by Holly Ryan
But at least this time there’s confidence in my actions while I try to push past the slight shakiness I’m getting from my fingers. My only response is to grip the door harder.
“No, that’s not okay,” I say. “You can’t just show up at my house like this. And are you drunk?” I roll my eyes.
He moves closer to peek past my head into the house, his large figure looming over me as he does so. “Your mom here?”
I step forward, a movement which pushes him back a little. I want him to know I’m not the same girl I was when I was when I was with him. He can’t walk all over me anymore. “She’s out.”
“I heard about you and Ethan,” he says, almost before I finish speaking. “You go for the new kids now, huh?”
I don’t answer. In fact, I look away from him, and I’m pretty sure that makes him mad.
“Don’t you think he’s weird?” Cole goes on. “Always keeping quiet and shit.”
I sigh. “What are you talking about, Cole? You and me, we’ve been over since that night in your truck. It’s done. Don’t you want to move on, too?”
“We’re never over, Avery. We do this all the time. This fighting and not talking and shit. This was just the longest one.” He reaches out, extending his arm as though he wants to touch me.
He’s got some nerve thinking he can have anything to do with me anymore, let alone touch me.
I recoil in disgust. “Cole,” I say again. “What do you think you’re doing? How the hell did you even get here?” I look past him to see if he came with anyone. There’s no one else there.
He doesn’t answer.
I shake my head. “You shouldn’t be here. In fact, I think I want you to leave.”
The side of his head falls against the doorframe. “Come on, Avie. I know you’re upset, but can’t we just talk about what happened? That’s all I want to do.”
I sputter a laugh. “Now? You want to talk about that now? After all these weeks? Sorry, you’re only a month or two late.” I start to shut the door. I don’t care if it hits him in the nose or if it pisses him off to the level of Scary Cole. I just don’t want to see his smug, abusive, know-it-all face anymore.
In one swift motion, he stops the door with his hand. It lands loudly, and I can see the muscles and veins bulging from his fit forearm. He leans forward again, closing the short space between us. This time, I catch a smell of the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.
He cocks his head to the side. “I just–” he sighs. “I just miss you, Avie. You know? You were such a sexy dancer.” He reaches a hand out again, this time heading toward my waist. “I miss the way you feel.”
I want to push him away, but I’ve frozen in place, watching each movement in slow motion.
He reaches my waist and wraps his hand around it, crawling his fingers toward my back. He’s touching me like I’m his, like I belong to him and I have no other choice.
I feel sick.
I press against his chest, feeling the layer of sweat penetrating through his shirt. “And I’m sure that’s all you miss,” I say sarcastically, trying to keep things as lighthearted as possible.
“Come on,” he continues. “Let me in. I just want to talk to you again. You know, not like this – like we used to talk.”
He leans in closer.
And closer.
Please, Cole. As much as I never wanted to pass your name through my lips ever again – please, Cole, don’t see through me right now. Don’t see how much I’m shuddering inside with fear. Because I’ve been playing off the strong, healed heroine for far too long to let my guard down now.
“No, Cole.” I push harder against him. Maybe if I can push hard enough, I can send him right out the door, back the way he came.
He finally backs off, not due to my strength but out of frustration. It’s obvious in his eyes, which are now enraged and locked into mine with an unstoppable force. They’ve got me. I want to look away, but I can’t; if I do, he might make a move. How does he still manage to have this kind of power over me?
“Jesus, Avery. I’m here. I’m trying to say I’m sorry. What more do you want?”
“Well, I don’t want you to say you’re sorry. I don’t know what I want, but I don’t want anything from you.”
His stare intensifies, the furrow between his brows growing. He scoffs. “There, you said it yourself. You don’t know what you want.”
I should choose my words carefully right now, but I don’t. I let loose. “…because you’re not sorry,” I say, shaking my head. “You’re not sorry. And you better believe I know more than that; I know that if I were to take you back right now, tomorrow you’d be treating me like shit again. And I know I deserve better than that.”
He shrugs. “You know that now, huh? And you couldn’t tell me this a few months ago?”
I nod carefully. “Yes, I do, and no, I couldn’t.” I cross my arms. “I was … immature back then.”
He frowns and nods, then he turns with a slight wobble. His back is now facing me and I can see marks of sweat running down his spine.
I’ve never been so happy to see someone leave in my entire life. This means I’ve won. He may not understand what I said – in fact, I’m sure he doesn’t – but at least he’s accepted it. I’ve finally stood up to Cole Ebbs, like everyone told me to do for so long, and they were right. That’s all I needed to do.
I look down and begin closing the door. Part of me wants to slam it, to show him I’m boss. But I don’t try to slam it; I move respectfully, and that’s exactly where my error lies.
Without warning, my entire body jolts backwards. I hear a thud and I bring my hand to my face as the bitterness of raw pain shoots through my nose.
I should have slammed the door.
I’m on the ground – the worst place for me to be.
I should have slammed the door.
His hands work their way up my neck. He slides his drunken body on top of me, easily overpowering my every pathetic attempt to defend myself.
God, I should have slammed the door.
He collapses onto me, using his mass as a means of control, and it takes the breath out of me. He lays his head against my collarbone, his hot breath hitting the most provocative area of my skin. He strokes my chin with one finger.
I pull my chin up and away from him. I don’t care that it won’t do anything, really – I just want to get away from him in any way possible. My breath is heaving, but I still think his might be faster. I can feel his massive weight against me and the movement of his chest against mine as we breath almost in synch, and a tear forms in the corner of my eye. There’s only one other person I ever want to feel this physically connected to, and it’s certainly not Cole, and not in a situation even remotely resembling this one.
Cole rises up, still keeping my wrists firmly pinned to the ground. He looks down at me, his damp hair falling down over his forehead and his eyes piercing. He grits his teeth. “I should do what that guy failed to do the first time around. Right here. Right now.”
Please, not again. If you’re going to hurt me, at least let me lose time again. I don’t want to remember this time around. I thought I did, but I don’t.
My hands claw.
His hands clutch me tighter, his large fingers wrapping completely around the seemingly tiny bones of my wrists. He’s so much stronger than me and he always has been.
Forget slamming it – I should have known better than to ever open that damn door.
Dammit, Avery, I think to myself, the thoughts racing a million miles an hour. Haven’t you learned anything? What’s it going to take for you to learn to tell the difference between the good guys and the bad guys? It’s not that fucking hard. Cole, bad. Ethan, good. Get it straight, get it straight.
At the thought of his name, Ethan’s face pops into my mind.
Please, Ethan. Can you hear me? I need you to rescue me again, like the first time that was such a miracle. I know it’s asking a lot, but I need another miracle from yo
u. Just one more.
Shit. Two miracles is asking too much, I know. Ethan’s gone.
Cole turns his head. He’s looking for something, although I have no idea what.
I need to take advantage of this moment.
He continues looking, his head to the side, leaving me invisible to him for the shortest of moments. I’ve been saving some of my strength just for an opportunity like this, and now I make my move. I quickly pull my hand out of his unsuspecting grip.
It’s free.
I lift it up toward my head, and our hands enter into a macabre dance, his grasping for mine and mine shooting away with panicked speed.
My hand meets his cheek.
He freezes, all emotion draining from his face. Once he realized what happened, it refills all the more. He takes hold of my hand again. This time I allow it because I have nothing left. That right there was my only possibility of defending myself, and look where it got me. A little slap on the cheek.
He leans back in. “Nothing you did could have kept me out of this house,” he almost growls.
I stare at him, and he stares back.
And that, right there, the second darkest moment of my life, was when I finally realized something profound. I realize that he’s right. He’s actually right. Nothing I did in that moment, or those other moments could have prevented these horrors from happening to me, because I didn’t cause them. It wasn’t my fault. It’s never been my fault.
Still, so this is how I’m going to die. Because with the way he’s treating me right now it seems there’s no other option. This has to be it. I can barely breathe under his weight, and he’s pressing my hands harder and harder against the wood floor in preparation for whatever it is he wants to do. It’s a hurt I can feel down to my bones; it’s a deep ache that makes me want to slap him again.
Then he pauses.
I begin to cry.
He’s still holding me, but he’s no longer yelling and both of our thrashing has stopped. He must have given up on trying to find whatever it was he was looking for.
“Please,” I say through the tears.
He laughs. “Now you’re saying please? What about a few minutes ago, Avie?”
I strain against him again, somehow managing to summon more strength, but it’s strength that’s short lived. “Don’t call me that,” I say.
He doesn’t react. I look up at the ceiling and swallow away the tears. I have no idea what he plans on doing to me, but if I have to be here for it this time, I’m at least going to check out a little. He can do what he wants to my body, but I won’t say the same for my mind. So I keep my gaze up, staring at the whorls of off-white paint on the ceiling, and I think of things that make me happy. I think of my mom and some extended family I haven’t spoken to in a while. And I think of Ethan. I think of the time he helped me after I fell, and the very first sight of that favorite smile of mine. And there, on the floor, thinking of his smile and in spite of everything I now dread about him, I smile.
And then something catches my attention, drawing my eyes away from the ceiling paint. Something is moving in the shadows behind Cole’s body. I strain my eyes and my body as well as I can, but in the relative darkness of the house it’s hard to make out what the movement is. I lift my head as much as possible to get a better view.
Please let something be there.
Something is there. Someone is there. I see them clearer in the shadows, moving closer from the door to where we are, slowly and without care for what they could be walking into.
It has to be Mara.
In the panic of the moment, I completely forgot she said she was coming. Should I warn her? Should I scream? Should I tell her to leave? Cole’s strong enough for the both of us, and I don’t want her to get hurt, too.
I let out a wail that fills the room, pulling against Cole some more.
The body in the shadows moves faster at the sound. Whoever it is takes only a second to process the scene, then lurches forward. They grab Cole. Their fingers wraps around his shoulders so tightly and with such force, that from where I am I can see them dig through Cole’s shirt and indent into his flesh.
I close my eyes.
Cole’s weight is lifted off me in a heavenly release. I can breathe again. I draw my legs up to my chest and roll over. I’m glad I can’t see anything right now, but I can hear enough, and what I hear makes me want to stuff my fingers in my ears.
There are scuffles and violent groans, and then someone gives a big shove. Someone falls, landing hard against either the floor or the wall.
A long pause.
No one says a word. My own breath is the only thing I hear.
Finally, there’s the sound of someone rising.
The sound of footsteps descends into the distance, followed by the door shutting peacefully. From inside the house, the door’s lock turns with a squeak and stops abruptly when it’s been fully latched.
Footsteps approach me.
I put my fingers in my ears. I actually do it, like a little kid not wanting to face reality.
Someone’s touching me. Their hand lightly shakes my shoulder. They’re pulling me lightly, trying to get me to turn over.
I resist.
“Avery?” a voice says. I can hear it through the muffle of my fingers. My fingers are failing me. I want to hear nothing.
I keep my eyes closed. At least that can’t fail me.
The voice doesn’t speak again. Instead, it touches me more. It slides its arms underneath my body, one under my back and the other under my knees. It’s lifting me. I’m in the air.
I don’t want to, but I take my fingers out of my ears and turn toward the body that’s holding me in order to stabilize myself. I place one arm behind it, again hating the need. I bury my face in the crook of its chest and arm out of fear alone.
This feels good. The chest is perfectly warm and smells like cedar.
It places me down.
I’m on my couch. I welcome the familiarity, sticking my hands to the cushy fabric that is mine but still refusing to open my eyes.
I hear the flick of a light switch, and the room lights up in front of my lids.
The couch sinks as someone sits down next to me.
As I come down, I try to calm my breathing. It’s still panicky. I should try the exercises my therapist taught me. Breath in through the nose, out through the mouth. I do it, and I like it. It gives me something to focus on.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
It’s not working.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
In through the nose, out through the–
His lips meet mine.
The kiss is tender and slow. It’s everything I’ve been waiting for. Part of me knew it was Ethan all along, but another part of me wanted nothing to do with him or anyone else in the previous moments.
He touches my arm. His fingers are warm and smooth and they run over mine in a smooth rhythm, calming me better than any therapy ever could.
When my breath returns to a normal pace, he pulls away.
I open my eyes.
He’s sitting next to me, one arm over me in protection. There are tears forming in his eyes, but when I look at him, he gives me that smile that I know so well, that smile that warms something deep inside of me.
He removes his arm to dig into the front pocket of his jeans. He pulls out his phone.
“I’m calling the police,” he says.
I gulp. “That’s a good idea.”
I smooth the fabric of my clothes as Ethan talks on the phone. He’s reporting the crime and from where I am, I can hear the dispatcher as the two of them talk back and forth. She says the police should be here within five minutes.
“They said they should be here in five minutes,” Ethan says, hanging up. He places the phone on the coffee table and leans in to me. He puts a hand on my forehead. “I’m going to get you some water.”
/> “Ethan,” I say, stopping him in his tracks. I roll onto my side.
He turns, and at the sound of his own name, something in his face lights up.
“I missed you,” I say. My voice is still shaky, but I hope he can tell how much I mean what I’m trying to say. “You haven’t even really been gone, but I’ve missed you.”
He grins, that same loving grin through the tears. “I missed you, too, Avery. I though I lost you once, and I thought I lost you again. For good.” He walks back over to me and kneels by the couch. He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “That was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. When I walked through that door, in my mind I saw a ship going down. You were that ship, Avery. Please don’t let me lose you again.”
I don’t know how to reply to that. Things have been different ever since I learned the truth. Even now, I have trouble looking at him without seeing his father.
But as I gaze into his kind eyes, I start to see something more. Someone more. Someone who saved me from the very thing he was once connected to.
I reach up and touch his face. I love those eyes, the ones that have always been there for me even when I pushed them away.
I do my best to smile at him, hoping he can understand that’s all I can muster as a response right now.
He does. He goes to get me that water.
I watch him walk away, and I’m thankful that he apparently refused to allow me to push him out of my life.
I finally ask the obvious question. “How did you know to come?”
“You called me.”
“What?” My eyes widen. “No I didn’t.”
“I don’t think you meant to, but you did.”
“I’m confused.”
He sits with the water and hands it to me. “Check your back pocket.”
I touch my pocket and feel the familiar bulge of my phone. I can’t believe it. My phone was in my back pocket that whole time.
There are certain things about surviving a trauma that never fail to surprise me. Such as, for instance, the simple things you assume you’d notice– like a phone being in a back pocket – and the thoughts that replace all of that when you’re actually in the midst of it, struggling to survive.
