Whom was he calling?
Even though Landon was against it, I drove my car home. I’d made it to work in a much worse condition and I could make it back. I convinced him that it could raise suspicions if my car wasn’t parked in front of my house. If anyone, it would be Theresa who would definitely notice. He reluctantly agreed.
He parked around the corner and came in through the back door. I didn't want to deal with the town's grapevine just yet. Theresa would have plenty of gossip fodder when I moved out and divorced Derek.
As Landon crossed the threshold into the home I shared with Derek, he looked out of place. The only visitor I’d ever had was Hannah and I grew up with her. Having her in my home was natural. Landon didn’t belong here. I never wanted him to see this.
I watched his hand brush over the hole in the wall that matched the outline of my head, the only sign of Derek's violence. I knew he was looking for them — more holes in the walls, broken dishes, any evidence he could find. I supposed he thought it would look worse than it did, but other than the hole in the wall, everything was incredibly normal.
"Listen, you don't have to be here just because Doctor Lewis said so. I'm sure I’ll be just fine."
"Belle. I'm okay."
"What is it then? What are you thinking? Because I’ve been trying to figure it out and I can’t."
"Well, it's just… in the mornings, when you first get to work; you look like an inmate who just escaped from prison. I guess I was expecting bars on the windows or a dungeon or something."
I looked at him, my eyes filling with tears, "Landon, just because you can't see them, doesn't mean they aren't there."
Chapter Fourteen
"Let me get this straight. You called Hannah?" I exclaimed as loudly as my pounding head would allow me. "Why would you do that?"
"She needed to know," he offered in weak explanation, but I knew there was more to it. What wasn't he telling me?
"What on earth did you tell her?"
"Relax, Belle. I didn't tell her the truth. I just told her that you took a fall at the store and got a concussion and that you can't be left alone for a couple of days."
"What did she say?"
"Nothing." I knew he was lying. "She seemed...concerned."
"You forget that I know my sister a little bit better than you do. What did she really say?"
"Okay...She laughed, called you a klutz. She said the last time you got a black eye it was from a box falling on your face. I, on the other hand, didn’t find it funny at all. How long do you plan on lying to her?"
"Um…for eternity would be a good start. Hannah wouldn’t understand.”
“Why not?”
“Because!" I threw my hands up and immediately regretted the movement as pain shot through my ribs.
Landon noticed. "Please, Belle. Please sit down. Hannah did seem genuinely concerned about you. Even if she did laugh."
"So what? She’s coming over here?"
Landon nodded.
"To take care of me?"
He nodded again, slower this time.
"And what about the marks on my neck? How do you suggest I explain those?"
He looked dumbfounded. He obviously had not thought of everything before he sucked my sister into this drama. "Do you have a turtleneck?" he asked.
"Probably...Yes," I told him, the shock wearing off and disappointment taking over.
During the drive back from the hospital, I’d imagined what it would be like to have a few days alone with Landon. I knew it was stupid. Were we just going to hang out in the house where I lived with Derek, and pretend to be… what? A happily married couple? Interchangeable husbands...remove Derek the dick and replace him with Landon the god? It was a fantasy, but the idea made me happy, if only just a little bit.
But in one moment, with one simple phrase, he changed it all. Not only were we not going to be alone together, we weren't going to be together at all. Landon was leaving me. The only problem was that I had absolutely no idea why.
Well...that was a lie...I had some idea as to why he was running away from all of this. A part of me wondered if I could come along.
Sensing my disappointment, he tried to explain. "Belle, you need someone here. You heard what the doctor said."
"That's all well and good, Landon. But my sister doesn't do well in the 'taking care of others' department."
"Having Hannah here is better than being in the hospital, right?"
"I guess." I shrugged my shoulders. "It would be better if you were here with me."
Finally, he looked up at me and said, "You need someone to be here."
Why did he keep saying that?
"You don't want to be here?" I finally summoned the courage to ask him.
"I can't be here." And that’s why he was leaving. He glanced at me and I saw it for the first time: fear. True, unmitigated terror. I’d finally discovered the limit of what Landon could handle.
He wasn't simply leaving...as I suspected, he was running away.
I was suffocating, drowning. He suddenly was impossible to live without anymore.
"Okay." I blinked away the tears that I refused to let him see. I would not make him feel guilty for protecting himself and doing what he needed to do. The one thing I’d learned in my thirty-some years on the planet: if someone wanted to leave, you couldn't stop them, no matter how hard you tried.
Landon leaned down and gave my cheek a brief kiss. "Hannah said she'd be here by four. Please call me if you need anything. I’ll keep the store open and running until you feel better and can come back to work." Then he slipped out the door.
That was it. Landon was gone.
And... I let him go.
I could have told him that four o'clock to Hannah really meant eight or nine. That would have kept him here a little while longer, but it would have only delayed the inevitable. I didn't know whether Landon was gone for good, but I refused to allow myself to think about that now. The truth was that I didn't want to think, period.
I took a couple of the pain relievers the doctor prescribed to me and plopped down on the sofa, not permitting myself to have a pity party. It took a great deal of effort. After an hour of flipping channels, I was bored and restless and on the edge of misery.
More than that, I was lonely. I looked at the clock above the television: 5:30. Hannah wouldn't be by for another few hours...if she came at all.
I went into the spare room at the back of the house and found my laptop under a pile of old magazines and papers. I rarely used the computer at home because whenever it was on, Derek always wound up accusing me of either internet dating or racking up credit card charges with online shopping, so I usually used the computer at work for all my emails — personal and otherwise.
I was alone tonight and I wanted to write. The pain relievers were kicking in, my head felt relatively clear, and I wanted to take advantage of this moment. It was more than a simple desire — I needed to write. From Derek, to Hannah, to Landon, they left me all alone. I felt so much emotion, and I needed to express it.
I set the laptop on my legs as I leaned back into the sofa cushions, opened a blank document, and stared at the blinking cursor. To me, there was nothing more exciting than a blank sheet of paper, an empty notebook, or even a blank computer screen. Each was filled with the possibilities of what could be created and written on them, in them.
My fingers felt at home on the keys, like an old friend. I took a breath and simply began typing.
I wrote for two hours straight before my eyes started burning. My back ached for lack of movement. The scene I had written was inspired by a dream I'd had a few weeks back, the night after I’d met Landon. At the time, I filed it at the back of my mind while I mulled it over. I didn't even let Hannah interpret it; afraid she would tarnish or manipulate the plot line it inspired in me. The scene wasn't much but some of the greatest literary masterpieces of all time began with a simple idea.
I scanned what I h
ad written and, at first glance, decided that it was pretty good. This wasn't like the short snip-its that I wrote in my car or at the bookstore. This might really be something special. My mind raced with additional scenes, characters and plot twists — so much so, that I decided my next step had to be an outline where I could organize all of the ideas speeding through my brain at mach ten.
The outline would have to wait, though, until I stretched out and loosened up my stiff back and legs. I couldn't forget that, above all, I was sitting here at home because I’d spent a good part of the morning in the emergency room.
I saved a copy of my writing on my desktop and opened up my email to send myself a copy to my work computer, deciding that storing it there, permanently, would be the safest place. No chance of Derek stumbling upon it or worse, destroying the laptop in a fit of rage.
After I hit send, a notification appeared. One new message.
It was from Landon. I had stared at it for a minute or so before I clicked on the message, my heart rate picking up just a bit.
Hi -
I don't know if you are checking email, but I wanted to make sure Hannah showed up and that you are okay.
L-.
It would be so easy to get Landon back over here — a quick message back saying that my sister had never shown up and he would be at my door in a matter of minutes.
I didn't want him here, though, unless he wanted to be here.
Instead of telling him the truth, I decided to do what was best for him.
Landon -
Thanks for checking. That's really sweet. All is well. Hannah is here. We’re having a chick flick movie marathon. I am feeling much better.
Belle
For the second morning in a row, I wasn't sure whether it was the blinding sun or the blinding pain in my head that woke me. Either way, I felt as if I had been run over by a semi. Everything ached. My hair hurt down to the roots, as though it was being torn from my scalp, and my bruised ribs throbbed.
Hannah had never stopped by...but had I really expected her to? Absolutely not.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I must have given up on writing, slid down on the sofa, and pulled the throw blanket over me. Pushing the blanket back now, I stood up slowly and stretched out my arms, feeling a pull at the tape on my ribs but not as much pain as yesterday. I took that as a good sign and shuffled one slow step after another into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.
I wasn't dizzy this morning, no blurred vision, and I knew what year it was. Those were the signs the doctor had told Landon to watch for; I’d survived the night all by myself. I didn't need anyone.
I told Landon I would be fine and I was right.
The pain was better than yesterday too, and I downed two more pain relievers. The coffee pot began to pop and sizzle, and the aroma of the brew filled the kitchen and roused my senses.
The shower that I took while I waited for the coffee to finish, felt fantastic. I stood there for a few extra minutes, letting the hot water wash over my skin and the warmth sink into my aching muscles and bruised body. After I had showered, I replaced the tape on my ribs, which was a feat in and of itself, but I succeeded.
After I dressed, I padded back down the hall, turned on my laptop and checked my email — slightly hopeful that Landon might have responded, but my inbox was empty. I checked my cell phone — also nothing.
I contemplated sending him a quick text message but dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it entered my mind. What good would it do? He hadn't emailed me back. That fact, all by itself, spoke volumes. I decided that if Landon wanted to send me a message that was great. If not, I wouldn’t be the one to invade his personal space.
I poured myself a cup of coffee, wrapped my hands around its warmth, drew in a deep breath, and allowed it to comfort me.
It was better this way. I had nothing to offer Landon. I was married. Derek was never going to let me leave. I was trapped. What had I been thinking?
I closed my eyes, wishing for things I could never really have when the shrill ring of the phone pierced my head. I reached for it, mainly to make it shut up, but also because I hoped it might be Landon.
"Hello?" I said with too much anticipation in my voice.
"Belle?"
"Hi, Hannah." The disappointment in my voice was evident. Thankfully, my sister was oblivious, as usual.
"Well, you don't sound sick at all. Landon made it sound as though you were on your deathbed." And Hannah still hadn’t come.
"I'm doing better this morning. Thanks for asking."
"Don't be like that. I would’ve come, if I felt it was really serious. Granted, Landon is a hottie...but he can be a little melodramatic."
"I'm fine, Hannah. No harm done."
"You sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Oh good. A friend wants me to drive up to Portland for a couple of days. He has front row seats to Depeche Mode tomorrow night. Isn't that amazing? You know they were my favorite band in high school."
"I remember."
How could I ever forget Hannah's all-black phase, when she played "Personal Jesus" and "People are People" repeatedly. At. Full. Volume. The lyrics of their songs were burned onto my brain. I still knew them all by heart. Back then, I’d threatened to drive a pencil into my ear and pop my own eardrum just so that I didn't have to listen to them ever again.
What had my mom called me? A drama queen? I told her that it was cruel and unusual punishment, what Hannah was doing, but she didn't agree.
"But I told him," Hannah continued, interrupting my trip down memory lane. "I can't go unless Belle says it's okay. Because if you’re really sick, I will come over and stay with you. So, is it okay?"
"Have fun, Hannah." She squealed, and I winced against the high-pitched noise in my ear and its effect on my headache.
"Thanks, Belle. I'll be back in a couple of days. Love ya."
She hung up before I could even say goodbye.
Two days later, I’d just finished saving the final chapter of the first draft of my novel. The sun was fading from the sky, casting the living room in a soft, amber glow. My writing was rough, of course; I was out of practice. There were typos, too, but there was always time to go back and edit and revise. Just the fact that I'd finished gave me a great deal of satisfaction. My first novel — it was amazing.
I’d been so consumed with writing that, in the past forty-eight hours, I hadn't really moved off the sofa except to take care of the essentials. My head was a lot better today, though, and so were my bruised ribs. I knew that the store was fine in Landon’s hands and with Derek gone, this was the first time in many years I’d had the opportunity to do something that I wanted to do.
I relished it.
I sent a copy of my manuscript to my work computer. Seventy-five thousand, glorious words...all mine.
A knocking at the backdoor finally registered. I blinked. How long had it been occurring?
I put the laptop on the coffee table, stood up, and made my way to the back door to find Landon standing on my back porch.
"Why didn't you tell me?" He was stone-faced and didn’t bother to try to hide his anger this time.
"Oh my God, Landon. I look like crap!” My hands flew to my hair, my face. “Why do you always seem to see me at my worst?" Standing before him in my flannel pajamas, no makeup, I could only imagine what I looked like. Had I even brushed my hair today? Speaking of brushing...I ran my tongue along my teeth.
Shit!
He waved away my protests. How I looked was apparently not his priority. “Don’t avoid answering the question. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what, Landon?"
"About Hannah! This morning she called the store, looking for you. She figured you would be back to work by now. Why didn't you tell me she was in Portland?"
I just shrugged. He moved past me into the kitchen. I shut the door behind him and turned around, ready to face t
he truth that was coming — whether I wanted it to or not.
"She told me that you told her you were fine and so she never even came over here. Once. Is that true?"
I didn't say a word but he already knew the answer.
"You lied to me." He looked hurt. "Why?"
"Because you didn't want to be here!" I yelled at him.
"What?" he asked in disbelief.
"You practically ran out of here the other day! Don’t get me wrong, I don't blame you. There’ve been so many times if I could have run away, I would have. "
"You think I ran away...from you?"
"I don't think, Landon. You did run away."
He stopped. He was contemplating lying to me; I could see it on his face. In the end, he didn't lie. He simply hung his head, unable to deny it. "You're right. I just got scared. I'm sorry."
"There’s nothing to apologize for. You think I don't get it? This is difficult enough for me to handle and it's my life. You don't need this, Landon. You should be out having fun and hanging out with your friends. Not hanging out with a pathetic woman who allows herself to get beat up on a weekly basis."
"You are not pathetic."
“You’re right, I’m so far past pathetic that it’s…well, pathetic!”
"I got scared...period. I'm the one who is pathetic."
"Shut up," I admonished him softly. "You’re just normal. I'm the one who’s broken."
He took two steps toward me, put his hands on my arms, and shook me, gently.
"You’re everything. You want to know what scared me? Because I don't think you really know what it is."
"What?" I asked quietly.
"I got scared because I don't know how to help you, short of killing Derek, of course. The truth is, I want to make it all better and I can't and that pisses me off."
"I never asked you to solve this or make it go away. In fact, I remember quite distinctly telling you that you couldn't do anything to help. I have to get through this on my own."
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