Heart of the Wolf

Lynn's POV: The bell above the flower shop door chimed, and my heart sank as Alan stumbled in, his eyes wild and unfocused. I forced a smile, praying my coworkers wouldn't notice anything amiss. "Hey babe," he slurred, leaning heavily on the counter. "Whatcha working on?" I kept arranging the bouquet in front of me, willing my hands not to shake. "Just filling some orders. Everything okay?" Alan's gaze darted around suspiciously. "Who've you been talking to?" "Just customers," I said lightly, though inside I was crumbling. How had it come to this? The man I loved was reduced to a paranoid shell of himself. "You sure about that?" He leaned in close, his breath sour. "Don't lie to me, Lynn." I met his bloodshot eyes, my chest aching. "I would never lie to you, Alan. I love you." He nodded jerkily and stumbled back out. As soon as he was gone, I excused myself for my break, barely making it to the storeroom before the tears came. I sank behind a mountain of flowers waiting to be sorted, burying my face in my hands as quiet sobs wracked my body. The sweet floral scent that usually brought me such joy now felt cloying and suffocating. My stomach was a twisted mess of emotions. Two years and this is what my life is. God, I wish I could just let him go. But something kept pulling me back, no matter how much it hurt. It was like I was tied to him... no chained to him by some sort of invisible force that tore my chest apart every time I tried to walk away. I'm too kind... Or crazy... I hated what the addiction had done to him - to us. If only he could get clean, and be the man I knew he could be. We met when he was sober. He was happy and loving. Always spoke kindness and support and had all the patience in the world. But then he fell into a bad crowd. People who claimed to be his friend but used him and got him involved with meth and other hard drugs. He went from being my loving Alan to a paranoid, nasty man who acted like a narcissistic asshole. Nothing I did was good enough for him. I worked, washed his laundry, and made food for him even if he never came home. I always put it aside for him so there was something. I bought gifts and did my best to show my love. Although the comments he made always seemed to negate what I did or said. He would tell me loved me and pour his heart out and within seconds turn vile and tell me I was asking for too much and it wouldn't matter what he did, I would never be happy with it. All I wanted was his time, sobriety, love, and patience. I poured out to him what I wanted in return. My stupid ass just keeps clinging on to some sort of idiotic hope. He had overdosed three times and each time he swore he would never touch the s**t again but he always managed to mingle back to it. I would sit around and wait for days wondering if today would be the day I was told his dead body was found. My stomach twisted and bile threatened to rise. The thought of losing him had me breaking at the seams. "Please," I whispered to no one. "Please let him be okay." I wiped my eyes and stood to return to work, I knew nothing would change. And I would keep loving him anyway, even as it slowly destroyed me. As I rose unsteadily to my feet, a gentle but gruff voice startled me from behind. "Are you alright, miss?" I whirled around, hastily wiping at my tear-stained cheeks. My breath caught in my throat as I found myself face-to-face with the most striking man I'd ever seen. Tall and muscular, with intricate tattoos peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves. His piercing blue eyes met mine with concern, framed by tousled black hair. He looked like something out of a storybook or painting. An angel of some sort. I had to internally hit myself to get myself to respond to this man. "I-I'm fine," I stammered, trying to compose myself. The scent of earth and pine washed over me, a stark contrast to the cloying floral perfume that permeated the storeroom. He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "You don't look fine. Can I help?" For a moment, I was tempted. His presence exuded a calm strength that made me want to pour out all my troubles. But Alan's face flashed in my mind, twisted with jealous suspicion. Alan is the only man or person I should be pouring my soul out to. "No, really, I'm okay," I insisted, taking a step back. "Just... allergies. From the flowers." "If you say so," he replied, his voice patient but skeptical. "I'm Adonis, by the way." My heart raced. I needed to end this conversation before Alan somehow found out. I felt a huge pang of guilt even thinking he was attractive. That was wrong of me. I am a terrible person. "Nice to meet you. I should get back to work." As I hurried past him, I couldn't help but think how easy it would be to lose myself in those blue eyes, to let someone else shoulder my burdens for once. But I squashed the thought immediately. I loved Alan. I would do anything for him, had already done everything for him. Even if he couldn't see it through the haze of his addiction. I fought the urge to look over my shoulder to get one last glimpse at this Adonis. "I'm not giving up on you Alan," I whispered to myself as I returned to the shop floor, Alan's gaunt face burned into my mind. No matter how much it hurt, I would stand by him. Because that's what love meant... right?