Page 4 of Wild Thing
Dr. Crowe drones on about being paralyzed by fear and how being consumed by it can lead some people into making impulsive decisions as a way of protection. She hasn't yet told me I'm a sociopath, so I consider that a small win. Maybe I'm not irredeemable after all. But I'm not so sure. My conscience won't quit calling my guilt to come home.
I listen to Dr. Crowe tell me I'm a good person; I’ve just made bad choices.
I can't believe I pay this bitch to lie to me. But I love it when she does.
She tells me our thoughts don't define us.
Yeah, right.
How do you live your best life, when you’re the fucking worst?
I guess I’d better start at the beginning.
One
Four Months Ago
DYLAN
Saturday
The flight was turbulent, mirroring my life. I gazed blankly out the window, acting like I wasn't scared shitless as we descended into a thunderstorm. I tried not to think of the turbulence, but the bumpiness was shaking my anxiety awake.
Pretending to be hypnotized by the dreary landscape below and not paralyzed by fear, I watched as rivulets of rain raced down the glass, tracing intricate patterns. The thought of beingstuck in a cylindrical tube, thousands of feet above the earth, in a storm, was terrifying. Ultimately, my fate was completely out of my control.
Both a blessing and a curse.
I pictured the plane going down, and wondered what image of me the newspaper would choose for their tribute to the victims.
Hopefully a hot one.
As the plane prepared for landing, a flight attendant's voice crackled over the speakers, gently reminding passengers to stow away their tray tables, return seats to the upright position and elevate the window shades.
Feeling slightly less anxious then a few moments ago, I hastily finished the last few mouthfuls of my white wine, becauseI was totally fine, completely normal and not freaking the fuck out. At least, that was the vibe I was going for.
My headphones blared the Pixies “Where Is My Mind?” and honestly, I wondered the same thing. I needed this week away more than I cared to admit. The relief I felt when we took off, soaring away from White Point, had been poignant. Although it was a work trip, leaving felt like freedom. I was already dreading returning.
Leaning back into my seat, my thoughts were dominated by Zack. Our relationship had become exactly what I feared it would: Cookie-cutter. Just like everybody else’s.
Did he even remember I was going for a week?
My thoughts were interrupted by the woman seated next to me. She’d been silent the entire flight, choosing to read her book instead of having a mid-flight meltdown like the rest of us. Mid-to-late seventies, with a gorgeous silver bob, her blue eyes were wide with curiosity.
“Coming home or going away?” she asked.
“Away, on a work trip,” I answered, removing my headphones. I was semi-interested in starting a conversation with a stranger,if only to help keep my mind off the rocky descent. “What about you?”
She smiled peacefully. “Coming home. I’ve been away visiting one of my sons.”
“How nice.”
“What do you do for work?”
“I’m an interior designer.”
“Oh, how fascinating. Have you got a project in the city?”
“Yes, but I’m also here for the Building and Design Expo,” I explained. “Actually, it's more like a conference. The industry comes together over a week to discuss trend forecasts, tech enhancements and development projects. That sort of thing.”
