The Wildflower Series

by Rachelle Mills

We’ve both been through trauma, both of our situations so different, but trauma nonetheless. We have both faced it alone. Maybe it’s time just to take a chance on something that can be so good.”

“That makes me angry, Rya. I just don’t understand that. I can’t comprehend how awful your juvenile years were. Trust me when I say this: you are part of the pack now. Never will you ever be treated that way again, ever!” A ferocity in his tone has a raw growl slipping out his chest.

“It was from the effort I put into my fight for what I thought was mine.”

Love twists your soul, spiraling you into something different, something you thought you would never become.

It’s funny how if you talk about certain traumas in your life enough, it somehow gets just a little easier to come to grips with what was done.

This hits hard from someone that has her own trauma. Talking can help.

He saw something in me that I still don’t see in myself. He saw a life that just needed a chance to breathe again.”

Trust me, I want you to choose me…not by default, not because you want to get back at him. I want you to choose me because you want me, love me. I can be everything you want, everything you need. I just want you to see this for yourself.”

“Could you ever love me the way you loved her?” Without hesitation in his voice, he answers. “I could love you more.” I believe him. “Rya, please don’t feel as if you will ever be second to her. She was my past, but you’re my future.”

I need to feel him. I have to feel him.

His body tenses, an inhaled breath before he buries himself as deep as he possibly can, coating my insides with his seed. He makes a low sound deep in his chest while saying my name. I can feel him pulsing inside my core. He has so much that it’s dripping out between my legs. I think even his toes are curling along with mine.

“If I start acting like a fool, I want you just to thunder punch me in the throat, drop me hard. Put me out of my misery.” Somehow his words cut the tension, and we all start to laugh.

You are important, you are supposed to be loved and cherished, and that’s what I will spend the rest of my life doing. It’s my moon’s promise to you. All you have to do is believe in me, in us.”

A fairy tale ending is what I have always wanted since I was a little pup, the prince on his white horse sweeping me off my feet, riding off into the sunset, happily ever after. I’m not the Cinderella of my stories past. I’m not perfect, I’m not a princess, but I am loved like a fairytale ending. He is my ending. He’s not perfect, but for me, he is. We have created our own fairytale, our own personal hand-holding walk into the sunset.

I can’t say a word; my teeth won’t allow it because of a knotted-up throat. Difficult to let even a swallow down. My glasses fall off the bridge of my nose, and I don’t put them back on, not right away. I like the blurry. I like the feeling of my wrist held in the palm of his hand. The weight of him, gentle and caring. A shiver shuffles between spinal bones. This is enough, I think. This is more than enough for now. Him holding me. It’s enough. For now.