Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78566 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
He just had the patience of a saint.
And the heart of an elephant.
I adored him.
Which only made me even more frustrated because I’d been seeing Malc less because of the whole ‘rejection scenario.’ Since I’d been the rejectee of Malcolm’s best and oldest friend, Rowe.
Even just thinking his name sent a stabbing sensation somewhere in the vicinity of my Manipura chakra.
“Hey,” Malcolm said, squatting down in front of me, lowering his head, and giving me the kind of unwavering eye contact that told me he wasn’t going to let it drop. “You’ve been off for months,” he told me, tearing up the script I’d written for myself that said I’d been hiding things pretty well. “I know you are always the one of the group who helps everyone else with their issues and emotions, but who’s got you?” he asked. “Someone’s gotta have you, Billie. You can’t take on all their shit, and have no one to turn to yourself.”
I wish it was their shit.
It was always so much easier to handle someone else’s big emotions than learn to process and heal from your own.
The problem was, I had the toolkit for my friends and family and clients. I knew what to hand them to help them build up or break down, whichever suited them most at that time.
I didn’t have my own toolkit.
Because I’d gotten to a point where very little stuck to and in me. It had been a mantra of my life that I needed to let everything pass through me.
People, places, hopes, expectations, situations, conversations. They all just passed right through me.
I believed when you let them get stuck was when they started to wreak havoc on you, making you anxious and depressed and unsure of yourself.
But because that had been my way of approaching life, I had no defenses up to block something from hitting me because I’d naively believed nothing could.
Until it did.
“I’m okay,” I assured Malcolm.
“But not good,” he said.
“No,” I agreed. “Not good. But that’s okay. Everything has its season. Good will come back.”
“Not sure life is like the changing of seasons, Billie,” Malc reasoned. As he would. Because he was a rational sort of person.
“Then you aren’t looking closely enough,” I told him, giving him what I hoped was a soft, serene smile.
I wanted him to drop it.
Because I was only so good at covering up my feelings, since I generally didn’t believe in doing that. If he pressed, he was eventually going to make me spill all the details. That couldn’t happen. I didn’t want to drive a wedge between Malc and Rowe.
Sure, they were old friends. But Malc and I were, in everything but actual blood, family. He would feel the need to side with me. I didn’t want to be the reason for a rift.
“I have to get going. I have a reiki session in a couple hours,” I told him, hopping up, and leaning down to roll up my yoga mat.
“Reiki. Is that more of the sex shit?”
“Sex shit?” I repeated with a smirk. “No. It’s like… energy healing.”
“Oh, okay. Good. Clothes stay on.”
“Malc, have you met me? Clothes never have to stay on,” I teased, enjoying the look of horror on his face.
I left him with that, walking back to my van through the woods, frustrated that my mind was in a dark place, so I couldn’t take in the beauty of Malcolm’s property.
I hoped one day to have a plot of land of my own like his. Somewhere that I could get lost in nature, grow wildflowers and native plants to feed the birds and bees, where I could meditate without neighbors’ misogynistic music thumping against the walls, where I could maybe even host my own outdoor yoga sessions or wellness retreats.
That was the dream.
And to one day get that dream to come true, I busted my butt with my dozen or so side hustles, socking away as much as possible for the future while not negatively impacting my enjoyment of the present.
Hence the last-moment reiki session when I already had a day packed full of classes.
It was a good thing I loved my work.
It took from me, yes, but it also fed me. If that made any sense.
“4A!” a familiar voice called as I climbed out of my van after parking at my building. “4A!” she called again, making me close my eyes and pull in a grounding breath. Because I knew what was going to follow.
“Yes, Mrs. Barnard?” I asked. “What is it?” I added, knowing she had a problem. She always did. With literally everything, but especially with me. Ever since that one time she walked past my window and saw me walking around my own apartment naked. Apparently, I’d scarred her and her dog for life.
Ever since then, it had been her mission to take issue with my very existence.