Chapter Thirty-Three - Elise #2
It’s quiet when I open the bathroom door, and I wonder if Joshua is still waiting in the hall. My answer comes when I take three steps—which he must hear—because he calls in a raspy voice, “Elise, please, open the door.”
I’m sure my alcohol intake, combined with not having seen him since early this morning, is the reason I’m tempted to let him in, but honestly, I’m not sure I even could. It took a heck of a lot of strength to move the dresser into place, and that was when I was sober and running on anger.
Now, I’m very drunk and very tired.
“I’m going to bed, Joshua. We can talk in the morning.”
“You’re not sleeping until you’ve opened this door.”
“Watch me,” I say, then erupt in giggles. “Oh wait, you can’t.”
His pause is brief. “Are you drunk?”
“Yes, yes I am,” I tell him, climbing into bed. “Damn, these sheets are cold.”
Something hits the door—probably his head. “I’m sorry I canceled our date today. I couldn’t step away from work. Just let me in, and I’ll make it up to you.”
The anger that drove me to lock Joshua out in the first place has mostly worn off, and I want nothing more than to let him in and fall asleep in his warm embrace—especially when I know that without him, my sleep will be plagued with nightmares.
But I can’t let him in. Not yet.
I’m not new to loneliness—I’ve spent most of my life alone.
And I hated it.
Here, with Joshua and the capos, I finally have people surrounding me. People I genuinely enjoy being around. When Joshua blows me off, it takes me back to the dozens of times my brothers and father did the same.
I’m not spending the rest of my life hoping people make time for me.
“You’ll have to find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” I tell him.
“You know I can’t do that,” he says in a low, tightly controlled tone.
Oh right.
I’d almost forgotten about that.
I left Ryder’s room untouched, but the only other bedroom in the house no longer has a functioning mattress.
It had been surprisingly therapeutic to cut several four-foot-long slashes into the mattress.
I smile, then turn off the lamp at my bedside.
“Goodnight, Joshua,” I say and burrow into our bed, shivering between the cold sheets while I breathe in Joshua’s scent.
It’s nothing like having him here, holding me as I fall asleep, but I hope it’s enough to keep the nightmares at bay for a night.
Joshua doesn’t answer, but I have a feeling I’m not the only one who falls asleep staring at the door.
I’m walking down the long hallway toward a muffled sound that I can’t make out. Shouting? Crying? All I know is that my stomach lurches with every echo.
With each step I take, the door at the end—which I am somehow sure is where the noise is coming from—gets further away.
I walk faster, then switch to a jog when that doesn’t work either.
I’m full-on sprinting when I look down to find that I’ve made it to the end of the hallway, and the door knob is in my hand.
Suddenly, I have no desire to open the door. The muffled cries are loud, and I think I’m going to be sick.
I try to force my legs to get me the hell out of here, but they might as well be cemented in place. I watch in suspended dread as my hand—which I have no control over—turns the knob and pushes the door open.
I realize then that I already knew what I’d find behind the door.
Of course, my eyes refuse to close, so I’m forced to witness my lifeless body hanging by my wrists in the basement.
I try shaking my head, stepping back, closing my eyes, and screaming for it to stop, but nothing works.
I’m shaken to wakefulness by strong hands wrapped around my arms.
“You’re safe,” Joshua whispers, pulling me into his chest. “It’s okay, Elise. You’re safe.”
My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, and my heart races from the adrenaline. Deep breaths calm me down, but not as much as the smell and feel of Joshua.
Little things begin to register as I come to full consciousness. Joshua is wearing a shirt—he never wears a shirt to bed—and chilled air raises goosebumps on my arms—though I never turn on the fan. The rest of the night comes back to me, and I think to actually take in Joshua’s appearance.
Not only is he wearing a shirt, but he’s wearing the faded blue jeans that he left the house in this morning. One look at the door—or rather, the oak dresser blocking it—returns the rest of my memories.
“Are you okay?” he asks, brushing his lips over the shell of my ear and placing a light kiss there.
I nod. “How did you get in here?” I whisper and cough through my dry throat.
Joshua leans over, grabbing a bottle of water that was not on the nightstand when I went to bed. I take it from him and drink most of it.
Joshua nods toward the windows, which I can only see because the back porch lights have been turned on. The curtains on either side of the window are pulled open.
“How did you—”
“I had a ladder set up last night in case, well, this happened,” he explains.
I rest my head against his chest. “So much for keeping you out.”
His laugh is light and beyond comforting. “I’m surprised you didn’t lock the windows.”
“Not as surprised as I am that you own a ladder.”
I’d bet money he’s rolling his eyes at me.
He lays us down—not bothering to remove his jeans or shirt—and covers us with the duvet.
“I’m still mad at you,” I mumble through a yawn.
“I’ve spent the last four hours sleeping on the hallway floor,” he deadpans. “You’re not my favorite person either.”
Smiling, I curl into Joshua’s chest and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.