Chapter 10
Brielle
Emmalyn Anderson has always been nice to my face. If I”m being a hundred percent honest with myself, the only time I”ve caught her looking at me like a disappointed mother is after I”ve said something bad or cussed in front of one of the kids back at the shelter.
Her offering me a room in her home would be about on par with her kindness, but I know I can”t trust it.
Em can”t like me because no one likes me. I”m not a likable person.
Hell, most days, I don”t even like myself, and that trend continues as I stay sitting in this closet rather than putting some distance between me and him.
Beck.
That”s what she called him, making me realize that we haven”t officially been introduced. I feel like a fool for thinking of something so trivial and stupid as I look down at the plate of food he brought to me.
This is the second time he”s offered me something to eat, the third if I count him going back to the kitchen a second time last night and bringing me wrapped packages, as if he could tell that”s what I felt most comfortable with.
As delicious as the pancakes look even without syrup, I just can”t get past the idea that there might be something wrong with them. I refuse to listen to that voice in my head, warning me that everything in life is transactional, as I reach for the protein bar.
I”m on my third bite, not feeling that same urgency to eat quickly because he might change his mind and take the food away, when the bedroom door opens again.
He doesn”t speak, but I do catch him looking in my direction before disappearing behind the open closet door.
His form moves in and out of my line of sight through the crack at the doorframe, but for some reason, not being able to fully see what he”s doing doesn”t freak me out too much.
I almost open my mouth to ask him what he”s doing when he crosses in front of the open closet door, dragging the dresser across the room. He works silently, coming toward me and crouching down as if he”s trying to figure out my line of sight.
”I”ll be right back,” he says before leaving the room. True to his word, he”s only gone for a few minutes before he comes back in carrying a big television.
I look down, wondering if eating the possibly poisoned pancakes would be better than the way I noticed how his muscles flex with the effort he”s exerting.
He mumbles to himself, his words getting lost by the time the sound reaches my ears, as he works on setting up the television.
I don”t want it to feel like a manipulation, like he”s doing something to accommodate me and the fact that I”m not coming out of the closet, but I can”t help feeling that way.
People aren”t nice and considerate of others for no reason. Everything they do, they expect something in return. I can”t let myself believe that Beck is any different.
He”s brought me food, and now he”s setting up a television so I have entertainment. What is he going to expect in return?
The best thing for me to do would be to pull the closet door closed, but I don”t know how he”d receive the rejection.
I also feel a little selfish. When living with Nathan and Xan, hours of mindless shows and binging a series was never an option. My stepfather said it was a waste of time.
After coming to the shelter, I found that a lot of the women did exactly that. After they were done with work and their kids were in bed, they”d sit on the sofa and just watch shows. It was how they’d unwind after a long day.
Of course, I had opinions about it. I”d been raised to see people who did that to be lazy because there was always something else that could be done.
Victoria urged me to fit in, to give it a try, and somehow, I got addicted to sitting quietly and watching these shows with them. It took months before it stopped feeling like I was breaking some sort of law. When I was angriest at Nathan and Xan after I”d get out of the shower, my skin still warm from the water, and have to put on a long-sleeved shirt to cover my scars, I”d watch until the early hours of the morning in an effort to disobey them.
Beck doesn”t look my way when the sound of me picking up the packaged muffin is noisy in the silent room. He simply moves his pillows down to the foot of the bed and lies back, his arm lifting slightly with the remote in his hand.
The television comes on but there are setup prompts, and Beck has to sit up to grab his cell phone from the bedside table.
I turn my eyes away again, not needing the images of the way his t-shirt stretches across his muscular back stuck in my head.
He types out something on his phone and when it buzzes in his hand a minute later, he once again lifts the remote and keys in some information as prompted.
With a swiftness that makes my head hurt, he scrolls through the options. He doesn”t ask me what I want to watch and probably assumes I won”t answer him. Even though I watched movies with powerful women who stood their ground, with Beth, I”d never risk requesting the same with him.
He chooses a show that has nine seasons and selects the pilot episode.
I”ve never watched this series, but I won”t argue. If anything, maybe the comedy of the folks working together in the office setting will lift the dark cloud that seems to stay right above me.
Curling up on my side, I watch as the story unfolds, catching myself smiling at the funny parts, not because of the acting but because Beck doesn”t hold back.
His laugh is husky and deep, and I find it a little sad that laughter in general from a man isn”t something I”ve ever been familiar with. His sound is carefree and light, not the sinister and dark noises Nathan would make when he was happy to be hurting me.
Instead of growing increasingly nervous as the day continues, one episode fading into the next, I notice how my pulse calms. My heart somehow knows that I”m not in danger even though there”s still the whisper of fear in the back of my head.
The episodes don”t last long, and after the first four, I close my eyes and just listen to the sounds, waiting for something humorous to happen so I can hear his laughter once again.
There were times when Nathan would hold back that evil side of him. He”d treat me like a daughter, like someone he cherished and loved, but it never lasted. After the things he”d done to me for years, there was no way I could let myself get lost in the lies he was portraying.
I”d still flinch every time he lifted his arm near me, terrified he was going to backhand me across the face.
My hands would tremble when he walked into the room or when I heard his car pull up outside the house.
He hated me, blamed me for that fear. It was a weakness, and the only way to get past it was to hurt me more until the pain became second nature. He wanted me to love it. He wanted me to beg him for more. I learned after many painful interactions that sounding genuine when asking him to hurt me more was the only thing that got him to stop. I also learned that I couldn”t ask too soon because he”d know I was just trying to get it over with.
Needless to say, Nathan was never happy and the rules that he made up always changed. I was never in a position to predict what was going to happen from day to day, and the stress of living that way I”m certain has shaved years off my life.
This situation doesn”t carry the same worry, but I know I can”t trust that either.
Everyone has an agenda, and I can”t let myself believe that Beck is any different.