Page 34 of Love Rewritten

I realize I was talking wildly with my arms, hands flailing everywhere, so I stuff them into my pockets to keep them at bay. I draw my brows together, concern coursing through me. How do I give her the support she needs if she’s scared of me? I lift a hand to cup her cheek, but she quickly turns away, every part of her seeming to brace for impact. I drop my hand, trying to remind myself she’s reacting like this because that’s all she’s known for the past year.

“I’m sorry,” I start, “I …” but I can’t finish my thought.

The look on her face when she finally looks back tears me apart. It’s not fear on her face. It’s pure anxiety, so heavy that it could pull me under, too. But I can’t let it. She deserves some semblance of normalcy in her life. I want to be her normal, her happy, her love. I want to be that for her. But I don’t know if, after what Sam did to her, she’ll ever fully trust anyone ever again, let alone love anyone again.

Rage begins to boil, coursing through my veins at a rapid rate. Mostly at myself for how I just reacted. And then there’s more underneath for Sam, who deserves to feel the pain he caused Abby. I swear to God, the next time I see that fucker, he’s getting knocked on his ass so fast he’s not going to know what day it is. Every piece of him that touched her will break.

Through my muddled thoughts, I hear Abby take a deep breath. Her gaze is still fixed on some distant spot on the floor.

“Sorry,” she says, but that only makes my blood boil more. The fact that she feels the need to apologize for flinching, it doesn’t make sense in my mind. That’s what Sam has done to her. He’s buried himself into the deepest crevasses of her mind, still holding strong onto those automatic reactions and responses.

“Please don’t apologize, Abby. I’m the one who should be apologizing profusely. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I just … I care about you too much to ignore what I know is simmering under the surface of that happy face you put on for show.”

She looks up, finally meeting my eyes. And it’s all there. Exactly what I just described. But there’s no happy face hiding it this time. It’s just … her. Pure and authentic. I haven’t dared move closer, wanting to give her whatever space she needs after my outburst, but she finally moves forward and wraps her arms around my torso.

I wrap my arms around her shoulders and place a prolonged kiss on top of her head, hoping to relax her mind and mine. “I don’t want you to feel like you need to be sorry for your reflexes. I know it may take some time for you to trust me—all of me—and that’s okay. But I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you. I’ll never hurt you. This,” I pull away just enough to point between us, “isn’t just a temporary thing for me. When I met you, I didn’t realize how quickly I’d fall for you, but I did, and I don’t regret that one bit. You’re safe here. You’re safe with me.”

I feel a tear hit my arm, but it’s not mine. Abby wipes her cheek with her sleeve, trying to dry the river that flows from her eyes. She starts trembling and I can tell she’s trying to hide it. I pull her into a hug again. She grips the back of my shirt like it’s the only thing holding her together. I’ll keep her heart from crumbling more than it has. I’ll replace the million tiny pieces that broke with pieces from mine. We’ll blend our pieces to create the greatest damn love story anyone’s ever heard of.

After a few minutes, her sobbing subsides, the trembling slows, and the rapid breathing grows shallow. She takes a long deep breath before pulling away from me. The place she just left feels empty without her, the cool air taking over the warmth from her body. Lifting her chin with my thumb, she stares into my eyes, meeting my gaze. I look between hers, hoping for some sort of peace. I can see it, but it’s distant.

I take a breath as I think about what to say to her. I’ve been doing the only thing I know how. Trying to fix things. But I know I can’t fix everything. Some things are broken beyond repair. But we can create something new.

Abby whispers, “One request.” I nod, waiting for her to keep going. “No Sam talk for three days. I just need to … exist.”

I sigh. “Okay. Can we have one rule?”

“One rule,” she agrees.

“No ignoring your feelings. I don’t want you to push them down for three days only for them to burst at the seams on day four. It’s not healthy. You go to someone if you need to talk, even if it’s not me. You’ve got Logan, Meredith, Rose, hell I don’t even care if you go to Connor or Dante. But you have to talk to someone if you think you’re going to explode.”

She chews the inside of her cheek but nods. “Deal.”

Chapter 13

Abby

Forthefirsttimein years, I feel free. No babysitters. No one waiting on me. No one tracking me. And no peering around corners to see what’s coming. My heart beats at a normal pace. I don’t hear it in my ears or feel like it’s going to rip a hole through my chest. I haven’t felt this sense of peace and quiet for far too long.

Dallas and Logan left for their game and didn’t question me when I chose to stay home. They feel it, too. Like they don’t have to be paranoid about me being alone. There was no hesitation in their agreement. Only calm composure and I think a bit of excitement from Dallas that he knew I’d finally be able to enjoy some time alone.

I need to finish this story. It’s written, but I need to complete the last of the edits. I think I can finish them today while the boys are gone. No distractions.

My fingers move easily over the keys and the edits flow out of me faster than I can keep up. It feels good to fully dedicate my mind to my work like this without pretending like I’m not secretly terrified every second of the day, waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s nothing to drop right now.

Life just is. And I can just be.

It’s been almost three hours since I sat down to edit, and as I make what I think is the finishing touch on my work, I feel both giddy and horrified. I’ve been writing this story for over a year, and here it is in its entirety, finished, ready for the world to hear.

Oh, God. I hadn’t thought about that. What if it gets read aloud? Even worse, what ifIhave to read it aloud?Nope.I am not going to think about that right now. I will focus on the work I did—the work I accomplished. I need to be proud of myself for this. I can’t convince myself to hit submit yet, though.

But I have so much pent-up energy. I need to do something with it. A walk could be nice. I don’t remember the last time I went for a walk that didn’t have a destination, let alone a walk I took alone.

The warm summer air feels good, the sun kissing my skin, the slight breeze keeping it from getting too hot. I let myself wander, wherever my feet carry me, and find myself headed toward the path along the tree line. It connects to every path in Oxly in one big, jumbled mess of asphalt. It’s not very lively at this time of day. I’m sure everyone is still at work, counting the minutes until they get to come home. A few trees are still in bloom this time of year. The pink and white flowers are quite the contrast to the bright green of everything else.

Maybe it’s just the completion of my work this morning getting to me, but everything feels so radiant. Happy and blissful. Colors are brighter. Sounds are stronger and more melodic.

So much so that I don’t realize where I’ve carried myself until I’m staring at the brick of my old apartment building. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk between Sam and Dallas’s apartments. Maybe that’s how he figured out where I was so easily before sending me to the hospital.

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