War Zones and Paradise

Chapter Sixteen, Part Two - Don't Let Me Go

Buster was a stupid name for a dog, but lucky for Tyler, it was just right for a puppy.

Two days after Christmas, Tyler strolled through the bedroom door, a little brown bundle in the crook of his arm, and a cheesy grin on his adorable face.

"A-w-w-w! Gimme-gimme-gimme!" I ran to the pair, picking up the tiny German Shepherd, and lifting him in the air like a baby. "How was his walk?"

"Well, it was a little rocky at first. He wanted to go home with this lady's golden retriever, and then tried to eat this one kid's ice-cream—but he totally redeemed himself by peeing on this really annoying fan. It was an Olympic-worthy moment for puppies for everywhere."

"Well, I see you're rubbing off on him. I'm sure he'll wind up in doggy-jail very soon." Tyler followed as I walked back to the corner of the room, where I'd set up my yoga mat and hand weights. "Hey, little guy." I scratched Buster on his fuzzy head. "You wanna help me do my stretches, huh? Yeah! Yeah! Let's do some stretches--"

"Ali..."

"Yep?"

"Are you sure you're not... overdoing it? Shouldn't you be in bed, resting?"

"Tyler, I feel fine, really." I sat down, cross-legged, with Buster in my lap. "I'm just a little tired, but that's normal at this point. The doctor said I had to take it easy, he didn't say I had to quit my job, or quit yoga."

"Yet."

"Ty-ler..." I narrowed my eyes, challenging him to kill my vibe. When will he get it? When will he understand how important this is?

Tyler looked down at me, concern written in his big emerald eyes. "Alright, fine, I'll back off--and feel free to do more exercises with B. Really, I want this little runt to be mean as fuck, but friendly at the same time. That way, he makes a good impression when he starts his service dog training. And then we'll get our Good Doggy Discount."

I laughed, but he wasn't kidding. Tyler already had the pup's first appointment on the books. The day he turned eighteen months, Buster would begin his training. One day, his skills would be honed enough to see my anxiety attacks coming, and maybe even prevent them. It was the best gift Tyler had ever given. It was also the scariest.

Dogs meant commitment.

A dog, meant Tyler couldn't walk away.

A dog, meant I couldn't die.

"By the way, are you certain you wanna invite Peyton to our New Year's party? I really don't see a reason she needs to be there--unless you plan on setting her hair on fire or something. But they should have extinguishers at the restaurant."

"Oh, stop, you know I was kidding. New year, new leaf, right? I texted Peyton, I invited Peyton, me and Peyton are good. I still have to work with her, plus Cody's my brother--nobody's going anywhere. We need to start getting along."

Tyler looked off to the side, shaking his head, fresh ink revealed on his neck. The magazines and the Internet had so many theories, and opinions...

So did I.

A skull--bloody roses in the sockets; a black snake for a tongue. What does it mean to him? This time, I didn't have to ask. The tattoo spoke very clearly of death--a beautiful one. I looked down at my arms, where the puppy nipped playfully at my palms. Buster was here too, and he reminded me of the living. Suddenly, realization hit--I wasn't the only one at odds here. Tyler fought this life-or-death battle with me, in his own way.