7. Henry
SEVEN
HENRY
I hold my breath when the door handle turns, waiting for him to do something. But instead of kicking the door down or demanding entrance, I hear the soft sound of his retreating footsteps as he walks away.
Nausea builds in my throat, but I swallow it quickly, willing it down as I stare out the window into the dark night beyond the glass.
Tonight has been both the most exciting and devastating night of my life.
Having him touch me, want me, and claim me was exhilarating and terrifying, but mainly exhilarating. But watching him withdraw, hearing the excuses he had for not wanting me once he found out that I was a virgin, filled me with shame.
Rejection is the story of my life. I’ve been rejected by every family I’ve ever stayed with, even the truly shitty ones. I’m used to people not wanting me, but rejection has never felt like this before. This…him; it’s different, worse.
Him not wanting me after he spent the last few hours claiming me over and over, touching me and kissing me. His rejection is a million times worse than I’ve ever endured before.
I should have left the moment he pointed out which house was Parker’s.
No. I shouldn’t have ever gotten in his car in the first place.
That was my first mistake, and one I won’t make again once he takes me back to town in the morning.
The moment I’m back in familiar territory, I’ll reject him.
I’ll turn my back and never speak to him again so he can get a glimpse into how he’s made me feel.
My resolve hardens then liquidizes, like a weird chemistry experiment. I decide that hating him is the only way I’ll survive, then recognize that hating him will likely be impossible, no matter how much I hurt from his rejection.
Confusion follows me through the night, and just like I told him, I don’t sleep. Instead, I watch the minutes click past on the clock while I wish I had a phone charger or a car or a different life. One where instead of being alone, I’m sleeping in the arms of the man I love, who loves me back.
But that’s not my story. It never has been.
By the time the sun starts to rise, I’m exhausted, sad and more than ready to leave.
If I had any idea how far it was, I’d walk down the mountain, but no matter how desperate I am to escape, I’m not stupid, and leaving when I have no clue where I am or how many miles I’ll have to traverse to get back to familiar territory would be idiotic.
Instead, I wrap the towel I fled from Anders’s room wearing around me and tiptoe across the landing and down the stairs. It doesn’t take long to find the laundry room or my clothes that are clean and dry and waiting to be removed from the dryer.
They’re slightly creased, but there’s no way I’m waking Anders up to ask if he has an iron I can use. Instead, I get dressed quickly, instantly feeling better the moment I’m fully clothed. When I step back into the living room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hits my nose.
Glancing into the kitchen, I find the coffee pot is full of steaming liquid, and I decide to help myself. Taking a mug from the cabinet, I fill it, then grip the sides of it tightly, letting the heat warm my hands.
Usually if I have a choice, I like my coffee with sugar and creamer, but when I’m low on money, I’ve taught myself to drink it black and pretend to like it.
I’m sure Anders has creamer in his refrigerator, but I’m not going to look for it.
I learned at a very young age never to take any food or drink unless I’ve been given specific permission.
Allowing myself to pour a mug of coffee is bad enough, but there’s no way I’ll root through his cabinets for anything else.
Taking my mug with me, I head back upstairs and ensure the bedroom looks like it did when I fled into it last night.
I might not have slept, but I did cover myself with the comforter, so I quickly remake the bed and smooth down the sheets, ensuring that I erase any evidence of me ever having been in the room.
Closing the door behind me again, I tiptoe back downstairs and sit down on the couch. Staring out of the front window, I watch for signs of Parker, hoping that she’ll be willing to give me a ride. But before she leaves her house, Anders stumbles sleepily down the stairs, his eyes wide with panic.
When he spots me on the couch, his entire body sags, and an audible huff of air bursts from his lips. “You’re here,” he pants.
“I’m just waiting for Parker. I’m hoping she won’t mind giving me a ride.”
“No,” he snaps, his voice gruff.
“I don’t think she’ll think it’s an imposition. We’re going to the same place.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, that’s okay—” I start to say.
“Henry, stop it. I’ll drive you to fucking work,” he snarls, and I flinch, shocked by the anger in his tone.
Why is he angry? He rejected me. He brought me here, then refused to let me leave. He freaked out and decided he didn’t want me just because I’m a virgin. If anyone should be angry, it should be me.
I don’t know what he sees in my face, but he sucks in a sharp breath, then exhales slowly. “What time do you need to be at work?” he asks.
“Seven,” I tell him quietly.
Checking the time on the clock, he nods. “Let me get dressed, then I’ll make us some breakfast before we have to leave.”
“I’d rather go as soon as you’re ready. I’m not hungry.”
“Did you eat already?” he asks, his brow furrowed as he scans the room like he’s expecting to find evidence that I stole food from his refrigerator.
“No,” I hiss, hating the hint of panic that has seeped into my voice.
“We have time to eat before we have to leave,” he says, his tone softening.
My body tries to relax in response to the change in his attitude, but I refuse to allow it, keeping myself tense and defensive as I stare him down.
Combative is not my usual response to conflict, but Anders showed me last night that we don’t have a future, and if I don’t shore up my walls against him now, I’m not sure I’ll ever have the strength to do it.
“I’d rather just get to work,” I tell him, refusing to allow the nerves to come through into my words.
“And I said, we’ll have breakfast before we go.”
Instead of giving me a chance to protest, Anders turns and bounds up the stairs, the muscles in his bare back clenching and releasing with each step.
My hands are shaking as I lower my empty mug of coffee to the table. Why am I still reacting so strongly to him after he rejected me? Closing my eyes, I inhale through my nose, then slowly exhale, searching for a calm that I doubt I’ll be able to achieve.
By the time I hear Anders’s feet on the stairs again, I’m still shaky and desperate to get away from his all-consuming orbit. Being unwanted is hard enough without having to make awkward conversation with my failed one-night stand over breakfast.
“Eggs and bacon?” he asks, pausing by the side of the couch.
“I’m really not hungry,” I whisper.
“Bacon and eggs it is,” he growls, completely ignoring me as he storms into the kitchen and loudly starts pulling pans from the cabinet.
The tremor in my hands starts to rise up my arms, and I push my fingers between my thighs, clamping my legs together in an effort to stop it from getting any worse.
I don’t turn and look toward the kitchen and instead keep my focus split between the blank TV screen and through the window to where Parker’s car is parked.
It’s still early, barely six a.m., but I’m hopeful that today is the day she’ll decide to leave early and I’ll be able to flee with her.
“Come and eat,” Anders says, his tone firm and unyielding.
“I really?—”
“Get your ass over here and eat,” he demands, making his words an undeniable order and letting me know that refusing the food he’s cooked for me isn’t an option.
Slowly pushing up from the couch, I pad silently over to the table and sit down in the same seat I used last night.
“Henry.”
It takes me a few moments to slow my breathing, but once I do, I lift my gaze just enough so I’m not outright ignoring him, but not high enough that I’m giving him my full attention.
It’s clear from his immediate scowl that he doesn’t appreciate me not acknowledging him the way he wants me too, but I manage not to buckle under his steely look.
“Last night…I didn’t handle it as well as I should have,” he says, his voice rough.
“It’s fine,” I reply immediately, not wanting to discuss anything that happened last night.
“It’s not fucking fine.” Inhaling, he lets the breath out slowly, and as I watch, his tense shoulders start to relax.
“Can we just not?” I say, exhaling out a pathetic huff. “I get it, okay? I don’t think we need to dissect it or talk about it. You stay away from me, and I’ll stay away from you.”
“That’s not what I want,” he snarls, legit snarls.
Lifting my head, I allow my gaze to lock with his, needing him to hear and understand what I’m saying. “Just stay away from me, Anders. Please. Just forget we ever met and leave me alone. Please.”
I sound a little too much like I’m begging, but honestly, I am. I can take his rejection once. I can walk away with my head held high…once. But I won’t survive it over and over. I can’t be a toy he picks up, then drops again. So, this needs to end now.
“Henry.”
“No, Anders. Look, I appreciate you making me breakfast, but I really am ready to leave.”
I don’t know what he hears in my voice, but whatever it is, he understands. Sighing, he nods, quickly finishes his food then stands, taking both of our plates and dropping them into the sink with a crash before he shoves his feet into shoes, grabs his keys, and heads to the front door.