Page 39 of Liberating Bells
I turn my head slightly, pressing my lips against her forehead, breathing her in. I want her more than anything, but I would hate myself just as much as she would come morning.
So I hold her.
Even as the storm passes overhead, the rain disappearing. Even as the sun starts to creep above the horizon, I hold her. And I offer her myself in the only way I can for now.
I just pray that’s enough.
14
IZABEL
I wakeup to the sun streaming through the curtains. Warm puddles of sunlight cover my face and my shoulders. Squinting, I sit up and look around, confused by my surroundings. I wince as I feel my shoulder screaming at the movement. When I’m sitting, I take my injured joint through its range of motion, feeling which actions cause the muscles to protest the most.
My eyes observe the room, the events of last night slowly coming back to me. The gala, Mark, the fight, Ryan...Oh, God, Ryan.
My cheeks heat as I recall how I mounted my ex-boyfriend and tried to get him to have sex with me. Thankfully, he was cognizant enough and refused. Now that my head is feeling clearer, I know that turning me down was the best thing for Ryan to do.
Speaking of. Where is he?
The clock on the bedside table reads eight o’clock, but I’m alone in the room. Ryan's suit jacket and white dress shirt are still crumpled in a heap by his closet door. Next to my cell phone on the nightstand, a pair of athletic shorts are folded neatly. They’re women’s. I suspect they belong to his mom.
I stand up and pull them on over my black panties, adjusting the oversized t-shirt I’m wearing. Tucking my cellphone into the waistband of the shorts, I walk over to the dresser in the room, which has a mirror sitting atop it. I nearly yelp in fright at what stares back at me.
Eye makeup is smeared underneath my eyes, making it look like I have two black eyes. My hair is a knotted mess, and my cheeks are flushed from my earlier thoughts. Heading over to the door, I carefully open it and peek my head out into the hall. When I find that the coast is clear, I dart across the hall into the guest bathroom. There, I dig in the drawers and find a hairbrush, and I wet a tissue to use as a form of makeup removal.
When I’m satisfied that my appearance is no longer troll-ish, I venture downstairs. I tiptoe into the kitchen that has been remodeled since the last time I was here many years ago, taking in the warm, homely sight.
Lara, Ryan’s mom, is slightly bent over a griddle at the kitchen counter. She slides a spatula underneath a cream-colored pancake and flips it over, revealing the golden-brown underside. She’s wearing a purple bandana around her head. I’m thrown off by how frail she looks. Ryan hasn’t mentioned anything about her health, but I immediately wonder if she’s okay. I’ll have to ask him about it later.
Over at the breakfast bar, a little girl stabs at her scrambled eggs with a fork and looks up at her big brother with awe—Thalia.
Ryan sits next to her, elbows resting on the breakfast bar, a mug of coffee in front of him. He’s wearing a Bennett soccer shirt—one he wore all the time when we were younger. It used to be blue, but now the color has faded into a blue-ish gray from overuse and age. I notice that the sleeves are pulled tighter against his biceps than they were when I last saw him wearing it. Ryan is definitely not the high school boy I used to know.
His deep green eyes find me at the kitchen’s threshold, and he offers me a grin. “Morning, Bells.”
I grip the hem of my shirt awkwardly and shift from foot to foot. “Um, good morning.”
Lara sets her spatula on the counter, and then comes toward me with her arms stretched out wide. “Izabel, my goodness! It is good to see you, dear!”
I don’t mean to, but I flinch as she moves closer. But I play it off and then wrap my arms around the woman. “You too, Lara. I’ve missed you.”
We step back from our embrace as Lara goes back to her pancakes. Ryan motions his head toward another stool at the breakfast bar, and I shuffle over to his side. Thalia is eyeballing me as I get comfortable. Pulling my phone out of the waistband, I set it next to me on the counter just as Thalia takes another forkful of eggs and narrows her eyes—the same green as Ryan’s.
“Who are you?” the little girl asks.
I look at Ryan, and he smirks. “My name is Izabel. And you’re Thalia,” I say with a smile.
“How do you know my name?”
“I knew you when you were very small—just a little baby.”
“Oh,” she says, shoveling eggs into her mouth. Lara delivers two plates stacked with pancakes and eggs to both me and Ryan and another mug of coffee for me. The pancakes are steaming, fresh off the griddle.
My stomach rumbles, and the hunger sets in as the scent of pancakes hits my nose. Sunday breakfast is a big deal in the Miller household, and there is nothing in this world like Lara’s homemade pancakes. I haven’t had them in years, but I can still recall the taste before I even take a bite.
I grab the butter and syrup and set to work doctoring them up. Once my pancakes are seeping with syrup, I fork off a pieceand shove it in my mouth. Ryan looks at me with amusement, knowing how much I love these pancakes.
“Are you Ryno’s girlfriend?” Thalia asks out of the blue.
