Page 163 of Wild Thing
Dr. Crowe helped me see that my deep-seated lack of self-respect led me to believe I wasn’t worthy of anything better—of happiness, of love, of success.
I thought my problem stemmed from a fear of commitment, but it was actually a fear of myself. Of what I might become if I ever accepted joy and love into my life.
I’ve been my own worst enemy, a fierce saboteur. I believed that I had to be this wild, tortured soul who could never settle down, who drifted from place to place.
And so, for years, I’ve engaged in toxic cycles of self-sabotage, tearing down any chance I had at happiness.
But now, here, on this balcony with a friend who has seen me at my worst, I can finally admit it: I deserve to be happy.
Even if that means being alone.
Which is my greatest fear.
Epilogue
Two Weeks Later
DYLAN
Present Day
Taylor stays with me for four days before she finally has to head back home. Our goodbye is emotional; she has been my rock over the past five months.
As I watch her drive away, a small part of me feels scared to be on my own in a town where I know no one. But there’s another part of me—one that thrives on the unknown—that is secretly thrilled.
I don’t have a plan, just a rough sketch of what I want to do. I’ve already decided to start my own interior design consultancy. I have nothing to lose.
Grabbing my sketchbook, I head downstairs to one of the cafes lining the sidewalk.
I settle on one that’s quaint and quiet, with tables facing the ocean. I order an oat milk cappuccino and find a spot at the bench near the open bifold windows.
The day is stunning.
Sunshine dances across the water, each wave sparkling like diamonds. I open my sketchbook and begin sketching the view, letting the rhythmic crash of the waves take me to a place far, far away.
I stay there until mid-afternoon, absorbed in my art, before finally heading back upstairs to my apartment.
***
Lighting a salted caramel scented candle, I decide to pour myself a glass of red wine and watch the sunset from the balcony.
It's brilliant, as usual.
Billie Eilish’s haunting voice flows from the speakers. I lean on the balustrade, sipping my wine, listening to her and Khalid sing 'Lovely.'
My heart still aches, but it’s tolerable. For the first time in months, I feel like I'm coming back to life.
Then I hear it: the low roar of an engine.
I glance down at the street below, watching as a black Camaro pulls into a parking spot directly across from my building. The fine hairs on my neck stand on end as a heavily tattooed man steps out of the car.
I already know it's him.
He moves with ease, walking around the hood before leaning casually against it. He’s wearing a backwards white hat, a black shirt that hugs his broad shoulders, and dark jeans.
And then the devil looks up.
My world comes to a complete stop.
