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Marin:
Babes. Check in. Did he shave? Did he look at you like he’s trying not to beg? Has his Scorpio moon made eye contact with your nervous system lately?
Marin:
Be honest babes. Is there a re-collaring-in-retrograde or do I need to prepare for a plot twist?
Seriously, how I get anything done in my life with these three is beyond me. They form an emotional task force the second I blink weird. I take one deep breath and my brothers are planning the Gage Reunion Tour; Marin’s pulling tarot cards like it’s a live crime scene, going through the cards like she’s dusting for fingerprints, trying to solve the mystery of “is Gage Black in the picture or not”; and everyone’s acting like I’m one silence away from spontaneously re-collaring myself in public.
Which, rude.
Because I’m not.
I’m very private about my self-destruction.
Three months.
That’s how long it’s been since I asked Gage to take off the collar.
Three months of therapy, of digging through emotional rubble with shaking hands. Of sitting in a room with my therapist who asks me how I feel and trying not to answer with jokes or polished sentences. Of figuring out all the ways I was molded by expectations and unlearning that.
I’ve made progress.
I don’t freeze every time I feel fear in my body. I don’t hear James’s voice in my head anymore. I don’t spiral the same way I used to.
James no longer finds his way in under my skin. In fact, I rarely see him. Even when we’re collecting or dropping Sarah off to each other, we have a system in place where I don’t have to see him. My idea. And one I’ve stuck to my guns on. Let’s just say that his takedown did wonders for my peace of mind. And I’m pretty sure I have Gage to thank for that.
God,Gage.
Missing him isn’t sharp anymore. It’s heavy. Constant and woven into my bones. It’s like carrying a song in your chest that never finishes playing. Never resolves. Just lingers. Painful in an intimate, quiet, unbearable way.
I still see him. At drop-offs. Pick-ups. Our daughters weaving through chaos with their matching backpacks while I stand on one side of the crowd and he stands on the other.
Sometimes, our eyes meet.
And it takes everything in me not to walk across and throw my arms around him like the last three months were just a very bad dream.
But I don’t.
Because I said I needed to heal.
Because he deserves the version of me that won’t run when everything gets too loud in my head and my body.
The noise in my mind that spins worst-case scenarios until I can’t hear reason.
And the noise in my body that mistakes safety for danger and tells me to run, even when I’m being loved.
I’m learning to live with that noise.
That’s why I needed space. To understand that the danger isn’t always external. Sometimes it’s memory. Sometimes it’sme.
And Gage? He gave me that space.
Not the kind that people talk about giving while secretly waiting for you to break first.
Real space.
The kind that holds you from a distance without pulling.