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“Dean, we're leaving,” she commands me in a tone that brooks no argument. I know it too well.
Just as I'm about to comply, to retreat as always to avoid another confrontation, I feel Miriana's grip on my forearm. I meet her gaze again, and I see the defiance. She's fighting for me, empowering me to stand up for myself. It's as if she's reminding me that I'm not alone and I can't back down.
“No,” I murmur. Miriana's smile fills me with a newfound realization that maybe Greta isn't right. That I'm not just a workaholic who only cares about his job and is less of a man.
“What?” Greta's voice, more grating than ever, squawks.
“No,” I declare with a conviction I didn't know to have, “I'm staying.”
Greta retorts with an enraged scream as she squares off on the other side, poised to strike Miriana. Instinctively, Kyle and I intervene, shielding her. Greta has bullied Miriana enough because of me.
“Get out!” Kyle bellows. I've never seen him this livid, and I barely register that I've positioned myself between the two women, protecting Miriana. Kyle releases his hold and circles around the table. “I've tolerated your crap for way too long, but only for my brother's sake. Now get the fuck out, you're no longer welcome here.”
As I look at Greta, I see the truth. I see the snake that's been hiding behind her charming smile. And I realize how far I've strayed from my true self.
Tonight, I finally came to my senses.
Tonight, I started rediscovering who I am.
I started piecing together the puzzle of my identity, bit by bit. I began to steer my way out of the sea of confusion, driven by a will to be the old me again. I let go of the woman I've been with for years and it's like staring at a stranger. I take a step back, or at least I think I do, but when Miriana's hand grabs mine and gives it a squeeze, it feels like a surge of life has been pumped into my veins. The sound of Greta's voice railing against me and the others grows louder and it feels like a wake-up call to reality.
Chapter Four
Miriana
Greta storms out, slamming the door behind her and hurling threats at Dean and me, the sound reverberates through the entire house like a clap of thunder. Her fury and loathing are palpable in her voice, turning the atmosphere heavy and fraught with tension.
I turn to Dean. His previously steadfast expression has vanished, replaced by a shroud of doubt. He sits up, hands cradling his head as if trying to contain the whirlwind of thoughts within.
Kyle walks over to him, trying to offer solace with soft, soothing words. Meanwhile I head upstairs and start preparing his bedroom, leaving them space to talk. As I smooth the sheets onto the bed, I hear Kyle ushering Dean into the room. “I'm sorry about earlier,” Dean murmurs, his gaze vacant, “I've disrupted your house enough. I'll head to a hotel tomorrow.”
“No way, Dean. You can stay here as long as you need. This is your home too,” Kyle says, glancing at me. I nod in agreement. Our doors will always be open for him, but never for Greta.
“Thank you,” he mumbles before stepping in. I can still feel my blood boiling from her dreadful treatment of him.
The door slams shut behind Dean, giving me a chance to catch my breath and let myself go with my emotions as Kyle enfolds me in his arms, planting a kiss on my forehead, “Thank you.” He tightens his grip. “Dean needed this jolt. I'm proud of you.”
“I should've done this sooner,” I choke out, burying my face in Kyle's chest to hide the lump in my throat.
He scoops me up and carries me into the living room. “The timing was right. You don't need to feel guilty.”
Sure, tearing someone down is easy. But picking up the pieces afterward, especially when you're emotionally invested, that's the tough part. “Greta's spite worries me. She's capable of anything to make him suffer.”
“We'll tackle one problem at a time, sweetheart,” he soothes, wiping my tears away with a soft kiss. “I'll keep an eye on her and keep you two safe, okay?”
I nod, the anger evaporating as I get lost in his gaze. I feel spent. Worn out. It's not like me, but emotional involvement can be seriously draining.
* * *
Over the next few days, I'm swamped with appointments but still I can’t miss Dean's absence. Due to my friendship with the hospital's chief, I called Dean in sick. It's a white lie, but one I feel is necessary. I should've asked Dean, but he needs time to detox from that bitch and figure out his next move. He hasn't left his room even for meals, so Kyle and I decide to give him the space he needs. We don't want to overstep.
It's been three days since Dean turned into a silent figure in our home, like a ghost hiding out in his room. I get the struggle to get past these times, but I gotta make sure he's alright myself. Even though I've connected with his soul deeply, his pain still weighs heavy on my heart.
This morning, I decided to break the quiet routine. I'm not just leaving breakfast by his door like I've been doing; no way. I walk into his room without knocking, set the tray on the table, and hope he feels like eating today. As I let some fresh air in through the open window, Dean rolls onto his back. I sit down next to him on the bed, looking at his peaceful, sleeping face, and feel a huge wave of tenderness.
Thinking about the pain he's dealing with really gets to me, because I know the deep scars he's carrying. Before I know it, I'm gently touching his face; his stubble lightly scratches my hand, and he mumbles something softly. I hold my breath, wishing he'd open his eyes, but they stay shut. A small smile appears on his face, and I wonder what he's dreaming about. Whatever it is, I hope it keeps going because I've really missed seeing him smile.
I stand up, pull the sheet over him, and take a moment to look at the lion tattoo on his shoulder, so vivid it feels real. The lion's eyes, an entrancing blue, seem to tell him to find the strength I know he has inside.
