Never Tear Us Apart (Never Tear Us Apart #1)

by Monica Murphy

  I said nothing. There was no point in defending myself. No one cared what I had to say; no one was listening to me.

  So it was best I kept my fucking mouth shut.

  I wait.

  I pace.

  I want to tear my hair out, and end up running my hands through it so many times I’m sure it’s standing on end and looking like shit.

  Like I care. Who’s going to see me?

  I’m alone. As always.

  Pacing one end of my living room to the other.

  My head is filled with . . . thoughts. Worried thoughts. Crazed thoughts. Lust-filled thoughts.

  Wrong thoughts.

  It finally comes through approximately one hundred minutes after she last left my sight. What I was waiting for.

  Made it home safe and sound! Had a great time this afternoon despite the almost purse snatching. ☺

  The relief that floods me at seeing her text makes me weak. Makes me feel like a fucking baby. With shaking fingers I answer her.

  Thanks for letting me know. I had a great time too.

  I pause, my fingers hovering over the screen. I tell myself not to do it. I have no right. I’m fucking with her by doing this. Fucking with myself. I’m mental enough. Damaged enough. So is she. I don’t want to hurt her.

  But I can’t let her go. Not yet. I need more.

  I want to see you again.

  I hit send before I can second-guess myself.

  She doesn’t reply for so long I’m afraid I blew it. I pace again as I wait. Just about wearing a path into my living room carpet. What the hell is wrong with me? What the fuck am I doing? I run my hands through my hair yet again, gripping the strands on the back of my head and giving them a hard tug.

  When my phone finally buzzes I can’t even care if I’m supposed to play it cool. I’m desperate to see what she says.

  I’d like that.

  The smile that stretches my mouth wide is painful. I want to laugh with relief. Collapse in triumph. I respond as coolly as I can.

  I’ll call you tomorrow?

  She replies without hesitation.

  Okay.

  I am giddy with anticipation after answering Ethan’s final text. He wants to see me.

  Me.

  Silly, messed-up me.

  I can’t focus, can hardly think straight. That sign, KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON? I couldn’t do that if I tried.

  I know what’s going on, though.

  I understand.

  I think.

  I have a crush. A real-life, bona fide crush on a sweet, good-looking guy who I think is also interested in me. He must be if he said he wanted to see me again, right?

  I can’t believe I’m so comfortable with him. It’s so unlike me. Nothing like this has ever happened before. Men make me nervous, and with good reason. I’ve been hurt too many times to trust a man who is a virtual stranger.

  Ethan didn’t feel like a stranger at all. He felt like someone I’ve known for a long time. He’s comfortable—and not in a bad way. In a good, exciting way, if comfortable can even feel like that, which I think it can. I caught him watching me more than once, and every time our gazes connected, I experienced butterflies breaking free in my stomach, making my breath shuddery and my entire body quake.

  Ridiculous.

  Thrilling.

  I toss my phone on the couch and dance around my house in my socks, my feet sliding on the hardwood floor. I almost fall but catch myself, giggling as I twirl around in a circle, making myself dizzy.

  Or maybe I’m dizzy from Ethan. A man whose last name I don’t even know.

  But for once I don’t care.

  I just want to get to know him. Find out more.

  Find out . . .

  Everything.

  My head hurt. My eyelids were heavy as I slowly pried them open, immediately slamming them shut with a moan when the bright sun seemed to pierce straight through my sensitive eyeballs. I lay there for a moment, trying my best to recall what happened. My body ached and the smells, the sounds, all of it was completely unfamiliar.

  And then I remembered. The park. The long roller-coaster line. Going to the bathroom. The man. Dropping my sweatshirt and how friendly he was when he handed it back. Helping him find the line to a ride so he could meet his wife and children. Realizing too late that there were no wife and children. He’d lied to me.

  Tricked me.

  Taken me.

  Tears squeezed past my tightly closed eyelids, though I hadn’t noticed them until they were already streaking down my cheeks.

  Taking a deep breath, I attempted to open my eyes again, turning to the side so I wouldn’t face all of that bright sun. My head throbbed with the movement and I whimpered, unable to help myself, hoping no one would hear me.

  “You’re awake.”

  Fear made my throat constrict. I recognized that voice. It was him. The man who took me.

  “Look at me,” he demanded when I didn’t say anything.

  I turned my head toward the sound of his voice, my entire body beginning to shake. My foot shot out and I heard a noise that sounded like chains clanking against each other, felt the heavy weight around my ankle, and I knew he’d chained me up like a dog.

  God, what did he plan to do to me?

  “Aw, shit, don’t start that,” he grumbled as I started to cry harder. I wouldn’t look at him. I couldn’t. I looked away, staring at the pale wall that was really no color. Not quite white, not quite beige, I didn’t know what to call it.

  Ugly. It was ugly. Wherever he’d put me was awful and when I glanced down, I could see the edge of the thin, dirty mattress that I was lying on. I shifted my leg again, the chain loud as it rattled against the bare floor. The chain was hooked around a rusted pipe that seemed to lead nowhere.

  “Stop crying!” he yelled and I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to stop.

  But I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop. His yelling made me cry harder. He shouted again and I pressed my lips together, containing the sob that wanted to escape. I held it in, felt it grow bigger and bigger like a balloon full of too much air until I couldn’t take it anymore and I opened my mouth, the sound like a sad sort of pop that only made him madder.

  “Shut up!” Without warning he slapped my face and I cried out in shock, scrambling back on the mattress, trying to press myself against the wall. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me!”

  I was shaking. So terrified that I clutched at the wall, moaning low in my throat, begging for my mommy like I was a baby.

  I’d have given anything to be a baby at that moment, back in my mother’s arms as she cradled me and kept me safe. I could feel his hands on me as he grabbed me by the waist and threw me down onto the mattress like I was a rag doll. He was strong. So much bigger than me. I lay there, my eyes closed, my head turned to the side, and he drew closer, his breath wafting across my face, hot and sour, as he whispered, “You sure are pretty.”

  No, no, no.

  He drifted his hand across my cheek and I recoiled from his touch, whispering the word that was like a chant inside my head.

  “No.”

  No acknowledgment of what I said. “I wish I could keep you.”

  Oh God, oh God, what did he mean? Of course he couldn’t keep me. That meant he’d have to . . .

  Eventually get rid of me.

  No way could I think of how he might do that.

  I sobbed. I wailed. I sounded like someone else, like a character from a scary movie, and for one quick moment, it all felt so unbelievable, so incredibly crazy, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that this was real.

  That this was really happening.

  To me.

  “Shhh,” he whispered as he cupped my cheek. His fingers were gentle but they made my skin crawl and I shook my head, wishing he would stop touching me. “Be quiet. I can’t let anyone hear you.”

  That meant someone could hear me. Hope lit a small flame inside my chest and I yelled louder, repeating the same words again
and again.

  “Help me! Help me, please! Please help me!”

  He slapped me, so hard I saw stars, which I’d never believed was a real thing. I immediately went quiet and he placed his hand over my mouth. Despite my keeping my lips as tightly sealed as possible, I tasted him. Salt and dirt and whatever else he’d touched that I couldn’t identify.

  I wanted to throw up.

  “Look at me.” He pressed his hand harder on my mouth, his fingers nudging against my nose, and I inhaled sharply, my nose wrinkling as I caught his distinct scent, a mixture of sweat and something else, something that reminded me of—excitement. He was excited by all of this.

  I hated him.

  Opening my eyes, I found his face so close to mine I could count every tiny eyelash that lined his eyes, every hair in his eyebrows. His eyes were wide, his pupils huge, and a weird, exaggerated smile curved his mouth.

  “Keep your mouth fucking shut, you hear me? I don’t like it when girls are loud. When girls fight.” He paused, and his smiled faded. “I suggest you don’t fight. It’s much easier when you let me do what I want.”

  A noise left me, painful and raw. My eyes burned from unshed tears and my head felt like someone had taken a hammer to it. I gave no answer, but he didn’t care.

  “You swear you’ll be quiet?” His hand clamped my mouth like a vise.

  I nodded, my entire body quaking. He shifted, I could feel him looming over me, his knees on either side of my waist as he straddled me. Fear coursed through my blood, turning it to ice, and I felt it happen before I could stop it, the warmth spreading immediately.

  I peed myself.

  “Jesus.” He leapt away from me as the sharp scent of urine hit the air and he removed his hand from my mouth only to slap my face again, his wide palm cracking against my skin and knocking me so hard my head swung to the side. “Fucking dirty bitch. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  That was when he tore off my shorts and my underwear. I closed my eyes, his hands pressing against the inside of my thighs and spreading them wide. He wiped at me with my own underwear and I heard them land on the ground with a damp plop.

  I cried. I cried so hard my chest hurt and my throat was raw. He rose above me, his hand settling on my mouth to keep me quiet, his lower body wedged between my legs. He watched me, I felt his eyes on me like a hot, sweeping laser, and my skin crawled.

  Everything else disappeared and I floated out of my body. I couldn’t feel what he did to me. I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t see it. It was happening to someone else.

  It wasn’t, though. It happened to me.

  I wished for death. Anything to save me from what he was doing.

  But it never came.

  The phone call was unexpected. Late in the evening, just after I got off shift at the discount store where I worked. The number was unfamiliar and I almost didn’t answer, but something compelled me to do it anyway.

  I was glad I did.

  “Will.” The soft, slightly breathless voice was familiar, and I knew in an instant who it was.

  “Katie?” I stopped in my tracks and glanced around, half expecting to see her magically appear like some sort of ghost from my past.

  “How are you?” She paused, a hesitant sound escaping her before she continued. “I’ve missed you. You haven’t sent me a letter in a long time.”

  On the advice of my attorney. Yeah, I had a lawyer, but only because of what was going on with my father’s trial. For my own protection, he told me I shouldn’t remain in contact with Katie Watts any longer. As much as it killed me to do it, I stopped writing her.

  And I’d felt like I had a hole in my heart ever since.

  “I’ve been busy with school and work and stuff.” I paused, wondering if I should be an asshole and just end this. I didn’t want to be mean, but it would be a surefire way to hurt her feelings enough that she’d leave me alone.

  Not that I wanted her to. Not that I wanted to end whatever this friendship was that we shared. I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her, but it would be best. I wasn’t good enough to be her friend and she needed to let go of her past.

  That’s all I really was to her—a dark and ugly reminder of her past.

  “Too busy to write?” She sounded hopeful and hurt, a horrible combination that made me feel like a jerk.

  “Sort of.”

  We both said nothing and for once it was awkward between us. I started to walk, headed back to that shitty group home I was close to leaving for good, and I was craving a cigarette.

  Anything to help ease the pain that was wrapping itself so tightly around my heart.

  “You’re mad at me,” she finally accused, and I immediately denied it.

  “No way, Katie. I could never be mad at you. It’s just—it’s me.” And that was the truth. It was all on me, never on her.

  “What about you? You don’t want to be my friend anymore?” Her voice trembled. She sounded like she might cry at any moment and my heart felt like it was being strangled.

  “I will always be your friend,” I whispered, reaching into the pocket of my coat and withdrawing a pack of smokes. I pulled out a cig and held my phone between my neck and my shoulder, lighting up and taking a deep drag before I started talking again. “It’s just—shit is bad right now, with the trial and all. It’s probably best if we didn’t talk.”

  “Whatever, Will.” She was full-on crying now and she sounded angry. “You were my only friend. The only one who understood what happened. And now even you won’t talk to me. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

  “Katie, wait—” I started, but the call ended and I was left listening to nothing but silence.

  I shoved my phone into my back pocket and started walking once more, my strides long, my anger flowing like liquid fire through my veins. I just pissed off the only girl who ever meant something to me.

  And I didn’t know how to fix it.

  I wake with a jolt, my eyes flashing open as remnants of the dream—nightmare, take your pick—still cling to me. I lie completely still, my heart racing so hard I feel it roar in my ears and I wait for it to calm, listening for the normal middle-of-the-night sounds that will reassure me I’m where I should be.

  In my house, alone, with no one standing over me.

  A dog barks. The house creaks, settling as it does. I’ve always wondered how long it takes for a house to completely settle. I hear a car’s engine in the distance and I wonder if they’re leaving or coming home. Where are they? Where are they going? What are they doing?

  I imagine a man leaving his girlfriend’s house. Maybe they’re not fully committed yet and that’s why he’s not spending the night. Perhaps he doesn’t even consider her his girlfriend. But they do boyfriend/girlfriend things. She invited him in after a night out and he agreed willingly, thankful she asked. He’d been thinking of only one thing the entire night.

  He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. And she couldn’t wait to let him.

  An ache starts deep inside me and I roll to my side, facing the bedside table with my alarm clock on it. The time glows back at me, red digital numbers that say 1:09. I’ve felt this ache before, after I read a particular book or watched a certain movie. I experienced it when I went out to dinner with Mom and Brenna and saw a couple sitting at a nearby table exchanging longing glances and holding hands.

  I finally figured out that the ache I felt was desire.

  Desire for human touch—for a man’s touch. Something I believed I would never want. The feeling has always been fleeting. There and gone in a matter of minutes, and I would forget about it. Move on with my life and tell myself, That didn’t really happen. You don’t want that. You don’t need it.

  I feel it now. Dark and warm in the pit of my stomach, maybe even lower, a trickle of hot liquid through my veins, slowly touching me everywhere, reminding me that I have a body. A body I don’t use, I don’t understand, I don’t touch.

  I don’t allow anyone to touch.

  Closin
g my eyes, I concentrate harder. The tingling. The heat. My muscles feel languid, my skin sensitive, and I know why I’m experiencing this. I understand the cause.

  Meeting Ethan. The violence that brought us together and how he charged right in and saved me. I’m ashamed that his brute strength, the way he handled the situation, aroused me. Ashamed at how scared and flushed and excited I felt when I saw him grab the boy by the shirt. I thought he would hurt the kid. Hurt him for me. And God help me, I liked it. I wanted it. I shouldn’t have.

  But I did.

  The contradiction of his sweetness, how protective he was of me, a virtual stranger, aroused me further. Intrigued me. He touched me and I didn’t flinch. His fingers were like a hot brand on my flesh and just remembering the moment, I want more of it.

  More of him.

  A sigh escapes me and I let my mind drift. I blame the dreamy state of consciousness I’m in for the odd thoughts. And the nightmare. Why, after experiencing what ended up being a pretty good day, would I dream of Aaron Monroe?

  Because you were at the place he abducted you, dummy.

  True.

  I reopened old memories. That’s all. I went to the amusement park to overcome my fear and I did something else. Something I never believed could happen.

  A man touched me and I let him. A man asked me out for coffee and I went. A man asked me for my number and I gave it to him. The man texted and said he wanted to see me again and I agreed.

  Maybe I really am on my way to conquering my fears.

  I’m proud of Katie. When I called her a few nights ago and finally asked her to go to dinner with me, so damn nervous I was afraid my voice was shaking, she agreed—reluctantly. She said she’d do it only if we met each other in a public location.