CHAPTER 7 | Abby
?CHAPTER 7
Abby
M uffled voices bring me to my senses just before the intense pounding of my head takes over my train of thought. A moan escapes my lips as I squeeze my eyes tighter and press my fingers firmly to my temples. This is probably a well-deserved fuck you to me for getting absolutely wasted last night.
The mumbling voices ring like an alarm clock. Who is Sam talking to? It sounds like a girl. I must be dreaming. He wouldn’t bring another girl home, would he? Wait, he’s supposed to be gone already. My eyes shoot open, revealing a spinning ceiling fan as memories of last night flood my brain. My heart pounds like a bass drum in my chest, threatening to crawl up my throat. A dull orange stream of light peaks through the blackout curtains onto the dark blue comforter I’m lying on. The light gray blanket covering me is soft on my skin.
Shit. Whose bed am I in?
Instinctively, I lift the blanket and let out a sigh of relief. My clothes are still on. The smell of chlorine wafts through the air as I quietly pull back the edge of the blanket.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, planting them on the soft white carpet. My shoes sit neatly placed in front of the dark-stained nightstand that houses an old gold lamp with a glass green shade, a box of tissues, and to my delight, a bottle of pain meds and a glass of water. A sticky note falls off the bottle of pain medication, landing by my feet. I squint at the floor, seeing the note written in rather messy handwriting that reads Take 2 and finish the water.
You don’t have to tell me twice. The water goes down my dry scratchy throat like a desert drought, seeping into the cracks, my veins soaking up the hydration quicker than I can finish the glass.
I heave a sigh after the last of the water trickles down my throat. The mumbling voices in the next room continue through my silence. I feel my stomach churn at the sudden large amount of water, but my body still yearns for more.
As I stand up, the bed creaks underneath me, silencing the mystery voices outside the door. I instinctively pause, waiting to see if the talking will start back up again. When it doesn’t, I pull the gray blanket up my back and wrap it around my bare shoulders. I force my feet to move past the plain white walls and the baseball gear in the corner. I almost trip over a cleat before stabilizing myself on the door handle. I pause, listening for voices again before slowly turning the knob and peering through the small crack between the door and the frame. When I don’t see anyone, I pull the door open, squinting in the bright light of the short hallway. My head screams at me. There are two doors to my right and one to the left. A small kitchen island juts out at the end of the left wall.
Taking the quietest steps I can manage, I peer around the corner into the small kitchen. Two figures, a guy and a girl, lean their backs against the other counter, both holding a mug of presumably coffee based on the strong fresh brewed smell in the air. Usually, coffee is the first thing I put in my body in the morning. Today, I think I might hurl at just the smell.
I force a small smile before opening my mouth. “Uh, hi,” I say, quiet enough that they may not have heard me.
“Hey, good morning,” the guy says, pushing off the counter. “Do you want a cup of coffee?” he asks, already pulling another mug out of the cupboard. His white T-shirt strains with the movement.
“Um, no. I think I should stick with water for now.” I move farther into the room, stopping when I reach the island. The white vinyl-covered counters reflect the golden morning sun. The shiny surface is free of clutter. The white cabinets make the room feel open and welcoming. Probably a good thing when I have no idea where I am or who these people are.
Then it hits me. As he hands me a glass of water, those beautiful brown eyes meet mine, and my memory fills some of the void in my head. “Dallas, right?” I ask tentatively. “The guy who spilled my drink on me.”
The girl scrunches her face up a little but looks at him with a smirk. “You did what?” Her bright pink pixie cut bobs with her laughter. She has the same brown eyes as Dallas.
“Uh, yeah. I did apologize!” he quickly defends. “But yes. I’m Dallas. This is my sister Rose.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Abby.” I nod to Rose with a small smile before taking a long sip, savoring the cool liquid on my tongue.
“You, too. Well, I have to head out. I’m meeting a friend for brunch. See you later, Dal.” She grabs the string sticking out of her mug and tosses the tea bag into the trash before setting her empty mug in the sink. She grabs her purse off the hook and heads out the door.
I can’t let this silence last long. I need to figure out what happened last night, but Dallas beats me to the questioning. “So, how do you—” he starts, but I cut him off with my own question, the one that’s been eating at me since I woke up.
“Nothing ... happened last night, right? Like, between us?” I ask, pointing a finger frantically back and forth.
He quickly shakes his head. “Nothing happened. Promise.” He pauses but looks like he wants to say more. “I wasn’t even sure I should take your shoes off, but I wanted you to be a little comfortable. I can’t imagine sleeping in damp clothes was fun.”
I look down, remembering I was soaking wet when I put them back on, and the dampness of my hair now sits in a mess on my shoulders. That’s when I remember that I jumped in the pool ... naked. Or, almost naked. The rest of the memories come flooding back. Sam cheating. Jordan’s pushiness. Sam finding me on his shoulders. And ... And him hitting me. In front of everyone. The tears escape my eyes before I can even attempt to control them. Dallas puts down his mug, coming over to my side. He places a hand on mine, gently forcing me to stop the subconscious fidgeting.
“What happened last night?” I take a sharp breath. “Like, after Sam ... I don’t remember anything after that.”
Dallas doesn’t answer right away, probably contemplating how to word this nicely. “He hit you once before I got between you two.” He moves his hand to my face, attempting to wipe a tear, but I flinch, turning my head away quickly. His hand hovers before he drops it. “Sorry. I ...” he trails off. “I’m not going to hurt you. He has no right to put his hands on you. I won’t let him touch you again. Ever.”
“I don’t need saving,” I say defensively, but who am I kidding? I can’t defend myself. I’ve never laid a finger on Sam in our entire relationship.
“I’m not asking for your permission,” he says sternly, yet a caring tone lies under the seriousness of his words.
A small whimper escapes my lips as the tears flow faster. My legs start to give out underneath me as I slowly crumble to the floor, face buried in my hands. I feel his presence join me on the cold tile floor. It sends a chill through my thighs and up my spine. He fixes the blanket back over my shoulders and a gentle hand rests on my shoulder blade, large enough to touch them both. His other hand runs through my messy hair attempting to calm my nerves. His rough calloused fingers trail my hairline like a tender kiss. As my breathing slows and the tears come to an end, I pull away, embarrassment coursing through my veins at the idea that I just collapsed in front of this man, this stranger.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, dragging the back of my hands across my eyes. A stray tear soaks into the gray blanket.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he says, shifting into my view. He sits crisscrossed in front of me, his knees almost touching mine. His gym shorts sit high on his thighs showing his toned muscles. I keep my focus trained on the floor, afraid to meet his after such an ugly cry. I feel his gaze on me, his brown hair just barely in view.
A feathery touch of his finger moves to my chin and my eyes instinctually squeeze shut. He lifts my chin slowly. “Abby, look at me,” he says softly.
I hesitate but do as I’m told. His index finger remains on my chin, and my eyes finally meet his. They’re soft, but I see his worry. “Abby, I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m not here to make your life a living hell. I’ll keep you safe. I promise you that.”
He stops talking while I absorb the words. His eyes flick between mine. I take a labored breath before placing my hand on his wrist, forcing his hand down to my lap. He doesn’t stop me as I trace the lines of his palm with my eyes, studying the cracks and calluses along each finger.
“You don’t even know me.” I shake my head, still staring at his open palm.
“But I want to.”
I blink. “Okay,” is all I can muster, surprising myself with my answer. Another tear soaks my hot cheeks. He wipes it away, but this time I don’t flinch from his hand.
The vibration of my phone in my back pocket makes me pull back from Dallas. My stomach drops when I see the name on the screen. I’m too hot yet way too cold. The blanket around me is constricting. I stand up quickly, moving to the other side of the apartment, to a window in the living room. I don’t get a word in before his voice powers through the tiny speaker.
“Where the fuck are you?” Sam’s harsh voice, loud enough that I know Dallas can hear him clear as day, cuts through the calm that Dallas worked so hard to create.
I swallow my nerves. “A friend’s house. Why are you calling, Sam?” I ask, finding a shred of confidence. I do remember drunkenly breaking up with him. I should have known he wouldn’t tolerate such a venture from me.
“Why am I calling my girlfriend ?” he spits out. “Which friend? You’re not at Meredith’s place. Your location shows you somewhere else. Whose house are you at, Abby?” His voice slowly gets louder and more callous with each word.
“Just a friend.” I glance back at Dallas, who is leaning against the back of his couch, the grip on the cushion tightening with each of Sam’s words. He’s agitated, but somehow, I can tell it’s not because of me. His brows twist, and his mouth forms a strong line. He takes a long deep breath as he listens to the conversation.
“If you’re with that douchebag of a guy who thought he was being a fucking hero last night, I will wring your neck, Abby. Do you hear me? I will wring your fucking neck.”
I draw in a sharp breath before ending the call abruptly. I should not have done that, but somehow my actions seem stronger than my emotions right now. The tears start flowing again as I stand with my feet firmly planted, staring at some distant place outside. My phone remains gripped tightly in my hand, the other hand now a tight fist. My heart pounds rapidly in my chest, echoing in my ears. This room feels too small, and I can’t breathe. I need to leave. Need to get out of here. Need to go back to where I should have been in the first place last night.
I don’t know when he moved, but Dallas now stands in front of me. He slowly pries the phone from my hand just as it vibrates twice, the indicator of a new message. He looks at the screen briefly but shakes his head as he sets it on the cushion of the couch face down.
“Are you okay?” he asks, offering a hand to me.
“I need to go,” I say, grabbing my phone off the couch and heading toward the door.
“Abby, please don’t go anywhere while you’re so worked up.”
“I need to go,” I repeat, harsher this time. When I get to the door, I frantically look around, trying to find my shoes and purse. Dallas doesn’t move. “Where are my shoes? And my purse? Where is my stuff?” I yell, starting to panic.
“Abby. Please. At least take a minute to calm down. I can help if you’ll let me.”
He moves toward me but stops when I take a step back, flattening myself against the front door. “I didn’t ask for your help!” My voice cracks. “I just want to go home,” I sob, my anger suddenly turning into fear.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Let me get your stuff for you, and I’ll drive you home.” He disappears and reappears, quickly producing my shoes and purse. He hands them to me but hovers as if he’s debating saying something else.
I put my shoes on, not bothering to tie the laces. Dallas shouts something at me before I run out the door, down the stairs, and to my ... bike. My bike isn’t here. I can’t get home. “I’ll drive you home” echoes in my head, those last words finally registering in my mind. I look around, not recognizing any of the vehicles. Succumbing to reality, I sink to the curb. The cool concrete doesn’t offer an ounce of comfort.
A small squeak of a door opening sounds behind me, but I don’t turn around. Dallas sits next to me, elbows resting on his knees. He clasps his hands together and stares ahead at the full parking lot. The sun's rays, not quite hot enough to make me sweat, kiss my face and offer a welcoming warmth from the cool curb beneath me.
I look down at my bleeding fingers, not realizing I was picking at my cuticles. “Can you take me home?”
“Are you sure you want to go home?” He pauses. “I don’t want Sam to hurt you again.”
“Sam is gone,” I sigh. “He’s in another state for two weeks on a business trip.” Realization hits me finally that I have two weeks to myself, free from the fear that constantly holds my attention.
“Can I ask you one more question before I take you home?” he asks, turning to look at me. I fix my eyes on a pebble by my foot and nod. He sits up straighter, preparing to ask his question. “Did you mean it when you broke up with him last night? Are you done with him?”
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? I look up. The blue sky sits cloudless and peaceful. “I don’t know.”
“Why?” he asks immediately.
“You said one question,” I assert, but for some reason, I’m compelled to answer even though I don’t fully know the answer. “It’s ... complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”
Complicated indeed. He wouldn’t understand how furious Sam gets about the smallest things. He wouldn’t understand the things Sam can, and would, do when he gets that mad. He wouldn’t understand why I’ve stayed with him after all of that. The fear. The anxiety. How completely immobilized I feel every day. And he wouldn’t understand how numb I feel amid all these emotions. How normal this feels.
He adjusts his sitting position, probably getting uncomfortable on the hard concrete. “It doesn’t have to be. Relationships shouldn’t be complicated.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “They should be the best damn thing that’s ever happened to you. You should feel loved. Wanted. Needed. They’re not meant to be easy, but they shouldn’t be agonizing either.”
His words replay in my head. My mind doesn’t seem to take the hint. “I’m ready to go home,” I breathe. He sighs but stands up anyway.
The drive is silent. Streets sit mostly vacant this morning. Trees wave in the slight breeze. My heart begs for help, but my head screams to “stay in line” as Sam has told me so many times before. What I do know is for the first time in a very long time, Dallas made me feel seen.