The Hunting Wives

by May Cobb

“You don’t feel worthy of love, or stability, because of the way you were raised. On some fundamental level, you’re drawn to those who don’t want you, because you didn’t feel wanted by your mom or your dad,” she said, lighting another cigarette with her dark purple lighter. “So when everything is going great, your instinct is to wreck it. But you do deserve happiness, Soph. You can be whole. This isn’t just some psychobabble bullshit. I really mean it.”

it seemed like the kind of place where I could conform to the version of my very best self.

As it turns out, you can’t outrun who you are. My darker urges simply followed me here and are even more amplified because it’s so quiet, and sometimes so boring.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH me? Why can’t I be content with normal, quiet, lovely things? I mean, I am happy; there’s part of me that is fulfilled by all of this, but obviously, there’s another part that is decidedly not. I feel terrible even having these feelings; Graham is golden. Maybe everyone secretly feels this way about their lives?

I sometimes catch myself staring at Graham, at his open happiness and fulfillment with family life, and find myself envious of how uncomplicated, how simple his needs seem to be. I’m tired of being the complicated one.