Letting You In

by Nora Flite

  Letting You In

  Nora Flite

  -DEDICATION-

  This book is dedicated to everyone who has shaped my life.

  From my parents, who did their best, in spite of all the hardships we endured.

  To my friends who stood by my side, marveling with me at all the curve balls, daring the world to throw us another.

  And, especially, to the man who taught me what love really is. You helped me believe in myself, showed me that even when things get hard, you'd be there to hold my hand while we laughed through all of it.

  Thank you, everyone.

  -Nora

  -Part 1-

  Leah Rook

  I saw him move, but still, my body proved to be useless. Knowing he was coming for me again, knowing that hand would collide with my face... if this had been an action movie, I would have dodged. I could have rolled, ducked, or weaved out of the way at the very last second. My ex-boyfriend would've punched the air, the wall, even the couch, just anything but me.

  That wasn't going to happen.

  Owen's knuckles bounced off my temple, a bloom of hot pain, disorienting pressure. I must have fallen, because I realized I could feel the coarse living room rug on my lips.

  “I'm sorry,” he breathed, and if he hadn't been so close, I don't think I would have heard him. My ears were pounding, almost muted by a high pitched whine that had no end.

  “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he just kept repeating that. My lips tasted like blood, I didn't respond. What could I have said, though, to the man who had finally dared to hit me like that?

  “I'm sorry,” he begged, grabbing my ankles, filling me with nausea as he started to drag me. “I'm sorry, you just...” He didn't finish, but I looked up, saw him standing over me. He was terrified, no longer the image of crimson rage that I had seen seconds before that punch, seen so many times in the past.

  Good, I thought to myself, good for you, you're finally sorry.

  He must have seen it in my eyes; I wasn't going to give in this time, I wouldn't forgive him for what he had done. That would be a first, and the expression that twisted to life on his face was no longer that of someone who regretted their actions.

  “You don't even care. I'm sorry about what I just did, and you don't give a shit!”

  Inhaling sharply, I tried to get up, but he was on me, heavy, the weight of him crushing me down. His hands coiled around my throat, the high pitched ringing in my ears growing. Something new joined it, a ragged whistle. Color splotched in my vision, my skin crawling with the sudden understanding of what I was hearing.

  That's me, that's the sound of me trying to breathe, isn't it?

  Owen looked into my eyes, a cold spike settling in my belly. I knew what he was going to do.

  My ex-boyfriend was actually going to kill me.

  Chapter 1.

  1 Month Earlier

  The bed was toasty, and with the heat off in the apartment, I was even less likely to want to crawl out from under those blankets. Turning on my side, I pressed up against the broad back of the man next to me, trying to steal even more warmth. His reaction, as usual, was to shrug me off, muttering. “Your feet are like ice.”

  “Sorry,” I frowned, scooting away reluctantly. Owen had never liked snuggling, or any sort of affection, really. But it's alright, it isn't like I'm exactly into that sort of stuff, anyway. Still, the prickle along my neck, the irritation from his normal rebuke... it was enough to coax me out of bed.

  Pushing aside the blankets, watching my boyfriend instantly scoop them up to make a tighter cocoon, I hurried to throw on a thick sweater. The room was a mess, clothes everywhere, nothing really organized. That was just how things were, we didn't really bother to put things away. Why waste the effort when you never knew for sure if you'd be able to pay your rent, or if you'd have to move?

  “Hey,” he called to me, sounding suddenly sweet. Smoothing my hair, I looked his way, saw that smile of chagrin as he wiggled tighter in the bed. “Breakfast?”

  “Is that your way of asking me to make it?”

  “Come on, please?” Owen pleaded with me, and I sighed. I was so bad at saying no.

  “Alright.” Ignoring his small cheer, I slipped from the bedroom, towards the kitchen, feeling the chill of the hard floor through my socks. I made breakfast every day, but it was just... easier, to do it.

  Easier than fighting about it.

  In a few minutes I had coffee brewing, bacon in a pan. The kitchen smelled nice, I was grateful for the warmth. We really should have had the heat on, especially since it was October. New England had terrible cold snaps, and one of them was currently making me wish we had the money to afford the gas bills.

  Whatever, in spring I'll be wishing for air conditioning.

  We didn't turn that on ever, either.

  Between the two of us, we barely scraped enough to keep living here. Owen did side jobs, whatever his dad offered him, or occasionally just contracted labor.

  Me, well... I had been too poor to really get much education after high school, let alone go to the college I'd had in my heart. I'd wanted to do a lot of things, like most kids. Dreaming about becoming an artist, becoming famous!

  I was lucky my guidance counselor was there to warn me away. He had been right, where could I find an art job here, in this tiny, broken state? I had managed to get some graphic design work on the side, but Owen, well, he had talked me into looking for real work. Applying, getting a job, it wasn't exactly simple, not when everyone else was willing to take anything and work for minimum wage.

  The bedroom door opened just as I was scooping scrambled eggs onto the plates. Right then, I was feeling pretty good, knowing Owen would be happy for the hot food. I looked up, met his eyes, saw his familiar frown.

  “You didn't wash the dishes from last night.”

  “Oh,” I blinked, glancing at the few plates in the sink. “I mean, I'll do them after.”

  “You should have done them last night,” he sighed.

  The flush of anxiety crawled up my neck, I set the plates of food down heavily on the kitchen table. “Well, after I made us dinner, I was sort of tired and just wanted to sit and eat. But I can get them, if you like.” I pointed at the pan I had just cooked in. “Do you want me to wash this, too, right now?”

  Owen scowled, sitting down in front of the steaming breakfast I had just finished making. “Next time just do it before we go to bed, then you don't need to do as much the next morning.”

  I stared at him, biting back the comment I wanted to make. Maybe next time you should cook for once, or do the dishes. Tense, feeling the frustration from having been berated a number of times, I sat beside him, eating in silence.

  “Hey,” he said, and when I didn't look up, he grabbed my hand to stop me from lifting the fork full of eggs. “Hey. Look at me.”

  I did, but I already knew what he was going to say. “I'm just trying to help you,” he stated, lifting his eyebrows, trying to read my expression. “Taking care of things right away is just easier. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I muttered, relieved when he let me go.

  We ate in silence after that.

  Owen went to take a shower when we finished, leaving me to clean up after him. I washed the dishes, boiling with a slowly building anger that had come to roost in me deeply. It had been there for some time, a fireball that only got more volatile every day.

  A door opened on the other side of the apartment, footsteps coming my way. Sounds like Colby is awake. Our roommate, a friend of Owen's, he'd been living with us for only a month. It was the best method we could find to help handle our tight budget.

  He ducked into the kitchen and came up behind me, grabbing the pan I had just washed from the strainer. When he did, he knocked a gla
ss off the counter. Together, we watched it smash on the floor, sharp shards scattering everywhere.

  In a burst of fear that was instantly fighting with a surprising, protective rage, I dropped the sponge into the soapy water, screaming at him. “Dammit! Be more careful!”

  “Whoa, hey,” he lifted his hands, watching me with wide eyes in a way that was strangely... familiar. “Relax, it's just a glass, sorry!”

  “Now I have to clean that, too,” I groaned, wrinkling my forehead, wiping my palms on my jeans. Owen is going to be pissed that we lost another glass, he'll say I shouldn't have left it so close to the counter edge. He's right, he's always right about that stuff.

  “Calm down, Leah. Seriously, just relax a second. I'm obviously going to clean this up.” He stared, looking me up and down, considering me a moment. “You seem a little stressed lately.”

  “What?” I rubbed my hands on my pants again, though they were already dry. “What do you mean?”

  “Stressed,” he shrugged. Grabbing the broom from the corner, he started sweeping up the glass into a pile. Briefly, he shot a look at the bathroom door, where we could both hear the shower water still rushing. “Listen, not my place, I know. But, uh, is everything alright with you two?”

  “We're fine,” I blurted, tugging at my long hair. You know that's a lie.

  “I hear you guys yelling at each other a lot.”

  “He just gets upset when I make mistakes, that's all.”

  Colby leaned on the broom, lifting an eyebrow at me. “Leah, I've known Owen forever. I know he has a temper, you don't need to pretend he doesn't. And you don't need to defend him.”

  “I'm not.” I frowned, turning back to the sink, busying myself with washing another plate. “I just don't want you to get the wrong idea.”

  He was quiet a moment, I almost looked over my shoulder, just to see what he was doing. Colby scraped up the last of the glass, dumping it in the trash. “Listen,” he said, standing so close I could see his level expression. “I don't think you need to worry about me getting the wrong idea. I have ears, I live with you guys. And,” he added, smiling crookedly, “I'm not dumb. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I replied, looking at the bathroom nervously. “Okay. I know. It's not a big deal. He gets angry, I can handle it. He has his moments, but when he's good, he's really good.”

  “Sometimes that's part of the problem.” Colby scratched at his scalp, then turned for the front door. “I need to get to work. But listen, if you ever need to talk, you know I'm here, yeah?”

  “Okay,” I said, wondering how many times I had spoken that word today.

  He left, and I stared into the grey sink water, the suds already having turned into greasy film. He isn't wrong, I guess I am pretty stressed. I thought back, trying to remember the last time I hadn't always felt so edgy... so anxious.

  It shouldn't be so hard to remember that.

  Part of me wanted to walk away, right then. Just go outside, get some air. I thought about Owen coming out of the bathroom, seeing the dirty sink, imagined how he would frown and chastise me later. Swallowing, my heart speeding up, I gripped the sponge tightly.

  After I finish the dishes.

  ****

  The ground was wet from an early rain, the sky overcast, refusing to let any sun through. Despite that, it was less cold outside than in my apartment.

  I hadn't had a real goal when I started walking, but I found myself pushing the heavy, old door aside and entering the little coffee shop in the neighborhood. I'd lived in my current apartment for a few months, had been grateful when I discovered a nice place nearby to stop in and just... get away.

  Get away, why am I always trying to get away?

  The guy behind the counter looked my age, probably just out of college, his ears stretched by those funny plugs that I'd never learned the name of. I was going to just order my usual plain cup of coffee, but my eyes drifted down to the glass case between me and the barista.

  Inside I saw some pastries, sweets, things I was never allowed to eat. Never allowed? I thought about that, but had to admit, that wasn't exactly far off. Owen was, bluntly, a bit of a health nut. He was in great shape, he expected me to take good care of myself as well. That meant not only not having snacks in our apartment, but he'd never let me eat junk food around him.

  Frowning, I felt a hot shard of defiance, pointing to one of the glossy muffins. “I'll take a medium cup of coffee, and one of those, please.”

  Knowing Owen would be out still, he'd said he had to go help his dad with some side job, I carried my plunder back home. There was something about the privacy, the silence, that made me really sink comfortably into the kitchen chair to enjoy my treat. The coffee was hot, the muffin plump, sweet. I had hardly eaten two bites of it when the front door jingled near me.

  Keys, I thought, a sickening rush of fear over taking me, Owen is back.

  He entered quickly, his eyes fixing on me instantly. “My freakin' dad, he tells me to meet him for noon, then he doesn't even...” His voice trailed off, his expression darkening. I wished I could have shrunk down, just vanishing. “What are you eating?”

  “A muffin,” I answered stupidly. What else could I say? The taste in my mouth was sour, the food in my stomach a heavy, hard ball. Owen approached me, his body tense, eyes scorching.

  “Why would you do that to yourself? You know better.”

  “I just wanted a snack, I don't ever have snacks, it isn't a big deal!”

  He was standing over me, hands at his sides, fingers twitching. I didn't know what he was going to do, but my adrenaline was pumping. “Yeah? You don't do this when I'm not here, get some shitty food and eat it behind my back?”

  “No! Of course not--”

  “You're such a liar!” He snapped, my chest tightening like someone was squeezing it. Every inch of me wanted to run, my spine was pressed hard into my seat. “What the hell, Leah?” He moved, making me flinch as he grabbed the arms of my chair, his face inches from mine while he shouted. “I thought you cared about your health!”

  Trembling, I pulled back, but there was no where to go. His eyes were full of poison, I could almost feel the heat of his anger. “Stop it, please stop yelling at me...”

  “I wouldn't yell if you listened! You're so damn stupid sometimes, Leah!” He was seething, suddenly a monster so different than the man he'd been that morning in bed. I thought about Colby's words.

  “I'm not stupid,” I muttered, gritting my teeth. “Stop yelling at me.”

  “I will when you stop messing up constantly!”

  “No!” I screamed, the tension finally snapping inside of me. My face was warm, hands reaching out, pushing him away. I needed to get up, he was making me feel trapped.

  Owen stepped back, staring at me dubiously. My fingers itched, I kept them raised up in front of me. “No,” I said again, shivering. “You're going to stop yelling at me. I'm done with it.” Am I doing this, am I standing up to him? I'd never tried before, it was a whole different kind of fear, yet a liberating one. I grabbed on to that feeling, worked to steady my shaking knees.

  My boyfriend tilted his head, a hawk watching his prey. I didn't want to compare myself to a mouse, but right then, I felt very small. “You're done?” His stance as he stepped forward, his body only inches from mine, was terrifying. I had seen him angry so many times, but this seemed very different. “You're done?”

  Do something, Leah, anything! Run! Move!

  He grabbed me, lifting me with ease. Roughly, like I wasn't even human, he shoved me backwards with his full strength, and I wasn't prepared. I couldn't have been. Owen had shouted at me, screamed at me, made me afraid of him so many times... but he had never really tried to hurt me. Not before that moment.

  Caught off guard, I slammed into the kitchen table, the sound of something wet in my ears. The floor was cold, but I didn't care. Sprawled out, the breath kicked from me, I could only gawk up at the man who had finally shown me a side he had kept buried for so long.
Four years we had dated, and through it all, he had controlled this beast.

  Something touched my hand, I saw the wet sound from before had come from my coffee spilling. It pooled on the linoleum, soaking my fingers, the side of my leg. Still, I just stared at Owen, seeing my own shock reflected in his face.

  “It was an accident,” he suddenly mumbled, sounding like even he didn't believe it.

  “I know,” I heard myself say, but didn't know why. Am I that much of a coward? How could that have been an accident? He extended a hand down to me, so I took it, letting him assist me up. Why am I letting him touch me? He just hurt me, I should... what should I do? “You... you just threw me into the table.”

  “You made me so angry, I... I'm sorry.” He searched my face, I wondered what he saw. All I knew was he didn't seem to have a shred of actual regret in his eyes.

  He'll do it again, you know it.

  He went to hug me, I pushed him aside, heading for the bedroom. “Where are you going?” His voice was nervous, but I didn't answer him. I simply shut the door, locked it, and sat on my bed.

  Did that really just happen?

  “Hey, Leah,” he knocked on the door, insistent. “Hey, open up, let's just talk a second.”

  Looking up, I stared at the wall, debating my choices. I could let him in, we could talk about what had just happened. He'd probably apologize, then I'd... what? Forgive him? Go back to what we were doing before?

  My adrenaline was fading, the pain from colliding with the table starting to ache. I could tell I wasn't injured badly, but knew there would be an ugly bruise on me for some time.

  I can't do this anymore. I just can't.

  The other option was tempting, but...

  Run away.

  “Hey, Leah, come on.” He tapped the door, softer this time.

  Could I really do it, leave Owen, leave everything? Just run away from it all? Maybe I'm a coward, but that sounds pretty great right now.