26. Lyssa
Lyssa
“Do you want cash back?”
I’ve collected cash back for a couple of months now.
Austin doesn’t pay close attention to the grocery bill, and costs have been rising, so he hasn’t questioned the fact that our weekly runs have increased in price.
It’s also one of the few places he lets me out of his sight, either opting not to go with or simply dropping me off to run the errand.
It’s a funny feeling, the fact that I breathe easiest when I’m weaving in and out of aisles of chips and cereals.
There’s a dangerous whisper of freedom to it, and when I watch the others in the store, I sometimes imagine I’m them.
On the phone with a friend, confirming ingredients for a party.
Leaning into a loved one, planning a romantic night in.
Holding hands with a small child, rolling my eyes at their endless attempts at sneaking junk food into the cart.
Most days, I block out the whispers. But today, I let them grow and blossom into what could almost be called hope. Because today, I have a plan.
When we get home, I unpack the groceries and run upstairs to change for the night.
It’s Patty’s graduation party – and technically, mine, though I don't expect any acknowledgment there.
Ethan bugged Austin to the point that he gave in, agreeing to bring me with to celebrate, too.
The fact that they want to include me in the celebration, even with the distance that has grown between us, both warms and pains me.
“Let’s go, Alyssa!” Austin bellows from the front door, and I hesitate for only a second before grabbing the money I’ve saved up – carefully folded into an unused sock at the bottom of my drawer – and tuck it into my bra.
Tonight is the night we graduate from one life, and I can only pray the one I graduate to next looks wildly different.
As we leave, the road swirls and blurs, time skipping forward until I find myself on a deck.
It’s dark out, and Austin is clutching a handful of bills in his hand. Shadows move in the background, milling about, but I don’t take my eyes off the predator in front of me.
“What the fuck is this?” It comes out as a whisper, low and soft. To anyone else, he simply sounds surprised, but I know better. I know the violence that tone promises.
Why did I listen to the whispers that told me I could get away and find freedom? His words are the only ones that matter. The ones that remind me where I really am, where I will always be.
I may have graduated, but I’ll never escape this.
A knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts.
I shake my head and gather my things, knowing exactly who will be on the other side of that door, because it’s ten minutes before our scheduled date time.
For the past two weeks, that knock has sent my pulse skittering and launched butterflies in my stomach.
For the first week, the nightmares let up, as if the excitement from being with Benji simply took up all my headspace.
This past week, however, they've come back with full force. I’m not sure if it’s because things are getting more serious, or if I’m just getting too deep into my feelings. I know it’s not because of anything physical.
Things have remained frustratingly stagnant on that front.
Two weeks ago, we had dinner outside during a snowfall.
The dining space was enclosed and heated, but it was transparent, so it felt like we were eating in a snowglobe.
It was romantic as all hell, but at the end of it, when he dropped me off at home, we shared a long kiss.
Afterwards, he simply placed a brief kiss on my forehead and said goodnight.
I almost wondered if he’d given up on me, but then he texted for another date, and we ended up walking through a botanical gardens light display.
The lights were set up like flowers in bloom, and lit the snow around us in a beautiful display of colors.
We ended up kissing on a bridge, listening to the water rush beneath our feet, but it went no further.
When we came back to the apartment, he did the same thing as before: a kiss to the forehead and a goodnight.
Maybe my dreams are warning me that it’s too good to be true?
I bite my lip and open the door, trying to drive away that negative train of thought. Just because he’s backtracked on the physical aspect doesn’t mean he’s regretting his choices. He’s here, isn’t he? And all of our dates have been fantastic. I’ve never experienced anything like this before.
I can’t tell if he’s trying to sell me on his home state, or on himself. Either way, I’m steadily growing fonder of both. Just because he’s been a little hot and cold on the physical front doesn’t mean the dates weren’t still wonderful.
“Hey,” Benji says, leaning against my door frame.
I give him a once-over, soaking him in. He’s got on a beanie, smothering his wavy, soft locks, and a dark Leopards sweatshirt.
Pair that with his boots and his gray sweatpants – fuck, those really do wonders – he’s the perfect combination of sexy and cozy that has me wanting to crawl into those clothes with him.
I wet my lips and drag my eyes back to his, which are crinkling in the corner from amusement. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“More than,” I reply. “But I don’t think I got the casual dress memo. What are we doing tonight?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. That’s a surprise. But you have time to change, if you want to.”
I give him another once over and nod, inviting him in.
“You really don’t own much, do you?” he calls after me. I glance back to see him looking around, assessing my space.
I know what he sees. No photos on the walls, no invitations on the fridge, not even any mail left on the counters. A television, but no DVDs or video games stacked in the corner. A bookshelf that I’ve slowly been stocking, but it still only contains a handful of novels.
“Yeah, well. Minimalism is a side-effect of reinventing yourself.” I call through the half-closed door to my bedroom as I shuffle through my drawers, selecting my own sweater and a pair of leggings.
The pants go first so I can tug the leggings on, and then I throw my nicer shirt in the corner of the room.
I grab the sweater from the bed and turn back to the living room.
As I’m tugging it over my bra, I catch sight of Benji through the crack in my bedroom door.
He’s facing me, but his gaze is lowered, tracing the curve of my breasts.
There’s a heated look in his eyes, and his entire body has gone taut.
When he realizes I’ve caught him looking, he glances away, rubbing a hand over his face.
As he does, a muscle in his jaw flexes, and he clears his throat. “Sorry about that.”
I flush, but not from embarrassment. It feels like a victory, knowing I do still have an effect on him.
It feels like a question has been answered, and it makes me want to stride out of the room, strip back down, and wrap myself around him, see if he would replace his eyes with his hands, or even his mouth.
And god…I know the things his mouth can do.
Given his reaction to being caught, though, something is still holding him back. I’m determined to find out what it is and change that.
“Are we going to a baseball game?” I ask, frowning at the stadium we pull up to. Could this place even be open in the dead of winter?
Benji shakes his head with a smile. “No. We’re going roller skating. They open this place up for runners and skating during the winter.” He pauses. “Does that sound okay?”
I’ve noticed he does this a lot. Though I’ve assured him I like the surprise of a date, he’s always checking in on what makes me comfortable, just like his gentle touches.
It’s like he’s creating a mental blueprint of what makes me feel safe, and pushing me to set up boundaries if I need them.
It’s strange, feeling so cared for. The butterflies he’s been giving me for the past two weeks pick up pace at the thought, but it also makes my heart race anxiously.
I swallow. “That sounds amazing.”
Ten minutes later, we’re strapped into our roller skates and being told which direction to skate in by a teenage boy with a clipboard and a tone that says he takes his job very seriously.
We both chuckle as he walks away to give instructions to someone else, and Benji stands, motioning for me to do the same and follow him.
Normally, I like to think I’m an athletic person.
I’ve been working day and night to regain the strength and stamina I lost in those years with Austin.
But the second I stand on these roller skates, I realize I’m about to be the laughing stock of the arena.
I wobble like a deer on ice, sending my hands flailing out to grab onto something before my face makes friends with the floor.
Just before I topple over, my hands meet Benji’s large, warm ones.
His grip is rock-solid, and I’m able to regain balance.
“Easy, little fighter,” he says with a laugh. “Have you never done this before?”
“No,” I admit, cheeks flushing, and brace for judgement.
The more I’m out in the real world, past Austin’s clutches, the more I realize there are so many things that I never experienced.
I’m so behind on what a lot of people would consider common adventures.
Skiing was one thing, but this feels like a simple and obvious failure.
His eyes simply twinkle with amusement, no trace of criticism to be found. “Well, I’m happy to give you another first, then.”
He guides my movements with soft directions and gentle corrections, the absolute picture of patience. It’s similar to our ski weekend, but unlike then, I catch on fairly quickly. When I can finally hold my own and notice something other than my own clumsy feet, I sneak a peek at him.