Ache

by S. M. Soto

  My heart vibrates unsteadily in my chest as I stare up at the ceiling. I listen closely to the sound of the shower running, then the sound of cabinets opening and closing. I hear him shuffling around, preparing for work. I inhale a calming breath and clench my eyes shut.

  Today is the day I get out of here.

  I have a suitcase hidden in my closet, filled with clothes, and a plan I refuse to believe won’t work. I’ve led him to believe that he’s broken me. He thinks I’ll be his punching bag for as long as he chooses, but he couldn’t be any more wrong. Every night that he’s slipped in my room and taken from me? The only thing that has gotten me through it is the realization that he’ll be behind bars soon. I’ll be free of him.

  My plan is simple. Once he leaves for work, I’ll bust out the suitcase, grab anything else I need, then I’ll run. I won’t even take my beat-up car parked along the curb. I don’t want Connor to have any chance at finding me. I’ll head straight to the police station and I’ll tell them everything. I’ll come clean to my mother. I’ll protect us the only way I can. I’ll do what I should’ve done long ago.

  My heart lodges itself in my throat and my stomach twists when the front door slams shut, signaling his departure. The house is doused in silence. I strain to listen for the sound of his car door slamming shut outside, then the sound of it driving off.

  You can do this, Bea. I chant internally.

  Nodding to myself, I lick my dry lips and push out of bed. I pad into the bathroom to wash up then I get dressed. My hands shake as I dig in my closet and pull out the suitcase. I recheck the front zipper and breathe a sigh of relief when I find the cash and my ID that I stuffed in there a few weeks before. I glance at my reflection in the vanity mirror one last time, taking in the purple bruise on my cheekbone.

  Never again will he lay a finger on me.

  With resolution swirling through my veins and my suitcase trailing behind me, I hurry down the hall, toward the front door. I reach for the knob and suddenly, my stomach churns, all the hair at the back of my neck standing at attention. I don’t even notice the shadow at the corner of the living room jumping toward me until its too late. With the knob gripped in my hand, I turn and pull. A scream rips from my throat when a hand is wrapped in my hair, yanking me back, away from my escape.

  Connor slaps his hand over my mouth, muffling my screams and drags me away from the door. My heart shatters as I realize my window for escape is closing. I fight him. For the first time ever, I fight Connor back. I scratch and kick at him. I dig my teeth into the flesh of his arm. I fight his hold like a woman possessed.

  “Fucking bitch!” he growls, swinging his fist down in my face. His knuckles slam into my nose and the sound of the crunch makes my stomach flip violently and pain explodes. He swings again, this time his heavy fist crushing my cheekbone. Then another blow to my stomach, another to my temple. My ears are ringing. My brain is swimming. Each hit is more detrimental than the last. I can’t even keep my eyes open anymore. It hurts. It hurts so much.

  “You really thought you could run from me, huh?” he growls. He swings his leg back, his loafers slamming into my ribs, knocking the air out of me and cracking the bones. A guttural cry gets lodged in my throat and the tears spill down my cheeks in torrents.

  “P-please, Connor,” I choke.

  “Did you really think I didn’t know what you were planning? Did you really think I’d ever let you leave, Bea?” Anger bleeds from his voice and his nostrils flare. He’s breathing like a bull as he stands over me, stunning me with each blow to my face and body. “I own you. Haven’t you fucking figured that out yet?” he yells, his spittle spraying my face in his rage.

  Summoning all my strength, I jab my knee up and hit him in his groin. Connor thuds to the side of me, growling out in pain. Ignoring the burning agony in my ribs, I roll onto my stomach and use the floor to help me crawl away from him. My nails dig into the wood, cracking and bending as I try to gain leverage and drag my body.

  Once I spot the landline, my tears come faster and harder. Almost there. I just need to get there in time to call for help.

  I let out a pained cry as I push to my feet and reach out for my only chance at safety. My fingers tremble over the buttons as I dial 9-1-1. I press the phone to my ear and stumble down the hallway, trying to put as much distance between me and Connor as possible. I need a weapon. I need to find something to protect myself with just in case the police don’t make it in time.

  “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

  “My—” a fist collides with the side of my face, jerking my head to the left. The phone drops from my grasp and Connor catches it effortlessly as I smack against the floor. I can faintly hear the operator asking questions, but the ringing in my ears is overpowering her. I know I need to scream, but as I open my mouth, nothing comes out. I can’t get my brain and vocal cords to work in tandem. The pain is too much.

  “Sorry about that,” Connor says smoothly to the operator. “My little sister still hasn’t learned it’s not okay to dial 9-1-1.”

  After hanging up, Connor tosses the phone against the wall where it breaks into pieces. He stalks toward me, his brown eyes narrowed into thin little slits. For every step forward I scramble backward, trying to get away from him.

  “Get the fuck up,” he barks, and I shake my head, my body trembling so violently, I feel like I’m seizing. “I thought you cared more about your friend next door. I guess I was wrong.”

  I choke on a sob. “No! Please don’t hurt her. Leave her alone, please!”

  “Too fucking late.”

  Connor grabs me by the roots of my hair and lifts me to my feet. I dance on my toes, trying to minimize the pain. I feel some of my hair separating from my scalp and I open my mouth to scream but his fist silences me. Black dots threaten to steal my vision. I feel him moving. I can’t see where we’re going, even though my eyes are open, but I feel him.

  I have to save Myrah. I can’t let him hurt her. I can’t let him hurt anyone else.

  Connor tosses my body to the side by his grip in my hair and my stomach flips. Instead of catching myself like a normal person would, the black tunnel steals my vision and I’m unable to save myself from my face smacking against the corner of the coffee table.

  I shake my head, pushing away the memory of my escape attempt. I still remember waking up in so much pain, in a puddle of my own blood, wishing I was dead. I could see in Connor’s eyes that he thought I was dead too. That didn’t stop him from defiling me. From hurting me. Connor tended to the open wound on my head and left me starving in my room for days after that. He still took and took from me and my body, and at one point, I think I shut down. I don’t remember most of those days. All I remember is the wounds he inflicted healing on the outside, but the wounds inside…they just kept tearing open, bleeding out. It was then I decided to take my own life and still, that escape attempt didn’t work either.

  Taking a stabilizing breath, I push open the front door. I’m greeted with complete silence. I swallow thickly, knowing the muted air doesn’t mean I’m in the clear. Quietly walking down the hall to my room, I turn the knob and yelp in surprise, finding Connor leaning against the adjacent wall with a scowl on his face. He’s still dressed in his suit slacks and a white button up shirt with his tie hanging loose around his neck, like he’s been tugging at the material angrily.

  I freeze for a second, forgetting how to get my feet to move. My mouth goes dry, and chills shoot out like needles all over my body.

  “Where were you?” Connor growls out, his body taut with tension. I avert my gaze, afraid to answer his question. I can feel his anger radiating off him in waves. It changes the atmosphere of my room instantly. “I asked you a question.”

  His voice is eerily calm, with an edge to it that I know all too well. I slide the straps of the messenger bag off my shoulder to place it on the floor, when suddenly, my wrist is caught in a vise grip that brings tears to my eyes. His grip cuts off my circulation, and h
is nails dig into my flesh, stinging as he draws blood.

  “I said, where. Were. You?” he grinds out, his chest rising and falling violently. His eyes spit fire and the burning pain in my wrist makes me want to cower away. Connor wraps his free hand around my throat, cutting off my air supply. I choke on a breath, and futilely try to pry his hand off. He yanks me by my neck, getting in my face.

  “You’ll learn one day, little Bea,” he breathes out harshly, his hot breaths ghosting across my face. A pained whimper tumbles from my lips.

  The front door suddenly slams closed, and immediately Connor lets go, looking startled. I suck in a lungful of air, gasping for much needed breath. Before leaving the room, he shoots me a glare over his shoulder. The intensity of his hateful stare burns my face, practically flaying the skin off.

  He loathed me so much, I could literally feel it.

  The sound of Jenny’s laughter drifts down the hall and it makes me sick to my stomach. I hate that he does this to her, and to me. Sometimes, I wish Jenny would find out, not because I want to hurt her, but because she deserves to know. She thinks Connor is her knight in shining armor; someone she can put on a pedestal, but he’s not. Connor is the villain in every sense of the word.

  As I got ready for school the next morning, the ugly purple and blue bruise around my wrist stood out against my pale skin. The welts were the shape of a hand, making it obvious someone had done this to me. Reverting to my trusty hoodie, I use the baggy sleeves to cover the angry bruise throughout the day in class. Melody didn’t push me by asking any questions, and she didn’t bring up what was said yesterday. But I did notice her eyeing me when she thought I wasn’t looking. All things considered, we enjoyed the comfortable silence that seemed to settle around us. We were essentially two peas in a pod—both cut from the same cloth.

  My shift at the library breezed by. For the most part, the library doesn’t see much action. There are a few students here and there that come in to work on assignments or sift through textbooks, but there weren’t enough to keep me busy. I found myself nodding off a few times as I sat behind the clerk desk waiting for something to happen. I even made a note to read through some Astronomy textbooks while there. Before I knew it, I was signing out, ready to head home.

  I grab my shoulder bag off the passenger seat and climb out of the car, stretching my limbs after the drive home. Connor’s car isn’t in the driveway and that usually means one of two things: he’s working late or he’s having dinner with Jenny. I’m hoping it’s the former, so he won’t come home. He never had the chance to slip in my room last night, I heard him and Jenny going at it all night and I couldn’t be any more grateful that it was her instead of me. But that small reprieve won’t last. He never goes longer than a few days without slipping into my room. Every night as I burrow under the covers, I wish he’ll stay away, but over the last six years, nothing has changed.

  “Bea!”

  With my bag slung over my shoulder, I turn toward the source, finding Myrah. She smiles, walking from her yard to mine, meeting me on my porch.

  “Hey. I stopped by yesterday, but you weren’t home yet, I didn’t realize you were taking so many classes.”

  “Oh, I’m not.” I tug on the sleeve of my sweatshirt trying like hell to hide my wrist. “I got a job on campus, so I don’t usually get off until five,” I say, still fumbling with my sleeves nervously. She darts her eyes down to my hands and scrunches her face up momentarily, eyeing my movements, before plastering on a smile.

  “Wow, that’s great Bea.”

  “Yeah…”

  We stand there in awkward silence, both unsure of how to proceed. I purposely clear my throat, catching her attention, and nod toward the door.

  “Did you want to come inside?”

  She blows out a breath and laughs, “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Unlocking the door for us, we walk inside and Myrah gasps as she takes in the familiarity.

  “Holy crap. Everything looks exactly the same as it did all those years ago. It’s like a shrine.”

  My eyes drift around the living room, taking in all the framed family photos on the wall, the brown leather couches facing the TV and the shelves displaying my mother’s snow globes with all the places she’s been.

  Of their own accord, my gaze drifts toward the coffee table and the spot beneath it. Chills travel down my spine. All I’m picturing is my blood pooled across the hardwood floors. The gash on my face. The jagged scar on my forehead that disappears into my hairline that no one notices.

  “God, I can’t believe I haven’t been here in six years,” she whispers and there’s no missing the sadness in her tone.

  Turning my back on her I close my eyes ignoring the pressure in my nose, and the tears threatening to fall. I wish I could turn around and throw myself into my best friend’s arms and tell her everything. I’ve missed her so much. She’s always been my rock, and without her, I’ve just been crumbling.

  Without a word, I turn around walking into the kitchen, and Myrah follows. We both sit next to each other on the stools at the breakfast bar not saying anything. I think she understands how difficult this is for me. Letting her into my house. Letting her into my life at all.

  “Why do you wear the sweatshirt, Bea?” she asks suddenly, and I close my eyes blowing out a sigh, wishing she hadn’t. “We’re in September. It’s like eighty degrees outside, I know you can’t be cold.” She pushes, and I snap.

  Pushing back from the table, I leave the kitchen to go to my room. Once inside I tear the hoodie off, riffling through my dresser drawers looking for a long sleeve. When I find one, I toss it on and walk right back out, sitting in the seat next to her like nothing happened.

  “Glad to see you still have some sass,” she says trying to make light of the situation. I crack a small smile, thinking about the way things used to be. Like images on a photo wheel, the memories flash before my eyes, one right after another. Each one making my heart ache more and more for the two best friends who promised to be at each other’s side forever.

  “I-I…I’ve missed you.” I force the words past my lips, surprising myself with my sudden honesty.

  Myrah lets out a small sob, slapping her hand over her mouth to hide the noise. Tears suddenly stream down her face, shocking me, and I do the only thing I can think of, I pull her into my arms and I squeeze. I squeeze so hard, never wanting to let go because this, right here with my best friend, is where I should’ve been all along.

  My chest builds with pressure as I hold in my own sob. I want to let go with her, come clean about everything. Why I stopped talking to her. Why I had to push her away. Why I never leave this house. Why I wear the stupid sweatshirt. I’ve never wanted anything so badly, but the moment the words materialize on my lips, I think of him. I think of Connor and all the sinister promises and threats he’s made to me over the years. I know the sick bastard well enough to know he means what he says.

  Pulling away, she wipes her tears from her face and chuckles. “This feels so fucking good.”

  I laugh with her, wiping a few of my own stray tears. My body feels lighter, like there’s no longer this huge weight suffocating me now that Myrah’s back in my life. It still hurts, being around her, because it reminds me of Liam and everything I’ve lost. But I’ll take that pain if it means I get to keep her in my life this time around.

  I watch in slow motion as Myrah’s eyes drift to the bruises on my wrist that aren’t completely hidden by my shirt, and I freeze, internally berating myself for getting so caught up in the moment.

  How could I forget to cover myself?

  I quickly pull down my sleeves, concealing Connor’s marks. Some unnamed and unfamiliar emotions flash behind her eyes but only briefly. She opens her mouth to say something, then quickly closes it, thinking better of it.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Connor’s voice travels through the kitchen and I flinch.

  My heart lurches in my chest, pounding so erratically, I he
ar it in my ears. I didn’t even hear him come home. I was so caught up in Myrah and reconnecting with her that I let my guard down. Dread settles deep in my belly when I realize he’s alone.

  A part of me wants to jump in front of Myrah and protect her from him. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. Connor shoots me a glare, making my body tense and my stomach jolt. I see the accusations in his eyes. He’s worried I’ve said something and now he’s angry.

  “Nice to see you too, Connor. If you must know, I came to visit Bea.”

  Connor’s face sours, and his lips thin into a grim line. “What the fuck for?”

  Myrah narrows her eyes at him threateningly. “I came to visit because she’s my friend, asshole.”

  Connor takes a threatening step toward her and she raises a brow in challenge. Both Connor and Myrah never got along well, even when we were teenagers. I think she always sensed he was pure evil, and I think Connor knew Myrah would always be a problem for him as long as she was in my life.

  As I dart my gaze between them, I realize nothing has changed.

  His nostrils flare and his jaw works back and forth angrily as he realizes Myrah isn’t me—he won’t be able to lay a hand on her without repercussions. His eyes shoot to mine, and there’s a sinister promise there that sends a shiver of dread down my spine. Eventually he leaves the room, and I can finally breathe normally. I shift my gaze to Myrah who’s staring at me with sympathy etched onto her face. I can’t help but feel gratitude toward her for standing up to Connor the way she just did. I could never do that. It was like watching her slay Goliath.

  Myrah shifts her body toward me and reaches for my hand with a small smile on her face.

  “You should come over after work one of these days, or on the weekend. We have a lot of time to make up for, Bea.”

  My eyes drift toward the hallway, half worried Connor is eavesdropping. Swallowing down my regrets, I smile, nodding my head in approval, too afraid to voice my response. Myrah shifts her gaze toward the hall, where I was just looking and frowns, like she understands that I’m afraid of Connor. Snapping out of it, she gives me a smile and touches my bruised arm. I jerk away from her touch, not expecting it.