Page 74 of Every Broken Piece
I hear Gabe moving through the apartment, checking the front door, then the soft padding of his feet as he turns off lights.
For a small moment I let myself wonder what it would be like if this were an every night occurrence. Us getting ready for bed together. Gabe taking one last walk through the house to make sure we’re safe.
It wouldn’t be in a shitty apartment in a shitty part of town, that’s for sure. Because Gabe doesn’t live in shitty apartments. He doesn’t fall for tormented women with so much baggage you’d need an entire train to haul it around.
I sit up and wipe my leaking eyes as a wave of exhaustion sweeps over me.
It’s more than being tired from a stay in the hospital. It’s years and years of constantly being on alert, of avoiding human interaction for fear someone will use that new friend, that boyfriend, that coworker, to get to me.
“Tess?”
It’s a testament to my exhaustion that I didn’t even hear Gabe enter the bathroom. He’s standing in front of me, those beautiful blue eyes so full of concern that it hurts my heart. I don’t want him to worry. I don’t deserve his concern. I don’tneedhis sympathy. I’ll pick myself up and move on like I always do. It might take a little longer with my aching head and this stupid wrist, but I’ll get there.
He holds his hand out to me. “Let’s go to bed, Spitfire. No more questions. No more talking. Just you and me sleeping. I think we both need a good night’s sleep.”
I stare at that hand, wanting so badly to let it lead me to safety. Except no where’s safe. Not for me.
I sway as exhaustion consumes me.
One night.
One night with Gabe’s strong arms wrapped around me. One night of feeling safe. And then I’ll let him go.
After one night.
I wake alone to sunshine pouring in my window.
I vaguely recall curling into Gabe’s warm body after he tucked me into bed again, his body wrapped around mine, giving me the illusion of safety. For the rest of the night I let myself believe that I’m safe. It’s a heady feeling, safety. And something I can’t let myself get used to.
His side of the bed is cold, but I hear the low rumble of his voice somewhere in the apartment. There is no answering voice so I’m guessing he’s on the phone. As his VA—formerVA—I’m aware that I’m keeping him from his work. I also know I need to let him go. I had my one night.
It’s time.
I slide out of bed and pad toward the bathroom, peeking into my office to find that he’s set up his laptop at my desk. He stands at the window, his back to me, cellphone pressed to his ear. He’s wearing gray joggers slung low on slim hips and a faded blue t-shirt that stretches across wide shoulders. He runs a hand through his hair as he listens to whoever’s on the other end of the phone.
Before he notices me ogling him, I slide past and enter the bathroom, propping the broken door closed. My landlord’s going to throw a fit and I’ll have to pay for that when I leave. Just another unexpected expense I can’t afford now that I’m unemployed.
Unemployed.
The word cuts deep. I haven’t been unemployed since I was fourteen. How will I find a work from home job that pays enough to live on?
How will I survive?
One day at a time. That’s all I can do. That’s all I’ve ever done.
After my shower I pull leggings and another t-shirt on, the only clothes I can manage one-handed that won’t irritate my bruises. I eye the tube of toothpaste, my need for fresh breath overriding the gag reflex. Even then I only take the tiniest dab and mostly brush with water very quickly before I’m spitting it all out. My heart starts hammering but I’m out of the bathroom and away from the stupid white paste before I have the chance to fall into another full-on panic attack.
There. See? I can do this. Baby steps.
Gabe’s still on the phone, sitting at his computer as he talks, his back to the door.
Five days stuck in the hospital and yesterday holed up in this apartment has me feeling itchy. The sunshine is calling me, so I walk out of the apartment in search of fresh air. It might be foolish, but I can’t look at the walls of my apartment any longer. I can’t be this close to Gabe and keep from touching him. I’m so far at the end of my rope that tempting fate, and the man that’s after me, seems like a better plan than hiding.
I stand on the stoop and tip my face up to the cloudless sky, letting the warmth chase the chill from my bones. It’s one of those weird March days of almost seventy-degree weather bookended by forty-degree weather. It’s a hint of promise of better days to come. Positive Tess would take that as a sign, but Positive Tess is nowhere to be found right now so I enjoy the warmth cascading over me and breathe deep because sometimes all you can do is breathe deep and keep going.
Bad things happen, Theresa.
I lower my chin and open my eyes to find a large man standing at the bottom of the steps staring up at me.
