Chapter 7
Lizzy
“You’re a whore, Elizabeth! You’re fucking Randal!” Vincent bellows. “You stupid bitch.”
I shake my head, trying to find the words to deny his wild accusations, but I can’t get them past the lump in my throat. When he storms forward, taking another thumping step, the tears I’ve been fighting pour out.
“Those tears don’t mean anything, you lying slut,” he spits at me.
I try to shake my head, but it’s the wrong move. One hand clenches around my throat, blocking off any air to my lungs. The other hand raises to my face. I flinch, expecting the hit, but instead, am greeted with a caress along my cheek.
“If you can’t stay loyal to me, then you don’t get to be mine.
” His soft tone clashes with his fury. It’s the mania he submits to.
Bringing him up then dropping him down. He cups my cheek and leans in.
“But the thing is, you’re already mine. And no one else can have you. Do you know where that leaves you?”
My blood pounds in my ears, blocking out most sound. Despite every cell of my body urging me to push him back, my arms stay glued to my side. The tremors running through me battle with the calm surfacing within me. Maybe if he just holds on a little longer, I will finally be free of him.
“Dead,” he whispers.
My eyes close, and I let the peace flow through me. This is it. This time, he’s going to kill me. I’m sick of fighting him. I’m tired of the violent mood swings. The absurd accusations. If this is the only life he’ll let me live, then I’d rather he just get it over with.
Instead, though, he sighs dramatically. His grip on my neck relents, then both hands are cupping my cheeks.
“Elizabeth, I’m just messing with you. You know I love you.” His loving tone brings bile to my throat even as I gasp for air. But I don’t open my eyes. I can’t fall into those green pools again. Because the love battling the craze brings forth nightmares.
“OPEN YOUR EYES!”
He shakes me violently until I comply. And when I do, his face relaxes into a dopey grin. It’s a grin I don’t trust. One that sends tingles down my spine.
“Oh, doll. You’re so pretty.” He leans out to inspect me, and I hold my breath. “Quit looking so damn scared. It’s only a joke. Smile for your man.”
The weak smile I give seems to convince him too much. Because he tightens his grip on my face and launches his lips onto mine. His rancid breath is bitter with the liquor he’s consumed. I choke on it, but I know better than to fight the kiss. So, I lean in and mollify the beast.
But I know it’ll only last so long before he reverts to mania. Before he’s making insane accusations. Before he’s hitting me again.
I make myself a promise. The next time will be the last time.
I won’t give in again because I want to live.
I want to live far, far, far away from here.
Somewhere cold where there’s not such high humidity.
Where I have the freedom to do as I please with no one ordering me around.
Maybe I’ll even get a pet. Maybe a snake to scare men away.
With images of fierce snakes on my mind, I drift away.
I jerk up in bed, frantically searching the room as I try to ground myself.
I’m not Elizabeth Thompson. I’ll never be her again.
I’m Lizzy Lewis.
And this is my home.
In Boston, not Mississippi.
There are no men here.
Which is a fact that disappoints me a little, not relieves me. Because I’ve worked very hard to no longer fear men. He’s the only one that ever hurt me. And he will never be able to hurt me again. I made sure of that.
It’s been six years.
Elizabeth Thompson is gone.
Lizzy Lewis.
Lizzy Lewis.
I’m Lizzy Lewis.
Once the fear subsides, I stretch and get out of bed.
My phone shows it’s five-forty in the morning.
I’m never up this early. The possibility of meeting my little shoveler motivates me enough to leave my bed.
I throw on my robe and rush to the living room, but I’m disappointed to be greeted with no powdery fluff outside.
Well, I guess I’m destined to never meet the kid.
All I want is to say thank you face to face.
Since it’s not snowing, I debate going for a run. It’s still dark outside, but I can stick to the neighborhood instead of the trail.
Feeling pleased at the prospect of running, I rush to my room and get dressed. After wrangling my unruly hair into two French braids, I bundle up and head out the door.
By the time my first mile is done, the sun is rising. Neighbors are getting their newspaper, some even leaving early for work. I wave at the ones I see, never having grown out of my southern hospitality. Some stare at me inquisitively, but a few wave back.
It makes my run feel less lonely. However, it still feels more solitary than normal. It’s not the trees that I’m missing though. My usual running buddy isn’t trailing behind me. I almost feel like I’m cheating on him by diverting from our schedule.
Unable to stop myself, I make a left turn instead of a right and keep going.
I end up on his street, roaming past his house.
I slow to a crawl, still pumping my arms while I study it.
I see the house daily, but never this close.
There’s nothing special about it. It fits in with all the others in the neighborhood. But something about it calls to me.
His newspaper’s plastic wrapping reflects the sun’s glare into my eyes. Realizing he must not be up yet, I continue my run.
Only for twenty minutes later to end up on the same street. Still, the newspaper stares at me from his driveway. Sighing, I keep moving.
On my way home, I take a longer route, which somehow leads me down his street again. But this time as I pass his house, I see something different.
Walking down his driveway to retrieve his paper, is a sexy man in a navy robe. His hair is tousled as though he just rolled out of bed, and with those glasses, it gives him a sexy look.
I slow down and get to his house just as he grabs his paper.
I debate what to say. Should I bring up our runs? Make a comment?
But as I raise my hand to wave at him, he stumbles back a step. He loses his grip on his newspaper, but with bat-like reflexes, he catches it before it tumbles to the ground.
I smile at him, only for him to gape at me. His mouth bobs open and closed like a trout out of water.
“Hi, neighbor,” I call out as I approach him. His cheeks flush as he stares at me. After a second, he blinks a few times then returns my smile.
“Hello,” he muses so softly that I almost don’t hear him over my pounding steps.
I slow to a stop, excited to finally talk to him. To finally get to know my running buddy.
“Quite a day for a run, huh?” I’m panting a little, but since he’s a runner, I know he won’t judge me.
He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. I guess the fresh air first thing in the morning is nice.
“Uhm, yes. The weather is…” He moves his hands as though they’ll convey what he’s saying.
“No snow,” I finish his sentence with a grin. When he doesn’t speak, I fill the void. “As much as I love being in Boston, I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the snow. Thankfully one of the neighborhood boys takes care of my driveway.”
His eyes snap down to his driveway, abruptly breaking our eye contact. He flushes and rubs his hand on the back of his neck.
“That’s… nice… I need to…” He points behind him at the door, then turns so quickly he stumbles. Before I can comprehend it, he races through his front door, turns to look at me one last time, then closes the door, ending our moment.
I stand there confused for a moment, wondering what I said to upset him. I mull over our words as I finish my run. Maybe he wishes there was someone shoveling his driveway? Or he takes offense to my disdain towards the snow? Or maybe he’s just late for work?
By the time I reach my driveway, I’ve come to a conclusion. His awkward body movements, difficulty holding conversation, and his inability to maintain eye contact are because he’s not a morning person.
He was just affected by the early rise and not used to talking to someone in the morning.
Unless he has a wife. Or a girlfriend or someone he talks to in the morning. But I didn’t see anyone else there. And all the times I’ve driven by, there’s never been anyone else. And he always runs alone.
Oh, I hope he doesn’t have a girlfriend. I’d feel terrible crushing on him if he does.
Either way, the only way I’ll ever know is if I talk to him.
Which I will do.
Eventually.