I can walk after all.
Feed myself.
Wipe my ass.
But the one thing that was my whole world besides my family was ripped away that day.
So much was stolen from me, and not running has angered me. Losing both parents before I turned eighteen, surviving being shot, seemed punishment enough. For what, I don’t know. But to lose running on top of it felt extraordinarily unfair.
I suppose that’s life.
Nothing is ever simple. Or easy.
It’s all pain and heartache. Worry and fear. Stress and anxiety.
If you have one sliver of happiness you have to hold onto it with everything you have.
For some reason, my mother’s words decide now is the best moment to echo through my head.
“My sweet, Dandelion. May you always be as free as the birds, as wild as the flowers, and untamed as the sea.”
It’s what she always told me. From the time I was little, until it was the last words she breathed to me when she thought I was dying, but she was the one who died instead.
I wonder what she’d think if she saw that I wasn’t free anymore, or my wild self, or untamed. I was always the girl who danced to her own beat, who smiled through everything, who lived.
I don’t know how to do that anymore.
I feel glimpses of it when I’m around Lachlan. It’s wrong for me to feel the way I do, but with him I feel seen for who I am, but felt for what I’ve endured.
I rest my feet on the bleachers below me, my elbows on my knees, with my hands cradling my face in my hands.
I feel exhausted, weary from the weight of the world around me.
Sitting in the quiet, I try to stay grounded in the moment.
Minutes pass in silence. It’s only me, my breaths, and the rhythmic hum of the building around me. It’s a sound you wouldn’t normally hear unless isolated by silence like I am. It’s almost like a heartbeat, the steady thrumming of the school.
“There you are.”
My head whips downward.
I’m shocked to find Lachlan climbing the bleachers. His gray slacks are taut over his thick thighs with every step he takes. He has the sleeves of his white button down rolled to his elbows. Doesn’t he know this look is kryptonite to any female with a pulse?
I look away from him, staring straight forward.
I try to ignore the creaking of the bleachers, but it’s impossible when his warmth envelops me and he sits beside me. His legs presses against mine.
“You didn’t show up.” It’s an accusation.
“I didn’t.”
“Why?”
With more control than I think I have I slowly angle my head in his direction. “I didn’t want to.”
He blinks at me. Those bright cerulean blue eyes of his seem to glow.
Looking back at the track I mutter, “Why does it matter anyway?”