologize a lot, you really are a serial-apologizer. You don’t need to say sorry for anything,” he says quietly. He clears his throat, and when I look to his face, his eyes have a sheen to them. In a blink, it is gone and his usual smug grin is back.
“In fact, I am going to teach you to stop apologizing to everyone and everything about things you should not be saying sorry for.” A small laugh escapes me. “Oh my god. Addison Jenkins. Did you just smile?” His stupid grin and the playful tone work a disgusting magic on me as butterflies take flight, and my smirk grows as I struggle to bite down.