Page 59 of Derailed
“Your journal?” His jaw works back and forth. “And you what? Write shit in here about me? About how fucking horrible Iam?”
“No.” I shake my head but that isn’t entirely true. I do write about him. The bad, the good, and the truth. I never intended for him to read it. I never wanted anyone to read what’s inside. I was stupid to ever give ink to the thoughts I don’t dare speakaloud.
“No?” He holds the book up to the side of his face. His eyes are hard looking down on me. “You won’t mind if I have this,then?”
My hands itch to grab it back, but I can’t do that. Instead, I reach for a pillow and tug it into my lap. “They’re only my thoughts, Coy. Some ideas I have. That’s all, Iswear.”
“Oh, you swear? Does that mean anything to you? Does it?” His hands ball into fists and the notebook folds in half under the pressure of it. A force I understand all too well, and one I don’t wish to provoke. Not afterearlier.
“I’m sorry, Coy.” There’s nothing else to say. If he reads it, I’m afraid he’ll be pushed to the edge. He won’t like what I wrote. He won’t want me. He’ll be done, and after that . . . I’ll havenothing.
“Sorry.” He grinds his jaw with his glare. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re thinking, Jess. For once I have everything, everything I want, and you just can’t wait to fuck thatup.”
My hand goes to my throat and his eyes follow themovement.
“Fucking hell. You want to throw that in my face, too!”My neck. I haven’t looked, but I have no doubt the bruises are already visible. His phone chirps from the other room, and he walks back into the bathroom without another word. And with my most sacred words in hishands.
I wait, unable to move and hardly able to breathe as he bangs around in the bathroom. Expletives fly and so does something else, hitting the tile floor with a crash. Still, I don’t move, held immobile by helplessness. What can I do? Coy has every right to be angry, and the words I wrote in that journal will only seal the fate I alwaysexpected.
He’ll leaveme.
Coy storms back into the room, fully dressed and ready to go out with my journal still gripped in his left hand. He walks past, not even glancing up, as he pockets his wallet off thedresser.
I want to ask where he’s going. I want to beg him not to leave. Not read the book. I want to beg him to never leave me alone. Instead, I sit on the mattress in his day-old shirt with a blanket pulled over my body forprotection.
It isn’t until his hand is on the doorknob that he acknowledges I’m in the same room. “What you did today? With this shit.” He slaps the journal against the door and I jump at the sound. “It’s unforgiveable, Jess. It’s fuckingtraitorous.”
“I’mso—”
“Don’t,” he snaps, pointing his glare so I want to slink back and disappear. Anger. Hate. Disgust. It’s all levied on me. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I don’t see how I can move past this. How the fuck am I supposed to trust you?” He drops his gaze and shakes his head. “I’m going out with the guys. Don’t wait up.” He disappears with the slam of the door. He’s gone from the room. Maybe even mylife.
I really screwed up thistime.
