Page 31 of Meeting Her Mate
“I understand what you’re saying,” Alexis said. “But when you chuck a giant rock into a lake, you create splashes and ripples.”
“Meaning what exactly?”
“Meaning you’re the rock, and I’m the lake. And you’ve splashed and rippled. It’s gonna take time for me to become all beautiful and placid again. Everything you said and did is still pretty fresh.”
What she said made sense. I wasn’t going to start arguing with her. Although the beastly impulse certainly beckoned me to do so. Maybe it was because I was far too tired after expending a day’s worth of energy, or maybe it was something else, a far deeper truth, but somehow, I had brief control over my manic rage for the time being. For that, I was thankful.
“So what do we do in the meantime?” I asked, not knowing where to go from here.
“Oh, I guess you should enjoy bobbing up and down in the lake as the ripples ebb and flow to the shore,” she said.
“I really meant it. I am sorry. I want things to be normal between us. Can we have that?” I asked.
“I’m not mad at you. I know what you’ve been through. I understand. I feel sorry for you. You had to leave your homeland, witness a war, move to a new country, fall for someone, and never bond with them. On top of all of that, you got kidnapped, trapped, and tortured. It’s too much for a person to bear.”
“I don’t think Ariana and I were ever supposed to be mates.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, for starters, she became mates with my best friend. That’s what fate dictated. That’s how you’re here, in fact. I’m just sulking in the depressing land of what-if and what-could-have-been,” I said.
“I’m no therapist, but what little I do know amounts to this: Dwelling on the past is a recipe for depression. Fixating on the future is the root of anxiety. The only way you can find balance is by living in the present.”
Her words were oddly comforting. What she was saying didn’t feel like some banal platitude. It was heartfelt advice that I could wrap my head around. She was right. Why was I looking at my situation from a pessimistic lens?
“What will you do?” I asked. Ever since she’d been in danger, my concern for her hadn’t wavered.
“Starting tomorrow, I’ve gotta look for a job. It’s not like my parents left me a fortune or I went to one of those Ivy League places where the students develop some billion-dollar app idea before they’ve even graduated. I hope to make my ends meet and then yeet.”
“Yeet?”
Alexis grinned at me. “It’s Gen-Z slang. What the kids these days speak.”
“Gen-Z? What does that mean?”
“So, kids born between 1995 to 2005 are considered Generation Z. Those before them were considered Millennials, Generation X, Baby Boomers, and so forth. The youngest generation right now, the teenagers and those in their early twenties, they’ve created this slang language that is equal parts stupid and hilarious. Yeet means to throw something far. Or to fling something a long way.”
“So you are going to yeet yourself?”
“Yes. I’m going to yeet myself so far from this place that I’m in Mexico or San Francisco or Texas.”
“Before you go off yeeting yourself, I have to tell you something,” I said. “It’s not about us. It’s something else.”
“What is it?” Alexis asked.
“I don’t think there are many trustworthy figures around me,” I said slowly. Even as I said it, I made sure that my voice was partly drowned out by the sound of the rain and thunder.
“I think that’s called paranoia,” she said slyly and winked at me. “And I think someone in your position has the right to be paranoid.”
“But here’s the thing. Here’s the absolutely ironic thing. I’m not paranoid about you. I trust you for some reason. Everyone else at the commune seems to have their own agenda. When they talk to me, they speak as if they’re either afraid of me. Even my own brother talks in a calculated manner. The only person who’s just a little bit candid with me is that fellow, Vincent. But I don’t know anyone from Adam there. Even my brother feels like a stranger. The man I had left behind was young and spritely. The old man who greets me with his walker in a wrinkled hand is not the same Fred. And you might think that this is my paranoia talking, but something is happening in this town. I can feel it in my bones. I feel as if I am stranded in a strange country whose language I don’t speak and whose people are hostile to me.”
“They’re adjusting, the same as you. They’re not hostile. Think from their perspective. A person they had thought dead appears from out of nowhere, resumes the leadership role, and I’m guessing you’re grilling them pretty hard right now with training or something like that. They’re just adjusting to you. Just like you’re adjusting to the world. Also, it doesn’t help that you’re now notorious for your temper. People don’t want to get on your bad side. That’s what I think. And I think that’s what’s causing them to maintain a safe distance from you, making you feel paranoid and on the receiving end of hostility. But those are just my two cents,” Alexis said.
I mulled over what she had just said and kept silent for a long time, during which she took her pajamas out of her closet, went to the bathroom, changed her clothes, and came out wearing sleepwear that was quite revealing and accentuated her figure. For a second, I was dumbstruck by the spectacle but then quickly lowered my gaze.
“I don’t trust anyone,” I said. I had been wanting to say this for a long time. “Except you.”
“Why me?”