Page 84 of Behind the Bench

He raises his arm, ready to strike, but my mom grabs me and turns me out of the way at the last second. Dad’s fist connects with the wall and another hole is added to the collection that paints the kitchen and living room. My mother kisses my cheek and pulls me tight. “Go hide in your closet, Lincoln. I’ll be right there.”

I know she’s lying. It’s the same thing she says every time this happens. But I’d do anything to make my mom happy so instead of arguing, I run away to my room.

Just as I’m about to close my door I hear my dad’s voice.

“Yeah, run away, Link, like the scared little baby you are. Come out here and face me like a man.”

My hands clench and the anger I feel is all too consuming. I’m pretty sure every other nine-year-old I know doesn’t wish their father dead, but nothing else would make me happier. I’m sick of the black and blue makeup my mother and I take turns wearing, and I’m afraid one night soon he’ll go too far.

My closet is full of extra blankets and a pillow due to the countless nights I’ve slept here instead of my bed. I crawl underneath the blankets and reach for the iPod I keep in here to drown out the noise. Just as I’m about to hit play on my Usher playlist, my closet door is ripped open so hard it flies off the hinges.

“There you are, you little shit.”

A scream works its way up my throat and I unleash a sound so loud it wakes me from my own nightmare.

Warm hands bracket my face as I struggle to calm my breathing. “Lincoln, Lincoln. It was just a dream.” Her handsbegin stroking my sweat-soaked hair, and I try to place the soothing voice.

Ellie.

At last, I open my eyes and see her icy blue eyes staring back at me. The look on her face has me nearly apologizing for the misery I must’ve put her through. Unsure of what to do or say, I simply stare back.

Embarrassment is the first thing I feel as her eyes search mine. I’ve never wanted Ellie to see me this way. Vulnerable. Weak. I want to be the best possible version of myself for her. I can’t stand being seen as anything other than strong and capable in her eyes.

Her hand continues to stroke my hair, a gesture that reminds me of my mother after one of the dreaded nights I just dreamed about. The memory has me sitting up and resting my back against my headboard. Ellie scoots herself up to join me, but still doesn’t say a word. She grabs my hand, her grip simple but firm, as if no words are needed.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence she squeezes my hand. “Are you okay?” It’s barely a whisper, but the agony in her voice has me looking down into her beautiful eyes.

“I’m okay, baby. I promise.” I lean down and kiss the top of her head, grateful I’m not alone for once after a nightmare.

She lifts my hand to her lips and places a kiss onto my palm. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch as she makes her way into my bathroom, and then close my eyes to take a moment. It’s been weeks since I’ve had a nightmare. Initially, being around Ellie again triggered something in my brain that had me waking up in a cold sweat at least three times a week. But ever since we called a truce, they started to dissipate. I was starting to think that since we finally mended our relationship, maybe the nightmares would disappear completely. Of course, I wouldn’t get that lucky. Even though it’s been years since I’ve even laid eyes on my monster of a father, he still continues to haunt my dreams.

Ellie climbs back into bed and places a damp washcloth against my forehead. Silently she begins to wipe the sweat from my brow and face. It’s such a foreign gesture, someone taking care of me, a feeling of unease clutches my heart, it has me reaching out to grab her wrist out of instinct.

She pauses and turns my chin gently so I’m forced to look at her. “It’s okay, Lincoln. I got you.”

I search her eyes for any hints of deception, but I don’t see any. The only thing I see is warmth. Adoration. Or is it love? Love? I’ve never really experienced love before, so I can’t be too sure. But, god, how lucky of a man would I be if Ellie felt for me even half of what I feel for her. The luckiest goddamn man on the earth, no question.

I drop her wrist but leave a hand on her waist as she continues to wipe away the last remnants of sweat. Having her body so close grounds me and I feel my heartbeat start to slow down. She leans over me to place the washcloth on my nightstand. Instead of going back to her side of the bed, her body stays over mine and she wraps me in a hug.

After a few moments of Ellie in my arms, I shift her body sideways so I can still hold her but can look at her face. She rests her head against my shoulder and starts tracing designs over my chest. So much is said in the silence that stretches between us. No words could ever express how much this moment means to me. She’s letting me know that she’s here without judgment and she's not going anywhere.

My hand finds her face and I stroke my thumb along her cheek. The move has her looking up at me and those gorgeous blue eyes are full of questions. This wonderful woman has stayed by my side during one of my most vulnerable moments, and I can’t believe how lucky I am to have her here in my arms with me. It becomes so clear to me that Ellie is my person. I want her to know the good, the bad, and the ugly.

For the first time in my life, I want someone to know my story. And then I want to write the rest of it with her.

I close my eyes, trying to figure out where to start, but realize there is no good starting point. So I decide to start with the nightmare.

“My dad would frequently come home in an alcohol-induced rage. In the beginning he’d take it out on the house. Throw things. Destroy furniture. We stopped buying TVs because he would just shatter the screens every time. But eventually he got bored with inanimate objects and moved on to people. I know on Thanksgiving I told you a little bit about it.”

Ellie nods her head and keeps her eyes on me the entire time. Her fingers continue to draw designs on my chest as she waits for me to continue.

“Well, what I didn’t tell you is that I sometimes get these extremely vivid nightmares. They’re really more like memories. The one tonight was one of the last memories I have of my mom. He came home that night and caught her on the phone with my aunt. I ran out to try and stop him, but my mom begged me to go back into my room. Usually he leaves me alone after that, but that night he came and found me.” My words trail off at the end and Ellie’s hand moves from my chest to my face.

Tears start to pool in her eyes and it’s the exact look I was trying to avoid. “I’m okay now, Ellie. I don’t need you to pity me.”

She rears back like I just slapped her and sits up in my lap. “Pity you? You think I pity you?”

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