CAN WILD THOUGHTS BE TAMED?

Mia's POV

I stood there clutching the invitation as I stared at him like he'd just spoken another language.

Chris just pulled his boxers on and sat on the edge of the bed with his phone in his hand already.

“You’re being dramatic,” he said, as if I was the one who lost it. “We never said we were engaged, Mia. You know that. You’re the one who kept saying ‘no pressure.’ This is on you.”

My mouth opened and nothing came out at first.  

All the nights I paid his rent when his scholarship fell short.  

All the times I skipped my own classes to drive him to practice.  

Every dollar I saved from my part-time job that went straight into his gas tank, his textbooks, his stupid protein powder.  

Every weekend I spent doing his laundry because he said he was too stressed.  

Every time I turned down dates, turned down trips, turned down anything that wasn’t him.

I felt the anger rise so fast it burned my throat.

“On me?” I repeated. “I gave you two years of my life. I gave you everything. I paid your fucking bills while you were figuring your life out. And now you sit there and tell me I’m dramatic because you’re marrying my best friend?”

He didn’t even look up from his phone. “You’re twisting it. I never asked you to do any of that. You wanted to. That was your choice.”

Tears pushed hard behind my eyes. I sniffed once, tilting my head up as I swallowed them back down because I refused to cry in front of him.

I bent down, grabbed my panties off the floor, pulled them on with shaky hands. 

Then my leggings… My bra… My tank top. 

Everything was sticky, wrinkled, and smelling like us. But I didn't care.

“Mia, come on,” he sighed, still not moving an inch. “It’s one in the morning. Just sleep it off.”

I didn't respond…

I zipped my shirt, grabbed my phone, and keys.  

I walked to the door, opened it, stepped into the hallway, and waited.

I waited for his footsteps.

I waited for him to come get me, grab me, pull me back, say he was sorry, say it was a mistake… say anything at all.

But there was nothing…

Just the hum of his fridge and the light under his door staying on.

I'll prefer a stab in the heart than how I'm feeling right now as I clutched my shirt and rumpled it against my chest.

I spent my entire life pleasing him — goddamn me, I learnt how to suck a cock from him.

All of my bad sides, I learnt from him.

Then the realization hit me… I loved him more than I loved myself.

I turned around, walked back inside, and stood in the doorway.

“Why didn’t you follow me?” My voice cracked as I felt entirely stupid for not leaving. “Is that how much you want me gone?”

Chris finally looked up, shrugged like I asked about the weather.

“I’m not chasing you down the hall at 1a.m. because you’re throwing a tantrum. Grow up, Mia.”

And that was it.  

That was the exact second I realized I was trash to him.  

Something he used when it was easy and threw away the second it asked for more.

I nodded once, turned around, and walked out for good.

But, can I ever forget him? I should be really angry, I should be tearing his world apart, but I just couldn't.

And for once, I didn't think that heartbreak would feel like this…

I walked towards my car and zoomed off to nowhere in particular until I saw the popular bar called “Code Red” — I pulled over.

As I got out, I could see the preying eyes of men. Surely if they could, they'd have used their eyes to rip off my clothes and fucked me in 77 different sex styles.

I didn't mind them, I just walked over the counter.

“One vodka soda, double lime,” I said, dropping my purse on the sticky bar top.

The bartender raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask questions. He just poured a heavy double vodka, topped it with soda, shoved two lime wedges on the rim, and slid it over.

I wrapped both hands around the cold glass like it was the only thing holding me together. One long pull and half of it was gone.

The burn felt good like it could scrub him off my skin.  

I stared at the remaining half and told myself: finish this one and the next, and maybe by the third I’ll stop hearing his voice saying grow up, Mia. Maybe by the fourth I’ll stop feeling his hands on me like they still belonged there. Maybe by last call I’ll forget I ever loved him at all.  

I tipped the glass back and drained it.  

“Another,” I said before the ice even stopped rattling.

Then the stool next to me scraped and a guy sat down, late forties, leather jacket, helmet thudding onto the bar. He ordered a Jack and Coke, double, then turned to me like we were old friends.

“Name’s Tom,” he said, offering a hand. I shook it quickly.

“Mia.”

“Nice to meet you, Mia.” He got his drink, took a sip, and just started talking. “Been on the road three days straight. I live alone now, a little place outside Tucson. Ex took the dog, the house, everything but my bike and half my tools. Get up, work on engines, drink beer, go to sleep. That’s the routine. Gets old, you know?”

I stared at my glass and gave a small nod. Why the hell was he telling me this?

He kept going. “Sometimes I talk to the TV just to hear a voice. Stupid, right? I'm forty-eight years old and I’m basically a hermit.”

I opened my mouth to say I didn’t care, but he beat me to it.

“Anyway, that’s why I’m here. My kid suddenly remembers I exist, and says he wants me at his wedding next month. The first time he’s asked me for anything since he was sixteen.”

For once I turned to stare at him…

He took another drink. “December sixth at some fancy vineyard. Willow Crest Estate. Can you believe that? Kid’s getting married and I’m supposed to show up like nothing ever happened.”

My fingers went cold around the glass…

That's the same address and date on Chris's fucking invitation…

“Aren’t you telling a complete stranger way too much?” I asked.

Tom just shrugged. “Half the town already knows. Kid’s the new FIM Grand Prix World Champion. His face is on every billboard from here to the coast.”

Everything locked into place.

Except the last piece.

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked, already tasting it.

He looked straight at me. “Chris Reid.”

I didn’t blink. “Never heard of him.”

Then the thought slammed into me so hard I couldn't resist how evil it'd sound…

If I walked out of this bar with his father…  

If I let Tom take me home tonight…  

If I married the man sitting right here…

I’d be Chris Reid’s stepmother.

I’d show up to that wedding on December sixth.

I slid off the stool, purse already in my hand, and leaned in close enough that only he could hear.

“Wanna get out of here?” I asked.