Heading down NW 113th Avenue, I was on edge. Being so close to the man that basically killed me when I was six years old was not comfortable. His eyes roamed up and down and side to side as he drove down the street that would bring me closer to my best friend. When we passed a house with a young girl playing with a puppy, Mr. Stevenson slowed and eyed her the same way he looked at me, only me. It was a mix of hunger and restraint. It was revolting. Because he shouldn’t be looking at children like that. Seeing it happening to someone who wasn’t me, made something snap inside me. I knew it was wrong; what he did to me, but I never spoke a word of it because I was scared. Scared of what people would say. What Owen would say.
Michael’s large hand left the steering wheel and landed on my jean-clad thigh. I closed my eyes and prayed he didn’t move it any higher.
Please, not after what he did to me in my own home.
“I’m going to miss you, baby girl,” he said, his deep voice causing goose bumps to rise on my skin. “You’re growing up so fast.”
“Can you please just drive?”
I opened my eyes and stared at the two-way street ahead of us. Living in Portland, Oregon my whole life, and always being around Owen, I’d been up and down this street multiple times. We were almost at Owen’s. And I couldn’t wait to get out of this car and give him his gift. Anything to keep the nightmare of what happened less than thirty minutes ago at bay.
It won’t happen again. He promised. He never breaks his promises. Not when I’m involved.
His fingers tightened around my thigh, squeezing hard.
Think of Owen. Think of his present.
I still had to add pictures into the incomplete photo album that I made with some of Mom’s help, and then wrap it up for him. There was enough empty space in the back to fill up in the upcoming years. I couldn’t wait for those moments. Time with Owen; it was my favorite gift.
I gripped the box with the photo album a little harder when Michael’s hand started to inch up my leg.
Oh, God. Please, don’t let this happen.
I thought it was over. He said it was. He said he’d never do it again after what he just did.
He said I wasn’t his anymore.
He let me go.
“Look at me.”
I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because looking at him was like looking at the devil, bargaining for my soul. I might’ve fallen a little more into the dark bottomless hole if I let those last moments creep out of the locked box they resided in.
His hand moved up higher, touching a spot he shouldn’t be touching. Not on any person who wasn’t his wife. Especially not a fourteen-year-old girl.
I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself to believe that he wasn’t doing this again.
I was lying to myself, and it was like he knew it.
“Look at me, Zoë.”
I refused to.
My heart slowed its pace, preferring to stop beating completely than have to relive the nightmare that was my life.
He stepped on the gas pedal a little harder. He knew I was scared of driving too fast. I’d seen too many accidents on the news. I’ve witnessed too many deaths. I felt too much for strangers I didn’t know who lost their lives.
My heart beat faster as my stomach dropped. I wanted to open the car door and throw myself out just so I could be away from this man.
“Zoë, please look at me,” he pleaded. It was amazing how easily he could manipulate someone. I’d always been his victim.
If you look, he might stop.
I turned my head and stared at his forest green eyes; eyes just like Owen’s. They looked so much alike that when I felt my heart race just by being around my best friend, I felt dirty. Because I was in love with my best friend who looked just like his father, the man who has touched me inappropriately for the last eight years.
“You are so beautiful.” He moved his hand away from the apex of my thighs, and wrapped his fingers around my hand, pulling it away from the box meant for his son.
I watched my hand being pulled closer to him. I tried to pull my hand back when it was clear where he wanted my hand to go. “Michael, please. Stop.”
His eyes closed briefly when he set my hand down on his crotch and made me touch him.
He stepped harder on the gas every time I tried to pull my hand away.
Tears streamed down my face as I looked away, not wanting to see what I was doing to him. What he made me do to him for the last five years.
Please make this stop. Please!
I never wanted this. He took advantage of a child. He knew better. When I was six, I didn’t know that girls my age didn’t do those kinds of things to grown men; men the same age as my father. And as I got older, he started to threaten the one person I couldn’t live without.
I never wanted to hurt Owen.
This has to stop.
But Owen…my family…
It will never stop. That was the cold hard truth. As long as I kept my mouth shut this would never end. I promised myself I would never tell Owen. It would kill him. His dad was everything to him. I was just his friend.
Michael curled his fingers around my hand, forcing me to squeeze him. I felt his arousal underneath my palm.
I wanted to vomit.
This has to stop.
I thought about the way he was looking at that little girl. The innocent, little brown haired girl with the cutest giggle that ran across the yard with a boy her age, and a puppy chasing after them. She was only five years old.
She was my best friend’s baby sister.
She was the same age I was when–
He won’t touch her! He can’t.
He wasn’t supposed to touch me and yet, he did.
But she…
He’ll find a way.
He always does.
I made a split decision. I was always scared to speak of what he had done to me, but I refused to let him do it to someone else. I refused to be the reason why that little girl’s world would burn to ashes the way mine has.
I could stop it.
I could end it.
I would end it.
We were going so fast now, everything was blurring together. We were almost at the Stevenson residence. I was running out of time.
I eyed the steering wheel and glanced up at the street and then the side mirror. No one else was on the road. No one else would get hurt.
Do it. Do it now, Zoë.
I let go of the box in my lap and reached over the console, gripping the steering wheel. And I turned it right with all my strength.
I’m so sorry, Owen. I’m sorry, Mom and Dad.
Michael jerked in his seat, trying to grab the steering wheel but it was too late. He was screaming at me, and I was crying, my body stiffening, bracing for impact. I squeezed my eyes shut when realization hit that I was the only one wearing a seatbelt. Michael never did. He thought he was better than them. Nothing could touch him, he’d say. He was invincible.
Then the only sounds I heard were of tires screeching, glass shattering, metal crunching, and bones breaking as the car hit a wooden overhead power line pole head-on.
The world tipped over or maybe it was just me.
Moments passed where there was nothing but silence. I felt weightless. My arms were dangling over my head, the ends of my hair tickling them as the wind blew past me.
I cracked my eyes open slowly, watching photos fluttering around me. All of my memories, all of my happiest moments were mocking me, drifting away with every shaky breath I took.
I blinked a few times, my vision turning spotty as I looked to my left. Everything was upside down. And Michael wasn’t sitting in the driver’s seat.
The dashboard was a crumpled mess. It was so much closer to me than what it was normally supposed to be.
My body started to grow conscious of the pain, and it wasn’t until I heard the police sirens and the fire truck horns that I looked down and saw all the blood, all the glass embedded in my skin, and the weird ang
les my limbs were in.
Blurry objects started moving toward the car.
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth as I tried to speak. The smell of oil burning was strong as smoke filled the space around me. Breathing got harder; it was only going to get worse.
I was prepared to die.
And what made it easier was knowing that Michael was going to join me.
Forgive me. Mom, Dad, Owen…everyone…forgive me.
My eyes drifted closed when the pain became too much.
Let go, Zoë. Don’t be scared. Owen’s voice filled my mind, silencing the pain. I wasn’t trapped in a car anymore, I was with my best friend trying to hop over a fence before we got caught by the police, but it was too high and I wouldn’t jump down. I promise, I’ve got you.
Staring into his eyes, feeling it warm my insides, making me feel safe, I felt myself smile as I finally let go.
I was free.
I run my finger up and down Owen’s forearm in soft, slow strokes. His fingers twitch every time I get close to his wrist. I watch the way goose bumps pebble his skin when I trace over every vein. They’re like a map to his soul.
Mowgli jumps onto the bed and curls up on my pillow, almost scratching out my eyes.
Owen stirs in his sleep, and the hand that is wrapped around my hips tightens, pulling me into him. I missed them. I missed sleeping with him.
After we cried together on the floor last night, we went up to my room and laid in bed until we fell asleep. The nightmares didn’t stop. It would be a miracle if they did.
In books, confessing the truth sets a person free.
In real life, it doesn’t work that way. I’m going to need lots of professional help to overcome all this shit I’ve been building up and hiding. Hell, I might even up in jail if I confess what I did that day of the accident. In real life, there are consequences.
I need to deal with mine.
“Give me today to try and change your mind,” Owen says into my hair, his voice groggy with sleep.
My eyes flutter closed and I shake my head. “I’ll give you today but I’m still leaving.”
Classes start tomorrow but after everything that has happened this past week, I couldn’t bare the thought of walking around campus, dealing with people. I emailed all my professors and asked if I could do everything online because I’ll be in New York for the next ten weeks, interning at a publishing house. I told Owen this when we came upstairs and climbed into my bed. Telling him in the darkness of my room was easier than watching his face crumble with sadness in the light.
“Will you answer my calls?” he whispers, afraid of already knowing the answer.
I turn in his arms, glancing up at his eyes quickly.
Why did he get his father’s eyes?
Why are they the one thing he can’t permanently change?
Why does his father still haunt me long after he’s gone?
“We need a break, Owen,” I confess. “We need…we’ve always been together. It’s not healthy.” His lips turn down into a frown and his eyes show just how much that confession hurts him. “I need to work on a few things. I need to get better. My therapist said this was a good thing. She thinks a change of scenery will help.”
“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Owen objects. “The best thing for you is being around your friends. Around people who love you.”
My eyes drop to his chest, staring at his black t-shirt like it has all the answers. “Being around you breaks my heart.”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. We’re both suspended in this heartbreakingly real moment where the truth dictates our next move.
Owen slides his hand up my side until his thumb and forefinger grab my chin, tilting my head up. He leans forward, his lips meeting mine in a delicate kiss. “Being around you heals mine.”
I grab his right hand and kiss his bandaged knuckles softly. I can’t believe this man ruined his hands when he found out the truth. He bled for me, for us, for everything.
Why do we do this to each other?
Why couldn’t our love story be simple?
“You’ll miss seeing the cherry blossom trees bloom in the quad.”
I smile a sad smile into his palm. “They have them in New York.”
“But New York doesn’t have me,” he answers sadly. He presses his lips against my forehead, my nose, and the corner of my mouth. “We should get up if I plan on spending all day with you.”
“I’ll let Echo know,” I say, sliding out of bed. I quickly make my way down the hall and knock on her open door.
Echo’s sitting against her headboard, eyes glued to her laptop.
“We’re going to be out all day. Want to come?” I know Owen wouldn’t want Echo to come but I can’t not ask her. She’s my best friend. And I’m leaving her too.
She raises her head, her gaze meeting mine. With a small shake of her head, she follows up with, “No, you need to say goodbye to him.”
My heart constricts with that answer. We’ll be apart for ten weeks. Goodbye seems final.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
But I need this.
I need to get away from everyone I know and breathe in a city I’ve never been to. I need to be around people who don’t know what happened to me.
I need to let myself go before I can truly move on.
New York is the place for that.
“Will you be here later?” I ask timidly.
“Sweets, I’m not going anywhere. I need my time with you later.” She blows me a kiss and then brings her attention back to her laptop.
I walk back to my room, my eyes roaming over every inch of the space I spend most of my time in.
My pile of books to be read are sitting on the floor by my window. Standing beside them is Owen in all his sexiness, flipping through the one book I can never read again because it hurt too much.
“Will you ever watch the movie?” he asks, shutting the book and placing it back onto the pile.
I stare at the red cover with the white lettering, tears pooling in my eyes just from thinking about the heartbreakingly beautiful story written on those pages. “Maybe when I’m stronger.”
With you.
I make my feet move toward my dresser. I grab clean clothes and underwear and then point toward the bathroom. “I’ll be ready in twenty.”
Owen nods, his eyes lowering to his feet as he squeezes the back of his neck. “Take your time. I’m in no rush.”
He only has today with me.
This is it. We’re separating.
Is this the beginning to our end?
We’ve never willingly been apart for so long. I wonder if we can survive this.
We spend the day going to all of our favorite places. We walked around Pike Place Market, visiting so many independent shops and stuffing ourselves with sweets from bakeries that made my stomach happy. We then went up Smith Tower where I had to close my eyes and pretend to be somewhere else as we rode the elevator up to the thirty-fifth floor Observatory. I’d been there once before during freshman year and I fell in love with all the history. We wanted to go to the Space Needle but my legs were turning into Jell-O at that point so we decided against it and ended our journey at the Suzzallo library.
“There’s still one thing you need to see,” Owen whispers, dragging me up the grand staircase to the third floor right into the reading room, past all the empty tables that will be filled with students tomorrow when classes begin.
We stop at the third to last row.
When I sit down on the wooden chair at the end of the table, Owen sits beside me and that’s all we do. Sit and stare.
My eyes finally roam around the room, not finding anything I have to see that I haven’t already. It’s just rows and rows of brass-lamped, oak study tables. Books fill the oak bookcases up against the walls.
It’s a reader’s paradise in here.
A boyish grin takes over his lips as his eyes dance over my face. “I ha
d Echo hide a book here and this should be the easiest hint for you.” He points to the bookcase to my left. “There’s something for you hiding on one of those shelves.”
“Echo did something for you?” I question. She’s still not one hundred percent back to liking Owen like she used to. She blames him for his father’s sins. But it’s not his fault that his father was a monster.
It’s not his fault for never thinking his father was capable of such horrid things.
Owen is not responsible for my undoing.
I have to remind myself of this when I think back to what occurred by the creek back in Portland.
He licks his lips and brings his hand up to his face, rubbing the scruff on his jaw. “She threatened to slap me in the face with the book but then she saw what it was…and well, I think she’s my friend again. She only wants what is best for you and I hurt you that day, but she now understands how hard it was for me too. Everything changed.”
I squeeze his hand, silently apologizing for causing that confusion and heartache.
“Go look,” he murmurs.
With that I stand and I go full on psycho as I scan every book lining the shelves. I finger each spine until I make it to the second to last row and I do a double take when I see a light pink paperback with no words on the spine. I pull it out gently. I read the words on the cover. The True Love Story About Two Best Friends Who Were Too Stupid To See It Sooner. There’s no author name. It’s just a pretty photo of a fully bloomed cherry blossom tree on the cover.
I look up at Owen with furrowed brows. He leans forward with his elbows on his knees, a delighted smile reaching his eyes. “Open it.”
I flip open the book and read the dedication.
Zoë, I want to fill these pages with my love for you so if you ever doubt it –us–, you can pick up this book and fall in love just like you do for every other fictional character.
Except this is real.
This is us.
I flip to the next page. It’s about us. It’s when we met the first day of kindergarten. “Owen.” My eyes scan every word, flipping through pages like my life depended on it because with every page comes a new story of us.
Let Her Go Page 17