I’m pulling a pan of homemade mac and cheese out of the oven when I hear a door close. “Hey Michael, I made some lunch if you’re hungry. Do you think I could run to the grocery store in a little bit?” When I turn, I see Masen standing in the doorway. I straighten my back, and my guard goes up. I’m not sure if I’ll be seeing my kind, bossy man or the Alpha.

When moments pass and he doesn’t speak, I turn and continue writing my list. I know he hasn’t left the kitchen yet. I blank my mind and slowly erect a wall there. I have no idea if it’ll work. I hear him turn to leave, and my heart falls. I’m not sure what I was expecting from Masen, but his total indifference was not it.

I leave my list and lunch and head outside to the front porch. I distract myself thinking about what I need. Clothes seem the most important. I only have a few bras and panties left. I know I need to use Masen’s computer or ask him to have someone take me shopping. Online will probably be my best bet. I’m just not eager to face him. When I think about everything I have to replace, I experience a loss I wasn’t expecting. I know it’s just mostly clothes and shoes, but I had to live a long time in hand-me-downs or resale shop finds. It wasn’t until I was on my own I started to buy things for myself. I only splurged on a few things. Hell, I still hit the resale shops, sometimes, but it’s because I want to, not because it’s my only option.

Everything just keeps piling up. I feel like I’m in crisis or recovery mode, constantly. I just can’t seem to find my compass. I can’t understand how one minute I feel so protected, then the next, he’s who I need protection from. I need to stand back and look at things without my emotions clouding my judgment. The problem is I don’t know how.

I’ve been outside for about fifteen minutes when Masen comes out. He must have showered. His hair is damp, and he wears only a pair of dark gray sweats low on his hips. My heart rate triples as he takes the seat across from me. I add another layer to my wall. He eyes me warily as he sits.

“I was way out of line today. I’m sorry.”

I hope I can do this without tears or yelling. “Masen, can you tell me exactly what you’re sorry for?”

“Ah, erm...” I’ve surprised him. “I should have never put my hands on you in anger,” he says quietly. He’s ashamed. “I never should have yelled at you or spoken to you that way.”

I sigh. “See, Masen, I think if you could have just answered my question all of that could have been avoided. Had you said we’ll talk about it later, I would have waited. Why didn’t you just tell me?”