All Because Of You (Pine Creek Duet #1)

1. Lennon

Chapter one

Lennon

I wake up on the bathroom floor. It isn’t the first time, but it damn sure is going to be the last. Last night plays in my head while I try to pull myself up from the floor.

“You think you can serve me this crap for dinner? I slave away at work all day, and this is the thanks I get?” The blue eyes that I fell in love with are vacant; there is no love shining through them. If I’m being honest with myself, I can’t remember the last time Connor looked at me and it reflected anything but hate. Why he won’t let me go without a fight, I don’t know. I don’t even look like the same girl he met during our freshman year of college.

Upset with my lack of response, Connor leans in close before I feel the sting of his hand across my cheek. I can smell the vodka on his breath. “Answer me when I speak to you! What the hell is your problem?” Spit hits my face, but I still don’t show him any emotion. That will just make him worse. I’ve learned how to maneuver his moods, in hopes to lighten the blow of his fists.

That is not working tonight.

I jump in my seat when he throws his dinner plate across the dining room, sending the roast and potatoes he requested, flying across the room. I wonder how much damage I can do with the broken piece of plate. I’m undecided who is going to be the victim tonight; him or me. A slamming fist on the table brings me back to the present. Connor steps up to me, wrapping his hands around my throat. “I don’t get to eat, neither do you. Clean up this damn mess.” He tightens his hold until I feel like I am going to lose consciousness, but then he lets go and walks over to the bar cart and pours a glass of vodka.

Yeah, that’s what he needs. More alcohol.

Once I’m alone in the dining room, I give myself a moment to assess my injuries. I don’t feel like any of my skin is broken open but can tell that I am already bruising. I gave up hiding the signs of his abuse long ago; visitors stopped dropping by unexpectedly a while back. There are only so many unanswered calls and text messages that can happen until people stop caring about you. I rarely allow myself to look in a mirror, knowing that every time I look, I hate the reflection looking back at me.

Taking my plate into the kitchen, I clean up the rest of the dishes from dinner and put them in the dishwasher. Once the kitchen is back to being in its spotless state, I move back into the dining room. I know Connor. Any moment he will come in here and inspect the space to make sure there isn’t anything out of place. No signs of his tantrum. He is equal parts predictable and unpredictable.

I found myself a real winner.

Just as I’m giving the wall one more wipe down to make sure there isn’t any gravy or remnants of mashed potatoes on it, I feel his presence at my back. I don’t know how, but my brain is telling me that I am going to have to fight for my life tonight. The coldness in his eyes the minute he got home, turned sinister. What happened during dinner was just a warmup.

“Everything is all cleaned up, I think that I am going to take a bath and turn in early tonight. I know you are going to be busy in the office the rest of the week, so I want to make sure you have a calm night.” Just saying those words makes me want to be sick. There are so many things that I wish I could say to him, but will probably never get the chance. I want to scream in his face. Give him a good slap across the face, wrap my hands around his neck for a change. But I don’t. I know there is no way that I will be able to overpower him, but the daydream is what I fall asleep to.

I made my way into the spare bathroom I claimed as my own, as he followed behind me. “Oh, you think you deserve a nice relaxing bath? After all, you had a long day of making a shitty dinner.” It happens before I can stop it. I roll my eyes at the statement, because we both know that nothing was wrong with my roast. I’m not confident about many things; but my cooking is one of the things I’m sure of.

That one eye roll was all it took for his anger to boil over. He charges across the room and pulls me to my feet by my throat. If my neck wasn’t going to be bruised tomorrow, it would be now. I can’t keep track of the amount of hits my body is taking. After a final punch to my ribs, he throws me across the wall, and I fall to the ground, unable to pull myself back up. With me on the floor, he starts kicking me until his phone starts to ring from his pocket.

Before I lose consciousness, I see my mom and dad smiling at me. I see my brother laughing. I see a younger me. The me that was happy. The me that had something to smile about.

I’m brought out of my nightmare when I am fully standing at the sink. I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. I look at the mirror and cringe. My whole face down to my neck is bruised. My left eye is close to being swollen shut. I have dried blood around my upper lip from my nose. My bottom lip is split with dried blood around it. I splash some water on my face before lightly drying it off and creeping over to the door. Holding my ear to the door, I don’t hear anything, but since I don’t know what time it is, I don’t know if he is still home.

I can do this. I have to do this.

Slowly opening the door, I wait before moving through the house. I still don’t hear anything, so I’m crossing my fingers that he already left for work. A quick glance around our room reveals it’s empty, so I hurry as fast as my bruised body allows toward the spare bedroom. Time is crucial now. I know Connor put up interior cameras, so at the very least, as soon as I open the front door, he will know.

Reaching towards the back of the closet, I grab ahold of the bags that I had ready. This closet stores everything that belonged to the old Lennon. Everything that I saved from college, and things that I brought with me from my childhood home. I have two bags ready for my escape, that I finished packing yesterday. For the past six months I have been planning my escape. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to continue like this. At some point, Connor is going to kill me. I don’t understand why he just won’t let me go. If this is what he thinks love is, he has a warped sense of the term.

I quickly get dressed into jeans, a turtleneck, and a hoodie. I throw a ball cap over my hair and grab my bags. Fitting all my life possessions into two duffle bags and a small backpack shows you that I haven’t really been living.

That changes now. I am taking back my life even if it kills me.

Making sure there are no sounds, I swiftly leave the room and make my way to the front door. I don’t allow myself to swell on how happy I once was when Connor first brought me here. How na?ve I was, thinking that moving in here with what I thought was my dream man, was going to be a fairytale. I even facetimed my brother showing him how much I had my life together.

When I open the front door, I am expecting Connor on the other side, ready to pull me back into hell. I let out the breath that I’ve been holding when the hallway is empty. If I ran into anyone out here, I wouldn’t know if they lived in the building or if they were a visitor. They wouldn’t know me either.

I keep my head down until I’m out of the building and make my way to the Greyhound station. At night, when Connor is passed out, I have been sneaking onto the internet and have my route and bus times engrained into my brain. Thank God for being able to see him enter his passcode so many times into his phone. Was it risky? Yes.

At the middle of July, Indiana is currently a furnace, and I’m already dripping sweat. I just need to get to the station, and I will breathe easier. Once the bus actually takes off and as long as Connor doesn’t show up, I know that I’ll be ok. I just need to get there.

After my one-mile walk, I make it to the station and purchase my ticket. Not wanting to waste any money but needing something cool, I break down and buy a bottle of water. I chug the water and fill it up from the water fountain and find a seat away from everyone. There is usually always one person that gives off weird vibes, and unfortunately, I am that person. I want to scream that I am not a weirdo, I’m just running from an abusive boyfriend, but I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I just want to go home. I want my brother. I want my childhood home.

I want Pine Creek.