by L. S. Pullen
I step toward the door but am tugged back slightly. Her fingers fist the back of my shirt, and her steps follow mine as I push open the door. I pause. “I said to wait out here.” I let out a frustrated sigh
“I’m not standing out here on my own.”
She has a point. I breathe in deep and take hold of her hand.
Slowly, we move inside.
We both Pause.
Light filters out from the kitchen, but not enough.
The only sound is our breathing and the rattle of the electric fan of the refrigerator.
She reaches over my shoulder and flicks on the light.
I blink rapidly as I scan the hallway.
Her body tense beside me.
I try to listen past the pulse beating in my ears. When I hear nothing, I use the side of my foot to close front door behind us.
The noise makes her jump.
I squeeze her hand a little firmer.
Glued to my side, we move as one and pause at the open doorway of the living room.
She reaches over my shoulder to switch on that light too.
“That’s weird. Nothing seems out of place,” she says in a hushed tone. “Do you think maybe I didn’t close my door properly? I mean, my mind’s been preoccupied lately…” She doesn’t sound too convinced by her suggestion and honestly neither do I.
“I don’t know, let’s check the kitchen.”
The kitchen shows nothing out of the norm. We head upstairs together as she refuses to wait alone. Everything appears fine, untouched—until we enter her bedroom.
I switch on the light and blink.
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.
And then I’m not quite sure I believe what I’m seeing.
An audible gasp brings me out of my stupor, and I pull Sophie into my arms, offering comfort.
Her bedding’s been ripped off the bed and strewn across the floor in piles of mottled rags. The dresser drawers have been pulled free, their contents scattered everywhere.
A wardrobe door hangs open on one hinge, showcasing empty hangers and shelves.
The floor is completely covered with her belongings, most of which have been cut or ripped.
My eyes dart everywhere, unable to fathom what the fuck I’m seeing.
It looks like something worse than the aftermath of an earthquake, shaking everything free. An earthquake wouldn’t result with this much devastation, though.
A shaky voice brings my attention back to her. “What the hell?”
She pulls free, takes a step forward and covers her mouth to smother her shock.
I turn away, unable to keep my focus on the carnage and pull my phone from my pocket, stepping out of the room.
“Wait, please don’t leave me,” she says, her voice hitching.
I reach for her and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. I can’t look at this. Let’s go downstairs.”
Her body trembles and I’m at a loss of how to make any of this okay. A lead weight settles in my stomach, knowing whoever did this…it was personal.
After an agonising wait and me chewing my thumbnail right down to the quick, the police arrive, and the constable makes slow work of taking our statements, repeatedly asking if she knows anyone who could be responsible for doing this.
And that’s when she admits she’s been getting calls and texts from her ex.
To say I’m fucking annoyed is an understatement.
She left out the part about of me beating the shit out of him. But now I’m riddled with guilt. I can’t help but think I’m to blame. I tipped the arsehole over the edge.
Excusing myself, I make a quick call to a locksmith I know. Knowing there was no forced entry makes me sick. I don’t even give her an option; she’s getting the damn locks changed.
When he arrives, he makes quick work of sorting out the locks on both the front and back door and hands over a Yale master key for each. I thank him and see him out. Closing the door, I lean my forehead against it and take in a few deep breaths—my body trembles from either adrenaline or exhaustion.
I turn with a resigned sigh. Sophie’s standing in the hallway in a daze. The fridge makes an exaggerated shudder, and a loud buzzing kicks in which causes her to startle. I open my arms. “Come here,” I say, walking towards her.
She melts into my body and wraps her arms around my waist. I rub her back and kiss the top of her head.
“I want you to pack a few bits. You’re staying at mine tonight.”
She pulls away, wringing her hands in front of her. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. I need to know you’re safe. You aren’t fucking staying here.” It comes out harsher than I intended.
Her mouth gaps open slightly. I grab the back of my neck and squeeze, silently pleading her with my eyes. Either way, she won’t be saying here.
“I wouldn’t be able to, not knowing someone was here.” She won’t say it was him, but I know she’s thinking it.
“Okay, then it’s settled. Go, grab some stuff.”
Once she retreats upstairs, I call a cab and send a text to Nate.
Hey, man. Sophie’s house was broken into. She’s shaken but otherwise okay. I’m taking her back to mine. I’ll explain everything tomorrow.
I don’t expect a response, but a minute later, my hand vibrates.
Fuck Call me 2morow. Hug her from us k.
I call up the stairs, “Cab should be here in about ten minutes.” I pause, listening for a response.
Nothing.
I take the stairs two at a time and tap on her bedroom door before pushing it open. She’s sitting on the edge of her bed, a vacant expression on her face.
I force my legs to cooperate and step past the threshold.
“Did you hear me? The cab will here soon.”
I reach for the bag beside her and then hold out my hand to pull her to her feet. The last place I want to wait is here.
We say nothing, waiting for the cab. I don’t speak until we’re inside the car and I reiterate my address to the driver. I reach for Sophie’s hand. She’s freezing. I pull her into my body, hoping any heat I have will spread to her, then ask the driver to turn the heating up a notch.
As we enter my place, I tap in my alarm code. She needs to get a fucking alarm. Living alone, she should already have one. I’m annoyed with myself for not thinking of that before now.
“I’m sorry about all of this Charlie,” she says.
I take the bag from her shoulder, shaking my head. “Stop that. I’m just glad you didn’t go home on your own.”
She lets out a visible shudder. “I hadn’t thought—” Her lower lip trembles right before she bursts into tears, and it guts me seeing her this vulnerable. I drop her holdall and pull her into my chest, my hand rubbing small circles over her back. Still holding her in place, I move us and deadbolt the door.
After her tears subside, I let her out of my arms, and walk her to the spare room. I gently prompt her to sit on the bed. I crouch down in front of her, reach up, and cup her cheek.
She stares into my eyes. “You know I repressed memories of the events surrounding my assault.” Her words completely throw me, and I lean back on my heels as she continues. “After we woke up in that flat, and I ended up in the hospital, I blocked it out. My memories of the night fragmented.”
I get up and move beside her, wrapping my arm over her shoulder.
“But I’ve been remembering, or at least, I think it’s memories. And for some reason when we walked into my room, something just hit me full force. I couldn’t control that any more than I can control this. I feel powerless to stop it.”
“Soph—”
“It’s okay. I have no idea why I just dumped that on you.” She avoids my gaze.
I don’t mind that she did, but I wish I had words to say at this moment. I don’t. My head is a mess, my throat tight. “Do you want some water?’ I ask. It’s a lame arse attempt for me to put some distance bet
ween us before I crumble around her.
I don’t wait for an answer as I get up. “You get changed, and I’ll be back in a minute.”
Alone in the kitchen, I clench my fists and pivot in a circle. I try to focus on the grouting between the tiles. All I can think of is what if she had gone home alone? What if her house wasn’t empty?
Unable to contain the images in my head, I lash out and slam my fist into the wall. I grunt from the impact. It was my fucking temper which caused this mess in the first place.
I slump onto the stool and drop my head into my hands. Working on my breathing, I visualise what I’ll do if I ever get my hands on that son of a bitch again. I’ll castrate the fucker.
The door’s ajar when I go back to her room. I tap and walk straight in. She’s curled around herself, but her eyes watch my every move as I place the glass on the bedside table.
“Try and rest,” I say and turn to leave.
“Wait.” She reaches out her arm. “This is going to sound pathetic, but will you stay? At least until I fall asleep?”
“Scoot,” I say, and get on the bed. I pull her into me. It’s the third time I’ve held her like this, but I wish it weren’t under these circumstances.
I stroke her hair. Scenarios are running through my head of all of the things that could’ve happened. My stomach lurches, and I have to swallow the bile that threatens. My eyelids flutter, growing heavier as I lay listening to her breathing.
When I wake, my body’s heavy but warm. Sophie’s curled into me, and I smile, scanning the profile of her face. But then a wave of memories come hurtling back—the break-in, her breakdown and confession, and falling asleep with her. I fidget, uncomfortable from sleeping in my jeans, and untangle her from me.
Throwing my legs over the side and scooting to the edge of the bed, I glance back to her while she moves into the warm spot I just vacated. I reach down and pull the duvet over her. She seems so fragile. A world of hurt floods my subconscious, and my throat aches as I push away the onset of emotion and step out of the room, cracking my neck and back with a crunch and a pop.
I glance at my watch—almost five. There’s no way I can deal with Dad’s bullshit—not today. My head’s thumping and I run the kitchen tap and fill a glass, downing its contents. I begin to fill it again when I hear an ear splintering noise.
The glass slips and shatters, but I’m already running back to Sophie.
She’s thrashing around, caught in a nightmare.
Reaching out, I touch her face. “It’s okay… I’m here.” My throat tightens, and I’m suddenly powerless to stop the onslaught of emotions threatening to break free.
A whimper escapes her, and I can’t bear it. Standing, I rid myself of my jeans and shirt. I lay down, hoisting the cover over us as I pull her into my arms and rock her gently.
She begins to relax and melts into my body, legs moving to cover mine as her arm circles my waist. I stroke the hair from her face and let my hand settle on her back. As her heart begins to calm, the erratic beat dimming, mine begins to settle into a mellow rhythm, our breathing mirrored—light and even.
Chapter 18
Charlie
Fresh remnants of vanilla tickle my senses and engulf me in a warm cloud that is all Sophie. Her back is cocooned into my chest, and my arm is wrapped around her waist. I have no idea how we migrated into this position, but regardless of the events that led us here, it feels right to have her in my arms.
She shifts, and that’s when my brain catches up with my body. I pull myself back a fraction. The last thing I want is for my morning glory to poke her in the back.
Ringing interrupts my thoughts, and I reluctantly remove myself from her, rolling onto my back. I sit up and grab my jeans, pulling out the offending noise from the pocket. I don’t answer. Instead, I silence it. I move my eyes back to Sophie, who is now awake and assessing the situation when her phone starts up.
Her cheeks heat as she smiles with a mock roll of the eyes and turns away from me to reach for her bag. I take that as my cue to pull on my jeans and adjust myself…uncomfortably.
“Coffee?” I ask.
She peers up from her phone and nods, a shy smile surfacing.
I leave her to the phone call, knowing it’s probably Flick checking on her.
Surprised to see it’s just after nine, I get busy making our drinks. When she joins me, I’m just adding sugar and milk to her coffee. She sits at the breakfast bar.
Clearing her throat, she says, “I’m so sorry you had to babysit me last night. You’re shattered,” she says as I approach her and place her coffee on the coaster in front of her.
“I’m fine. You’re the one who had the nightmare.”
I internally facepalm; me and my big mouth.
“I what?” she asks, her mouth gaping open.
I clear my throat. “You had a nightmare. It’s why I stayed all night. I couldn’t leave you alone—not like that.” I omit the part about already falling asleep with her before that.
She bows her head, and only her eyes rise to meet mine—blue irises now a storm of dark waves.
“I can’t believe it,” she says quietly. She studies her hands and begins to pick at her nails subconsciously.
I sit down. “Believe what? That I stayed with you?” I ask, slightly offended. I’m a lot of things but not a prick.
“No, I’m embarrassed about the nightmare. It’s why I don’t spend the night with whoever I’m seeing.”
I turn my body towards her, an irrefutable force I can’t ignore.
Her hair is a mass on top of her head. She still has remnants of yesterday’s makeup. And yet she is still sinfully hot without even trying.
“But you stayed with me that night…” The words spill from my mouth without reservation.
And she did when we spent the night together, she appeared conflicted when I asked, but she stayed anyway.
“I know.”
“So, why did you?” I ask.
Her fingers begin to move as her hand hovers over the breakfast bar, so delicately she’s not aware she’s even doing it, playing a tune only she can hear.
“Because… I trust you,” she says it with a half-smile and a shrug like I should know this already.
I’m leaning in towards her, my lips mere centimetres from hers. Her warm breath fans my skin. The hairs on my arms stand to attention, and the air becomes thick around me.
“I love that you trust me,” I whisper.
Her lids flutter before her eyes close. My lips brush against hers. And then there’s a loud ringing—the chime of my doorbell.
I pull back and lean my forehead against hers.
The doorbell rings again, a relentless assault.
Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Are you expecting someone?” she asks.
“Shit.”
“It’s not a booty call is it?” she asks playfully, but I hear the undercurrent of uncertainty in her question.
“No, my dad. I woke up late and forgot to cancel on him.”
Her eyes dart from me to the front of the house as she contemplates her next move.
“I’m going to go make myself scarce.”
I stand up, holding up my palms. “No, please don’t. He won’t stay for long.”
Not waiting for her to respond, I leave her to go and answer the door. Switching off the alarm, I unbolt the lock with a click and pull it open halfway.
“Morning,” I grumble, it’s a poor arse attempt at a greeting, and I know it.
His eyes move down to my torso then back to my face. He shakes his head. “Son?” It’s a rhetorical question, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to defend myself.
“I meant to cancel.”
He sidesteps me. “Well I’m here now, you might at least offer me a coffee?”
Sophie’s still sitting at the breakfast bar, fiddling with her mug when we round the kitchen. Dad pauses. His presence irks me, intrusive and intimidating. He wasn’t always this way. I follow hi
s line of sight as he assesses Sophie.
“Oh, I didn’t realise you had company at such an early hour.”
Real fucking subtle, Dad. I won’t rise to his comment. She already seems mortified. Me standing here shirtless and her in a pair of joggers and a baggy top. This all seems very domesticated. She stands when he offers her his hand and steps closer to take it.
“Sophie. This is my Dad, Edward,” I wave between them which is kind of redundant when no one else is here. “Dad, this is Sophie.”
He shakes her hand once before dropping it. “Pleasure,” he says.
“Coffee?” I ask, not waiting for his reply. I switch on the kettle and begin to pick the more substantial shards of glass from the sink and stack them onto a tea towel on the counter.
The silence is deafening.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Sophie says and makes her way to the spare room.
I finish making his coffee and hand it to him. We make small talk, but I know what he wants. He wants to ask me about her.
When she returns wearing a pair of jeans and a plain black tight fit jumper, my breath gets caught as I swallow. My arms folded in front of me, I shift where I stand. Before, I was always able to push down my reaction to her, hide it. But now that I’ve been with her, the part of me which was able to bury my want for her has cracked wide open.
“How about brunch? Let’s say eleven-thirty?” my Dad asks, glancing down to his watch.
I want to say no, but I’m only putting off the inevitable. “Okay, fine,” I reply.
“Sophie, you’ll join us, of course.” It’s a demand, not a request, and it irritates me. Everything he does annoys the fuck out of me.
She eyes him, her mouth slightly agape.
“She’s probably busy,” I say in her defence.
“Are you?” he asks, studying her.
She shakes her head.
“It’s settled… see you there. Usual place, Charles,” he says, discarding his mug, coffee barely touched. “I’ll see myself out.”
I wait for the clunk and click as the door shuts behind him and breathe. I stare at my feet before making eye contact with Soph. “Sorry about that. I can tell him you can’t make it.”