Chapter 38
Lauren
That itchy feeling I’ve suffered all my life never leaves me, but I’ve gotten used to not scratching at it the last several weeks.
Instead of fighting the lows when they start, I give in to them. It’s been taking less time to get past the darkness. I blame that fucking podcast Angel forced me to listen to for the suggestion.
Angel leaves me alone now. The first time he found me that way, he tried to fuck me through it. As much as I enjoyed the pain he offered, it did nothing to help. I thanked him by nearly clawing his eyes out. I was fucking rabid.
When he comes to find me in the morning now and I’m still in the bed, he walks right back out. He doesn’t say a word or try to urge me to feel better. I don’t know if he suffers from some of the same types of demons as I do, but it’s clear he understands to a certain point.
I’ll never tell him that I’m grateful for it, but I think he knows I need the solitude as much as I need the other elements of whatever it is we have.
When I get back to feeling normal, I suck him off harder as a thank you for letting me live in my darkness.
I’d never actually use the words because it still feels like handing him too much of me.
I press a finger into one of the bruises on my arm, smiling at the sharp burst of pain. His entire handprint is there, a kaleidoscope of reds, blues, and purples. I sigh with as much contentment as I can manage, but it never lasts long.
I haven’t left since I arrived set on stabbing him in the chest. I literally haven’t stepped off the front porch. I’ve thought about it many times, but that makes my skin crawl more than the darkness that sets in.
Angel runs the errands and grabs food.
I use nearly every second he’s gone, which has only been a handful of times in the last couple of weeks, to search his house high and low for my sister’s things. I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m only here for those two things, that when I find them, I can leave.
The first time I searched, I did it in his office. The man is smart enough to lock his computer system down but leaves the combination to his safe taped to the underside of his desk drawer?
Does he really think I’m that stupid? I know he isn’t, and it didn’t take long before I realized he’s fucking with me. It’s why I go back and search the same spots over and over. I wouldn’t put it past him to keep moving the damn things around. It’s a game I both love and hate.
He doesn’t mention things being out of place despite him being so fucking OCD about where things go. Last time, he locked eyes with me as he put the handful of books he owns back in the correct order on the bookcase.
I’ve already checked the office. The code has changed, and the combination is no longer written down anywhere I can find. Although I’m certain the things are in the safe, I keep searching elsewhere because it could be a week before I get the chance to look again.
The closet is so organized, literally by style and color, it makes me freak out a little.
He’s so fucking meticulous it’s annoying.
I check every pocket, knowing they aren’t big enough for the diary but that fucking necklace could be hidden anywhere.
I kick at the shirt that falls off the hanger, making sure it’s crumpled in the corner just to be annoying.
Next is the dresser. I start at the bottom because I know from digging in them before that they hold summer clothes, not that I can picture Angel in a pair of fucking cargo shorts, but he owns them, nonetheless.
The first three drawers prove to be fruitless, but I notice the items have been refolded from the last time I went through the drawer.
The second drawer from the top, the sock drawer, looks like it was done by a professional.
Each pair perfectly matched and in rows, also by color like the hanging clothes in his closest.
Feeling like a brat, I dig my hands in deep and start swirling them around. He may be extra rough tonight if he finds this before bed, and my body hums with the promise of more bruises.
Then my fingers brush over something hard.
I tell myself not to get too excited. I did that two weeks ago and ended up pulling out an old zippo lighter.
I turn the sock upside down, knowing how weird it is for something to actually be inside of it, but I wouldn’t put it past Angel to do shit like that just to give me hope, only for it to crash to the ground. He’s an expert in all things painful to me and delivers often.
The tarnished locket falls into my hand.
The world fucking stops spinning as I look down at the costume jewelry. I blink as if the thing will disappear, but it doesn’t.
It’s here, what I’ve been searching for this entire time.
I could leave, but then I remind myself that I can’t leave. This is only half of what I’m looking for. Taking a chance, I fist the necklace and pull open the very top drawer. It’s not even hidden. Right there on top is Liana’s diary, the string that keeps it closed unwound.
He read her words.
I mean, I suspected he did.
I don’t know a single person who wouldn’t have it in their possession and not at least peek, but it feels like the ultimate betrayal.
Not because he knows in explicit details what she went through, but because he knows what kind of sick disgusting family I come from.
How am I still here with him knowing the truth?
How is he not disgusted with me?
I don’t bother pulling the diary from the drawer, just like I don’t bother closing the top two drawers before letting the necklace slide from my hand.
It lands on the top. Because of Angel’s nonexistent decorating skills, it’s the only thing sitting there as I take two steps back, my eyes locked on what I considered the two most important things in my life.
This is part of his game.
The promises, the joy, the pain I love so much, has all just been a way to make me let my guard down, and fuck if it hasn’t worked.
Just like with the hidden combination to his safe, he wanted me to find this.
I haven’t mentioned these things by name at all, and only mentioned them in the abstract once when I came back. He knows I’m looking for them, knows I’ll stick around until I find them. To find them so easily means another goodbye, just like when he cut me loose before.
My heart races as my hands sweep my lower belly.
Did he find out? Is he disgusted with what we created?
My hands tremble as I make my way to the front door, fear washing over me for still being here.
I took my time looking this time, certain I’d never find them.
I have no idea what will happen if he catches me here when he returns. My walking papers were as clear as day, sitting right on top in that drawer. If he wanted to, he could’ve made it harder. If he didn’t want me gone, he could’ve destroyed the fucking things, or locked them in his safe.
He wanted this.
Tears sting my eyes, and it pisses me off. I’ve spent so much time trying not to feel settled, to not watch his every move, trying to catch him lying to me.
He said I was a smart girl for confessing I’ll never fully trust him. He flat out fucking said it was a bad idea, that he was untrustworthy, but his actions over the last several weeks didn’t make me suspicious.
I grab the jacket I’ve worn more than once when I stand on the porch, and shove my arms into the sleeves. I reach for a pair of boots that will be way too big for me just as I see the headlights coming up the long driveway.
Heartache freezes me right on the spot. I want to confront him, to confess how bad he’s hurt me, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. As he drives nearer, I decide to face him calmly, to tell him this is over, and I’d appreciate a ride into town so I can catch a bus out of state.
But then he slows, his headlights flashing over me.
Maybe I have it all wrong, I bargain as the truck pulls to a stop.
It doesn’t take him long to climb out, the porch light reflecting off that sexy devious grin of his.
“Gonna catch cold out here, babe,” he says as he closes the driver’s side door before opening the one behind it to grab the groceries he went to get.
I thought things were great, and with the way he’s acting right now, I try to convince myself I got it all wrong.
I was brave enough to request clam chowder and spicy chips. I woke up this morning with that on my brain and it sounded like the most amazing meal ever. He scrunched his nose but assured me he’d grab some.
I swallow, my entire body trembling, my nerves shot at having to make a decision.
Tears stream down my face when he turns around, both hands full of grocery bags. He stops in his tracks as he notices the pain on my face.
“Don’t fucking do it, Lauren.”
His words are like a gunshot, the beginning of the race.
“Goddamn it!” I hear him roar as I fly off the porch and run top speed in to the night.