Page 37 of The Cowboy's Cabaret

“Good morning to you too. Another sleepover, huh? I’m starting to think you only use me like your personal melatonin,” he says jokingly.

“It would seem so. Come on, let’s get ready, I want waffles.” I yank the blankets off of us, accidentally flashing my boyshort covered lower half where my tee has ridden up. Wes’ sleepy gaze turns molten as his eyes travel down my body shamelessly. He doesn’t even try to hide his stare as I move to sit up. I take the opportunity to drink him in, sleepy and sexy, before I smack him in the head with my pillow. “Let’s go, Lover Boy.” I’m giggling my way into my bedroom like a lovesick fool and I decide not to worry about it, just for today.

Wes is dressed like a slutty rockstar, Vans and Dickies cargos, and I’m wearing a tube top, jean miniskirt and my trusty Docs. As we near September, the heat is becoming morebearable, so I can wander the city without breaking records for sweatiest woman in America. My small crossbody is loaded with baby wipes and my anti-chafe stick because a bitch has learned the hard way these luscious thighs can and will start a fire with the friction.

After we absolutely demolishtwo fat stacks of waffles at Moon Palace, Wes suggests we hit the record shop down the block. As we walk, a sense of ease settles my mind and I find myself drawn to Wes more and more. There’s this pull to him I’m getting tired of fighting. It’s times like this when I wonder if the risk of love might actually be worth it.

Somehow, my twisted brain turns these thoughts into fear and I soon find myself starting to freak out. Anxiety makes no sense—I feel happy and calm for once in my fucking life, and my instinct is to panic because the feelings shouldn’t be possible. It’s almost as if my anxiety is such a constant, I don’t know how to live without it. What a sad fucking thought.

My self-induced spiral quickly takes a turn to insulting myself, which is par for the course. Who could deal with this? Who in their right mind would want to love someone who talks themselves into a panic attack while walking down the street, arguably having a lovely morning with a great friend?

Wes has enough on his plate as is. It would be selfish of me to add to it with my constant unease. Right when I think I could potentially exist in the peace of Wes’ love, the universe tips the scales out of my favor by showing me again and again, it wouldn’t be worth it.

I must be silent longer than I realize because we’re outside the record store in what feels like no time. Wes stands by thewindow silently appraising me, eyebrows raised. “What?” I ask gruffly. I don’t mean to snipe, but I’ve worked myself up so bad I’m agitated and questioning why Wes is even here with me.

“Dahlia. Look at me.” He moves closer until our feet are near touching. “What’s going on in that head of yours? You went from giggling and harassing me about my syrup preferences to silence. What changed?”

I flinch like I’ve been slapped. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to harass you. I didn’t realize I was being so bothersome. Let’s just go.” I know I’m being unreasonable, but at this point I feel like a runaway train and I don’t know how to stop. I move to walk past him when he sidesteps and blocks my path, leaving us toe to toe again. His hands come up like he wants to touch me, but quickly fall to his sides as he thinks better of it. Of course, he’s going to keep his distance because I’m acting insane.

“Hey, slow down. I was kidding. You couldn’t bother me if you tried. We don’t have to do anything. I’m right here. If you’re feeling anxious, we can take a second. Tell me what you need.” This time he does gently take my hand and pull me to the side of the building, where there’s a small alcove to stand in. He guides me to lean against the wall and looks at me the way you’d look at an animal you’re unsure will claw your eyes out or show you its belly.

“Take a breath. We’re good. I’m good. We’re standing here outside the record store, right? Nothing bad is happening right now.”

Unfortunately, the floodgates open because I’m so touched by his care, I’m crying. Great. I feel so out of control and I’m so fucking mad at myself. He takes my shaking hands in his and I launch myself into his chest. He hugs me so tightly, the pressure feels so good. “You’re okay,” he whispers into my hair.

“I’m s-sorry. I’m trying to calm down, I really am. I just…I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I don’t want to ruin our day.” I’m well and truly blubbering now.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. I think I could spend the rest of my natural life searching and I wouldn’t be able to find one thing wrong with you. I’m having one of the best days I’ve had in a very long time and it’s because I’m with you.” I look up at him and he moves to wipe my tears with his thumbs, he’s cradling me so gently it makes more tears spill over. “My Dahlia, it’s okay.” I bury my face in his chest and we stand there until I feel like I can speak without the hysterics.

“I’m sorry. I—on the walk here, I realized I wasn’t feeling anxious at all. I was feeling happy and good. It’s like the second the thought registered, it all went away. Almost like I was lured into a trap, my happiness drawing me in and as soon as I got it, the door to the cage slammed shut and I’m locked in fear. Over nothing, over everything. It’s exhausting and so goddamn stupid.”

The words are pouring out of me now and I want to tell Wes everything. How my brain attacks me, how it makes me act like an asshole when really I’m shutting down. How I feel so safe in his arms. How being in his arms is one of the scariest places for me to be because I’m so close to love, I can feel it.

Wes’ rough fingers tilt my chin up to him and he looks at me with so much care I want to melt into the floor right now. What would it take to allow myself to fall with him? What would it cost me?

“I’ll be here with you through it all. I should’ve noticed you were so quiet and tried to help sooner. I want to be a safe person for you, like you are for me. It’s not stupid, your feelings are not stupid. Anxiety is stupid, but you are not. What helps when this happens?”

“Normally if I’m home, I’ll go to sleep or lie with Daphne in bed.” I choke out a laugh. “But if I’m out like this, I usually silently freak the fuck out. Or I get bitchy with people, like I did to you and that’s not fair.”

“I do the same when I’m having a hard time. I’ve taken a punch from Jasper when I was a confused and sad teenager, and thrown far too many in my own sadness. It sucks, but we can move forward, right? I know it’s not personal, but now I know what to look for when we’re together. I can help a bit sooner, or at the very least distract you during the anxiety.”

“Your hug helped. A lot,” I blurt out. “I don’t know if it was the pressure or being held, but it felt really good.” My breathing is uneven and I realize we’re still holding each other in this grimy alleyway.

“Noted. You want to head home?” he asks.

“Not a chance. Let’s keep exploring, I think I’m getting a second wind.” With my renewed confidence, Wes guides us into the record store where we end up giving each other fake scenarios to pick out the best album to go along with it. Wes has me rolling on the floor when I suggest losing your virginity, but your partner thrusts to the beat of the song playing and he picks up the ultimate nineties’s banger, “What is Love” by Haddaway. When he starts thrusting his hips and loudly singing, I declare it’s time to go before we get kicked out for public indecency.

We spill into the street, folded in half from laughing so hard when Wes spots our next destination and drags me along behind him.

Salvation Ink is nestledbetween a bodega and laundromat, but it’s where Daphne and I always go for new artwhen we have the money. Walking in is like stepping back in time to prohibition. The entire lobby is adorned in Gatsby-esque decor with velvet chaise lounges and speakeasy vibes.

The owner, Marie, is a tall, showstopper of a woman. We met at Cunting Season as she frequents our Lady Love special events. She’s super fucking cool and her art is to die for, Wes currently looks like a kid at Disney World.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is.” Marie struts towards me, engulfing me in a massive hug. “My girl, I’ve been missing you.” She points to Wes. “And you, who is this manly man, Miss D?” Marie is making a very exaggerated eyebrow waggle towards Wes and I blush like an asshole.

“Marie, this is Wes. Wes, this is Marie, tattoo queen and local baddie.” The two shake hands and I can tell Wes is in heaven talking to her about art. Wes and I decide to get tattoos, in honor of submitting our grant proposal and because he says that’s what besties do. He gets a four-leaf clover tattooed on a free spot near his elbow and I opt to get a small apple on my inner wrist. No reason.

Dusk is fallingover the city as we walk side by side until we’re nearing my apartment. The temperatures are definitely dropping as the evening approaches and I’m freezing my ass off. My Floridian blood has not adjusted to this chill in all these years.