Except the door stays open. I pull my sweater on and grab my purse, warily heading for the open door, clutching my belongings as if they’ll save me. But in reality, do I want to be saved? Well. I do, just not from this man. He’s leaning against the door, waiting for me. Why is he waiting for me? Please don’t hurt me, I think. But you can take me away. Far away from here. If that’s what you want. Am I drunk? I sound it. I walk through the door, out into the parking lot, clicking the unlock button on my key fob, making the lights on my car blink. Once he moves away from the door, I lock it. He’s still standing here. I turn and walk past him, not sure what he’s expecting or why he’s still here.
He follows me. Oh my God. Don’t follow me. Or, do follow me. It might be okay. I look over my shoulder at him. His hands are in his pocket, and he’s smirking at me. Shoot, I’m in trouble. Maybe in a good way. Maybe in a bad way. I get to my car, and he reaches around me and opens the door. “What’s your name?”
I slide into my seat and place my hand down on the door handle. “It’s Daphne.”
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Daphne.” He leans down into the open window, even though, the door is still open. I should learn to close my windows when I leave my car. “If I may say, you don’t look like a Daphne.” And with that, he presses his hand into the side of my door and closes it for me. I know what he meant by that. Trent tells me over and over how ugly my name is. Whatever. I don’t care. I kind of do care. I should leave. As I press on the gas, I somewhat expect him to try and stop me, but instead, he waves and watches as I pull out of the parking lot. That was weird. Right? That was nice. But it was definitely weird.
I’m looking in my rear view mirror, watching the shrinking image of him climb into his truck. What was that?
I need to breathe. I need to forget about that. I’ll just take the long way back to Trent’s. Being alone with my thoughts is almost as good as thinking about Kemper’s hand on my hip. But then that’s not going to help me forget about what just happened. Ugh. The way he looked at me—no one has ever looked at me that way. The simple act of opening my car door was unreal, so unreal. It was like a scene from a movie. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life. Not my life, anyway.
Gazing through the dark roads of Jacksonville, I continue the debate on making my way to Richlands. Part of me would rather stay with Mom and Dad tonight, but the thought of that sort of sickens me too. The two of them fight like they’re in some kind of boxing ring. It’s nothing new, but the older I get, the harder it is to watch. I’d almost be happier sleeping out there in the woods alone, listening to nothing but the wind and the howls of animals. They scare me less than what I usually listen to.
Before I can come to a final decision, I instinctively pull into Trent’s driveway. Or his parent’s driveway, I should say. He lives in his parents’ old house. They supposedly moved away, probably to get as far away from Trent as possible. I realize the way I think about him isn’t okay, but I do love him. Or at least, I love the idea of loving him. We’ve been together for three years. I guess that’s reason enough.
I send him a text to open his garage door. Yeah…that’s how this all works. I have to ask, and he has to answer. To add to the fun, it usually takes him five minutes to find the friggin’ button on his phone, which automatically opens the door for him. He doesn’t even have to move, but I’ve come to know well, I can’t interrupt whatever the hell he’s doing.
When the door finally lifts, I walk in and search the bottom floor for him. He must be upstairs. I take my coat and purse off and fold it under my arm, noting the pile of dishes in the sink and the brown stain of liquid on the floor near the trash. Doing my best to ignore the mess after the long night I had, I shut the light off and head up the stairs. “Trent?”
“Yeah,” he says, clearly preoccupied.
I walk into what used to be, and still looks like his childhood room. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed in his boxers and tube socks playing his stupid video game. I’d roll my eyes, but he wouldn’t see or care.
“I’m going to bed. It was a long shift,” I tell him.
“Pfft. It’s not like you do anything there. What’d you have, five customers tonight?”
“Yeah, around that.” I pull my sheet out from under his bed and roll my coat into a ball. I used to climb into his bed, trying to be cute, pretending to forget about the no bed rule. But it never worked. He’d take what he wanted from me, and I’d be back on the ground within minutes. After a while, I tried to get one of those inflatable mattresses in here, but he got pissed off and said he’d trip over it in the middle of the night. Instead, he trips over me. “I think I’m going to sleep in one of the other rooms tonight.” There are two other bedrooms, and no one is using them right now. Not that I know of anyway. His friends are always crashing here, which is normally why I can’t sleep in another room, but the hallway was quiet when I walked through.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” he says. “Wheezer and Scoobs might be dropping in late night.” It is late night. And because his friends might be coming by, I have to sleep on the floor. I know if I said that out loud, he’d just tell me to go home though. “Well, I’ll go sleep on the couch downstairs.”
“Daphne, cut the shit. Just go to sleep. I’ve told you before, I don’t want anyone walking in, seeing you asleep on the couch.” I stop arguing, knowing it’s useless. I try to stuff some of his clothes under the sheet to give it a little extra padding tonight since my back is aching from that long shift. “Okay fine. I’ll leave and go sleep in my car.” It’s my last useless guilt trip.
“No. You’re sleeping here, next to me. That’s it.” I used to fight back, but it never led anywhere good. I’ve come to realize it’s easier to just do what he says.
I know I’m being an idiot. I do. But I can’t afford my own place and going to my parents’ house really is as bad as I’m making it sound. And my friends—they’re long gone.
I fold the sheet in half and slip inside, fluffing my coat up into a ball. “Shit. Are you really going to bed?” he asks looking back and forth between the TV and me.
“Yeah. I said I’m tired.” Now the Xbox goes off. Now the lights go off. Now I’m allowed on his bed.
I’ll spare you the complete details of what happens next. Because it’s not pretty. But tonight, I vomited all over him, because he went too far. He has a habit of going too far. But he doesn’t care. He threw me a dirty towel and told me to change his sheets. That meant giving him the sheet I sleep on.
Freed from his needs, I curl back up on the ground, wrapping my arms around my coat and holding it the way I wish someone would hold me. When my eyes close, I see Kemper. I wonder how he’s feeling while he falls asleep tonight. He’s probably thinking about his poor brother. It breaks my heart.
* * *
“You were sleeping with a smile on your face last night. Were you thinking about me?” Trent asks, sitting up and doing little to conceal his morning wood.
Yes, Trent, I think. After I choked on your disgusting cock, I was smiling about you.
I don’t respond. I feel angrier than usual this morning. Maybe it’s because I slept on his stiff, ancient carpeting with no sheet or blanket, but I should really be blaming myself for that. Maybe I’m just pissed because I hate what he did to me last night.
I stand up and drop my notebook into my bag and throw it over my shoulder. “What are you writing about?” he asks.
“You,” I give him a coy grin. You as in, what you did to me last night, because some day I’m going to read all of the pages I’ve wasted on him and realize how stupid I am. Or was. Hopefully.
“Aw, babe. That’s sweet. Are you going somewhere?” he asks, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, while scratching his balls with the other.
“The same place I go every morning, Trent.”
“I don’t know why you waste your damn time with that shit. You’re twenty-three, past your prime. Give it up.” I look at him for a long second, debating whe
ther to offer him a response. But I know where it will lead, and I’m not in the mood to sit in this bad breath infused bedroom with the murky sun glowing through his Power Ranger curtains any longer. I scoop up my things and consider leaving him with a kiss. But the closer I get, the more I smell last night’s beer and weed laced with morning breath. Considering my stomach is still on the fritz, I’ll pass.
“Wait—are you coming to the gym later?” he asks.
“Nope. I have to be at work early.” He smiles at this response. It’s a normal thing to smile at, obviously. Insert sarcasm here.
“Why do you have to be at work early?” he asks. And there it is.
“One of the regulars is celebrating his birthday tonight and we’re expecting a large elderly crowd,” I lie. When the guys come home from overseas, the crowd at the bar remains consistent for at least a week.
He nods, believing me, and fluffs up his three pillows before lying back down. “Leave the garage door open on your way out.”
There was a time when I’d ask him why he wants me to leave the garage door open since his friends all have keys. There was a time when I cared. You know, back at the beginning, when everything was supposed to be all rainbows and cupcakes.
Yeah. It was never like that with us.
WHERE TO FOLLOW THE AUTHOR:
To learn more about Shari J. Ryan and to subscribe to her blog, visit her at: www.sharijryan.com
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When Fully Fused (Romantic Suspense) Chloe and Alex are full of surprises in the thrilling final ride of the Schasm series where love knows no bounds and questions all have answers.
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