Page 94 of Wild Thing
“Alright I’ll measure, you write.”
Twenty-Six
DYLAN
For a while, my mind wasn’t thinking the filthiest things about him.
We made our way around the room, cross checking measurements together and discussing the project. He was curious around my skillset as an interior designer. He challenged my thinking on some choices, yet respected them when I justified certain design decisions.
I wondered what it might be like if this was my future. Brax was so many things that Zack wasn’t. He was supportive, understanding and legitimately interested in my life and my career.
Zack couldn’t care less about what I did for living, or what my passions were. Zack didn’t even know I was a talented artist. He'd never even seen me draw.
I was like a trophy to Zack. Someone who looked good on his arm, that he could parade around to his douchebag finance friends. I felt like an idiot for even falling into a relationship with someone so arrogant.
When I thought back to pivotal moments in our relationship, there was no doubt he was controlling and possessive. Qualities that he carefully hid at first.
It irked him that I worked in a male dominated industry, made worse due to the one and only time he came to a function with me.
He’d met Steven, who was his usual slimy self. Zack accused me of flirting with him, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. We ended up having a huge fight, with Zack admitting that he didn’t really want me to work. At all.
That alone was a giant red flag. But instead of ending it, like I should have, I swept it under the rug.
I hated that I dumbed myself down for him.
Reflecting on it while I took reference photos, I realized how beaten into submission I had become.
I looked over at Brax, who was squatting down measuring the side of a wall.
He sensed my thoughts were in a dark place. “You alright?”
Placing the camera down, I leaned against the table. “I’m a bit fucked up.”
Brax stood and tossed the measuring tape on the floor. The floorboards creaked as he approached me.
“I don’t think your fucked up.”
“You know what I mean.”
Brax stroked the sides of my face. “What’s happening in that pretty mind of yours?”
“It’s a mess.”
“I like your messy mind,” he said, playfully rubbing my head. He stopped when he realized I wasn't smiling. “You want to talk about it?”
I gave him a closed lipped smile. I wanted to speak with him, but I needed to figure out my own feelings before I could handle his.
Turning back around to the table, I placed the paper, measuring tape, pencils and camera back inside my handbag.
Brax’s tattooed arms appeared on either side of me, his hands palmed on the table. He nuzzled his head into the nape of my neck. I tilted my head to the side, enjoying the comfort his touch brought.
“Tell me something real,” he whispered against my neck, his hot breath sending a shiver down my spine. "What's going on?"
“I hate knowing that I have to let you go again."
His right hand lightly stroked my right arm. “It won't be for long.”
I turned to face him. Our hips were almost touching, our faces mere inches from each other. “I feel really fucking bad.”
