Mixed Feelings Novels & Stories

I don't know how to react, what to think or feel. I stare at him, gawping, somehow rooted to my spot, anger consuming me, mixed emotions swirling around me like a dense fog. Pain, then relief, some inkling of joy and hope, but it all swirls back around to agonizing shards of biting fear as I try and absorb that this is real.

I feel him looking at the side of my face, his head tilted to see me properly. I turn to look at him. "I just don't know how to feel. One moment I'm ecstatic, and the next I feel utterly miserable. Then I feel guilty that I have three amazing mates right here, and I'm still upset about the one who's not. Why can't I just be grateful?" He smiles sadly at me and kisses my forehead.

“No, he likes us. Ah know it.” I didn’t agree with either of them. My strongest emotion was ambivalence, which was why the whole magic being bound to feelings seemed suspect to me. The things I liked and the things I disliked weren’t all that different to me.Good and bad weren’t two sides of the same coin, they were the same side of the same coin. Just on different days. It would have been a waste of energy trying to explain that to Flossie, so I didn’t. Let her think what she wanted.

It seemed that everything he did had the power to silence me. He repeated his apologies in a whisper, over and over again. I parted my quivering lips, overwhelmed by the sudden surge of emotions coursing through me. It was a chaotic mix of nervousness, fear, anger, pity, and perhaps even a hint of joy. You're impossible, Exelle. Are you actually finding joy in this? It was a laughable thought. Nevertheless, I didn't want to succumb to these feelings, no matter how small they might be.

There was a mix of sadness and anger, but it couldn't be expressed in words. ***

Jacqueline lashed out her anger at him, knocking down many objects as she made her points. Richard did not see a scary, unstable brat as others saw; instead, he saw a sad and angry underappreciated child, sad that she had lost the only person who gave her the time of day and angry at the world. She just saw him as a readily available vessel to take her frustrations. When she was done talking, she bit her lips hard, trying her best not to cry. She would not show her weakness before this man. She spun around and faced the wall, folding her arms across her chest.

“Both.” I stare down at my hands resting over the blanket. “Physically?” I murmur. “Like I got hit by a truck.” That earns me a soft huff of laughter. “But emotionally” My voice trails off. Because how do I even explain this feeling? This strange mixture of fear and grief and anger and relief all tangled together inside me. “I don’t know,” I admit quietly. Kumba watches me carefully. “You don’t have to figure everything out tonight.” His voice is so gentle it almost breaks me.

We shared a laugh, but it died down shortly, and awkward silence replaced it. “Do you want to talk about what you’re feeling?” “I don’t know what I’m feeling if I’m being honest. I’m in limbo—stuck in the middle of happiness and something else,” I confessed. “Survivor’s guilt.” There goes that pesky phrase again.

The shift in public sentiment is a relief, but it also brings a new set of emotions. I sit in my office, looking out the window, contemplating everything that has happened. The rollercoaster of emotions is exhausting—frustration, relief, gratitude, and an underlying current of apprehension. My mind drifts to the comments from before, the ones questioning my worthiness, and how similar they were to what I heard during my marriage to Adam. It’s disheartening to realize that no matter how much I achieve, there will always be those who doubt my worth.

She expresses herself no matter which situation she is in. But like people say: Too much of something can become harmful. I appreciate that Ash says things like they are, but sometimes her honesty hurts. Last week, We boarded a cab, and -oh my God- no one on earth would be able to withstand the odor coming from those seats. The old man driving tried talking with us to distract us from the odor. He cracked jokes and even tried singing, but Ash eventually shouted, "Excuse me, sir" She interrupted. "talking or whatever you are trying to do won't make us forget this grease-pit we're in. I am going to work, not a fucking garbage dump!"