Page 95 of Liberating Bells
I rest my chin on top of her hair. “Okay, then I’ll let Josie know I’m taking off Thursday and Friday. She can hold down the fort. We’ll get the rest of your things from over there and then get you settled here. Then you’ll be done with him, for good.”
Izabel presses herself against me tighter and her body relaxes. I plant a kiss on her head. “I can’t even begin to tell you how amazing that sounds.”
34
IZABEL
Thursday morning comes far too quickly.
Ryan and I wake up around the same time, taking a few extra minutes to ourselves while we lie in bed together. Ryan’s big hand runs over my body’s length, the rough edges of his fingers scraping my sensitive bare skin. He gives me a sultry look and then rolls me onto my back, shifting his body on top of mine, nudging my knees apart with his, and entering me in a swift, practiced movement. I let myself get lost in him, knowing that the outcome of today is up in the air.
A while later, we emerge into the kitchen, still glowing in post-coital bliss, but even that is not enough to ease the wariness of what is looming. Ryan instructs me to sit at the breakfast bar, and he whips up some eggs, toast, and breakfast sausage. He makes a cup of coffee for himself and then pulls the gallon of decaf iced coffee for me out of the fridge, pouring a glass.
We eat our breakfasts, making awkward small talk. We’re just wasting time. We could go whenever, as Mark leaves for work early, so the house will be empty. I know Ryan is dreading this just as much as I am.
I spoke with Todd yesterday after classes, explaining what was going on today. He assured me that given the circumstances,I could take as much time as I needed, and they would hold my position for me. It was a massive weight off my chest to have that assurance, but I still felt guilty about skipping classagain.
At least Ryan is self-employed. He can work from anywhere most of the time. As long as he has Lori or Josie in the office to answer phones, he doesn’t have to be there full time.
Ryan sets down his fork with a clatter and then peeks over at me. He stretches his arms above his head and groans. Then he checks the watch resting on his wrist. “Think we’re good to go? We still have to pick up a rental truck too.”
I nod and wipe the edge of my mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, let me go brush my teeth, and I’ll be ready.”
Ryan doesn’t follow me back to the bedroom. Instead, he grabs our dishes and works on cleaning up the kitchen. I wander into the bathroom and shut the door, making sure it’s locked behind me. Then I turn on my reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me has dark circles under her eyes, and her face is narrow, like she hasn’t had a decent meal in months.
I know it’s the stress of the situation. The anxiety that Mark will come after me or show up in my new everyday life. I’ll be happy when this is all over. But a part of me is questioning if it evenwillbe over after this.
So I get my personal items from his house. Then what? Does he officially get over the fact that I ran out on him the night before our wedding? My therapist says that I won’t fully move on until everything from my life with him is non-existent. But does that translate that way for him as well? Will he move on once I’m out of his life?
I shudder as the questions and what-ifs roll through my brain on repeat. I make quick work of brushing my teeth and then swish with mouthwash. Once I’m done, I find my shoes and then walk out to the living room to meet Ryan again.
He’s scrolling through his phone, but looks up when he hears me enter. His eyes look me over appreciatively, and my body tingles where his gaze lingers. I’m wearing a simple white shirt and capri pants today, but Ryan looks at me like I’m in the sexiest little back dress I own. I feel incredibly wanted, desired. My mind floods with images of him hovering above me, moving inside me. I flush and look down at the floor, a smile playing on the corners of my lips.
Ryan stands and grabs his keys, leading us down to his car. We stop at the rental place, and Ryan gets out to go talk to the teller inside. He comes bounding out a few minutes later and leads me to a decent-sized pickup truck.
I don’t have much stuff still at Mark’s, but Ryan’s little sedan is not going to cut it. We both hop in and cumulatively take a steadying deep breath before he starts the engine and heads toward Mark’s house.
The cabin of the truck is silent as Ryan pulls into the driveway and shifts the vehicle into park. He stares at the house for a brief moment before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. Sending a quick text, he puts it away and turns to look at me. Ryan's green eyes are grave as he reaches out a hand and trails the back of his fingers over my cheek.
“Ready?” he asks me gently. I nod, lacking any type of enthusiasm.
All I need to do is go inside and get my stuff. It should be easy. Then I’ll be done with Mark and done with this chapter of my life. I plan on moving forward without a single glance back.
I can’t believe I let myself live that way for so long. But no one ever thinks about their future and sees an abusive partner. I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this.
I let myself observe the house. This was supposed to be my home, where I lived with my husband and built a family. Now it represents a jail sentence.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter to Ryan, still looking at the house. I push open the truck door and hop out.
Ryan follows my lead over to the garage door, where I flip open the hatch and punch in the code. Hopefully, Mark didn’t change it on me. The garage door whines in protest when I press the enter button and then rises slowly. I reach for Ryan’s hand, gripping it in mine as I watch the garage open.
It’s empty. Mark’s gone.
I breathe a sigh of relief, and Ryan gives my hand a squeeze. Together, we walk through the garage and then into the house. The place is dark and quiet. It’s almost eerie. My eyes roam over every surface, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I’m on edge.
The kitchen is immaculately clean. It looks like it hasn’t been used, though the garbage can next to the counter is overflowing with carryout and fast-food bags. The couch in the living room has a rumpled blanket and a few pillows scattered on the floor. It looks as if Mark’s been sleeping there. His safe is bolted into the wall next to the TV stand, shut and locked.
The warmth of Ryan’s palm on my own gives me the courage I need to get through the first central part of the house. I trek on toward the bedrooms where my things are going to be. My first goal is to empty out the master bedroom, where I had been in the process of moving my stuff to.
