13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Abby
F or the first time in years, I feel free. No babysitters. No one waiting on me. No one tracking me. And no peering around corners to see what’s coming. My heart beats at a normal pace. I don’t hear it in my ears or feel like it’s going to rip a hole through my chest. I haven’t felt this sense of peace and quiet for far too long.
Dallas and Logan left for their game and didn’t question me when I chose to stay home. They feel it, too. Like they don’t have to be paranoid about me being alone. There was no hesitation in their agreement. Only calm composure and I think a bit of excitement from Dallas that he knew I’d finally be able to enjoy some time alone.
I need to finish this story. It’s written, but I need to complete the last of the edits. I think I can finish them today while the boys are gone. No distractions.
My fingers move easily over the keys and the edits flow out of me faster than I can keep up. It feels good to fully dedicate my mind to my work like this without pretending like I’m not secretly terrified every second of the day, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s nothing to drop right now.
Life just is. And I can just be.
It’s been almost three hours since I sat down to edit, and as I make what I think is the finishing touch on my work, I feel both giddy and horrified. I’ve been writing this story for over a year, and here it is in its entirety, finished, ready for the world to hear.
Oh, God. I hadn’t thought about that. What if it gets read aloud? Even worse, what if I have to read it aloud? Nope. I am not going to think about that right now. I will focus on the work I did—the work I accomplished. I need to be proud of myself for this. I can’t convince myself to hit submit yet, though.
But I have so much pent-up energy. I need to do something with it. A walk could be nice. I don’t remember the last time I went for a walk that didn’t have a destination, let alone a walk I took alone.
The warm summer air feels good, the sun kissing my skin, the slight breeze keeping it from getting too hot. I let myself wander, wherever my feet carry me, and find myself headed toward the path along the tree line. It connects to every path in Oxly in one big, jumbled mess of asphalt. It’s not very lively at this time of day. I’m sure everyone is still at work, counting the minutes until they get to come home. A few trees are still in bloom this time of year. The pink and white flowers are quite the contrast to the bright green of everything else.
Maybe it’s just the completion of my work this morning getting to me, but everything feels so radiant. Happy and blissful. Colors are brighter. Sounds are stronger and more melodic.
So much so that I don’t realize where I’ve carried myself until I’m staring at the brick of my old apartment building. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk between Sam and Dallas’s apartments. Maybe that’s how he figured out where I was so easily before sending me to the hospital.
Instincts kick in and I search for Sam’s car. It’s not in the mostly empty lot. I remind myself that it wouldn’t matter if it was. He’s not here. Can’t be here. So, I slow my breathing and steady my pulse. Everything still looks the same. Not a hair out of place. I take a tentative step off the walking path toward the building, ignoring every sense in my body that screams at me to stop and turn around.
Something other than me, something outside of me, guides me to the front door, up the steps, and to my old unit. I still have a key. I haven’t gotten rid of it yet. Maybe I’m still clinging to a piece of that relationship, the good memories, but they’ve been tainted.
I can’t go back. I won't. But maybe I need this. Whatever this is. Closure? A final termination?
The key still unlocks the door, and my body tenses when I see the interior. The place is trashed. I’ve seen it trashed before, but never this bad. I take a step forward. The cushions from the couch lie scattered around the living room along with the few decorative pillows. The entertainment center has been ripped apart. All the DVDs are strewn about the floor. A few random books have been left open on the coffee table.
In the kitchen, multiple drawers have been left open. The junk drawer sits on the counter dumped out. A coffee mug is shattered on the floor. It’s the one I got him as a birthday gift last year. We weren’t big picture-taking people, but we did have one attached to the refrigerator with a heart-shaped magnet. It’s no longer on the fridge. It’s crumpled on the floor near the mug, a rip almost separating the two halves.
I force my feet through the polluted apartment into the single bedroom at the back. Dresser drawers are pulled out, most of them empty, but the bed is covered in clothes. It’s almost like he was looking for something or going to pack to leave again but was stopped in the middle of his escape. I didn’t ask how or where they found him, but I wonder if they came to serve the warrant again and finally managed to be here when he was.
I take another step but my foot hits something on the ground in front of me. The picture that used to sit on my nightstand. The one I threw in the trash that final day I moved out. Dallas had been looking at it and it made me so furious I could hear my heartbeat in my ears. I’m not sure why, but I hated that we looked so happy in that picture. Dallas and I were there to move me out so I could escape the torture, and yet, at the time, you wouldn’t be able to guess why just by looking around because everything looked so normal. We looked normal in that picture.
But now it’s shattered on the ground, bits of glass littered around the frame.
I’m not sure why that’s what hits me so hard, but suddenly I’m crying and shaking and can’t swallow past the knot in my throat. My legs threaten to give out under me, and I’m thankful I left the front door open so I can run out of here as fast as possible.
Once I make it outside, I collapse on the sidewalk. Everything is muffled and I can barely hear myself cry. But I let it happen. I let myself sob until I can’t breathe, until my whole body is screaming at me to relax from being so tense. I can’t get myself home like this. Not when every part of me is yelling so loud I can’t hear myself think, and my legs won’t hold me up long enough to walk the short fifteen minutes back.
I click frantically through my phone until I hear the dial tone.
“Abby?” Logan’s voice is calm. I never call him. He knows something’s up. I take a shaky breath, trying to form the words, any words. But I don’t have to. “Where are you?” he asks, voice now a little wary.
“Old apartment,” I manage to say between heavy breaths.
He doesn’t question it. He simply says, “On my way,” and hangs up.
It’s only minutes before Logan shows up on his bike. He parks it close and hops off. Dallas isn’t with him. I’m a little relieved at that. I’ve mostly composed myself now.
He doesn’t say anything as he sits down on the sidewalk next to me, knees pulled up to his chest. I wipe my tear-soaked eyes and look over at him to find him watching me carefully.
Sometimes, I like it when Logan doesn’t know what to say. He just sits there, waiting for me to make the first move. It makes it easier to compose myself when no one’s asking what’s wrong or how they can help. Sometimes, I just need to sit in it. Ride the wave of emotions.
“Where’s Dallas?” I hate that that’s the first thing I ask, but it’s the first thing on my mind right now.
“I left him at home. He was in the shower when I left. And since you called me and not him, I figured you didn’t want him here in the first place.”
“Thank you,” I say.
He smiles and waits for me to speak again. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. I don’t know how to explain how I ended up here without sounding crazy. He takes that as his cue to ask his question.
He looks around. “Is there a reason we’re here of all places?”
I let out a breathy laugh. “I went for a walk, got caught up in the moment, and found myself here. I even went inside. That was an awful idea. And then I bolted from the apartment and didn’t think I could get myself to walk back.”
“You went in?” Both his brows rise in surprise.
I sigh. “Yeah. Not my best idea. I don’t really know why. I think I thought it might give me some sort of closure, but all it did was crush what little faith I had left.”
“Well, it is almost dinner time, and tomorrow’s a new day, so you can start over with a new bout of faith. But don’t feel bad for trying. Trying is the most honorable thing you can do.”
I gape at him, at his sudden burst of wisdom. “Okay, who broke Logan?” I joke, a smile finally forming on my lips.
He laughs, too, before saying, “I’m serious. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve been through a lot lately. I can’t imagine how hard your body has been working to keep up with itself.”
“You have no idea,” I mumble to myself. It’s been a long two months. Everything keeps catching up with me in one way or another.
“Come on. I brought your helmet.” He nods toward his bike before standing and offering his hand.
When we get back, Dallas stands in the kitchen, utterly confused. He looks at me, then at Logan, who takes a step forward, trying to understand the situation. “Um … what?” he asks, pointing between us.
I don’t even know where to start. Thank God for Logan. He takes another step and says, “Let me explain.” So, he does. The short version. I fill in with details when needed but for the most part, Logan covers it.
Dallas looks at me periodically to assess but lets Logan and I finish explaining. And rather than saying anything, he simply gives me a hug and a kiss, and asks what I want for dinner. I don’t know what I did to get so lucky with these two falling into my life, but I needed this change.
The boys eat on the couch as they fight over which sports channel to watch, and I sit back down at the table to make some last-minute tweaks to my story. When I’m fiddling with rewording spots that don’t help the story, I think I’ve gotten it to a point where it’s finished. For good. It’s almost surreal to sit back and stare at my work in its final form.
Dallas must have noticed my position or the look on my face because when he turns to check on me, he raises a brow, a small smile forming. I stretch my arms above my head and can’t help my giddy smile.
“Is it done?” he asks.
I nod. He comes over to me and leans one arm on the table, the other on the back of my chair. I’ve seen the man naked, and those arms still turn me into a puddle. Although, that’s probably why.
“Did you submit it?”
“Not yet.” I stare at the screen. “I uploaded it into the email but haven’t hit send yet. It’s only one button, but it feels like such a big step.”
“Do you want me to hit send?”
“No. I want to. I just need to muster up the courage to do it.” He waits, still standing there, like that, distracting me. “I need you to go be hot somewhere else.”
A devilish grin strikes his face, but he reluctantly removes himself from where he stands and returns to the couch. I hover over the send button for a few more seconds until I force down and feel the click of the button under the pad of my finger. My stomach erupts with nervous butterflies, but I know they’re good ones. I’ve never been all that nervous about submitting my work for school, but this is so much bigger and has a much larger response than just my professors reading my work.
“Done,” I say. “It’s submitted.”