AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Just let me in, okay?”
I watch him and he watches me.
His eyes are dark and stormy, like an ocean that can’t rest, and his lips are turned down in an uncharacteristically uncertain frown. Ben has always been so sure footed, so confident and ready for action. He’s always known how to act; how to shine and how to darken a room. He always knows what to do.
But in this moment?
I study his features as he studies me and I realise that for the first time since the day I met him, Ben Haston is truly at a loss. And I don’t know what he is really asking of me anymore.
“Sure.” I push to my feet and move around him, walking through the space on autopilot, putting on a fresh pot of coffee and placing away the plates and mugs that had been left to sit on the drying rack last night.
For a moment it’s silent. He makes no move to leave and I don’t know what else can be said.
And then he’s gone.
I don’t turn when I hear the door close softly behind me - I don’t dare to - because, if I turn to watch him leave, I think I might follow and I think I might ask him to stay. I might ask him to never leave me alone.
But I can’t ask that of Ben.
Iplacemyglasson the dresser before stripping down to my underwear in front of the mirror shoved into the darkest corner of my room. I’ve done everything I can to avoid this. I’ve brushed my teeth three times. I’ve thrown out the dress and shoved the bag into the garbage chute. I’ve made coffee and polished all of the surfaces. I have nothing else to distract me.
It takes me a while to look up; to face what I know I don’t really want to see.Tears sting in the corners of my eyes as I suck in air that is too thin and my stomach churns. I ache with emptiness.
I meet hollow eyes first. Deep set and darkened by sadness. They stare back emptily as I sink into the darkest corners of their pain. After an eternity, I glance down at my body only to be hit with the weight of memory.
My hips are blackened with the marks of fingers; shades of mulberry and onyx mingling where he had held me against him. My wrist is stained too. Bangles of bluish black blossoming against the snow of my skin where he had pulled me out of the bar just days ago. My chest aches as I turn slightly and lift the curtain of hair that covers what I know is the worst of it all: my back.
My shoulders are angry with scratches torn into them; crimson splotches scream at me as I hold down quiet sobs. Where my skin has torn there is a thin layer of burgundy that protrudes, scabbing over the breaks of flesh and meshing my back together. Steppingstones of peeking purple guide my eyes down my spine where bone had hit against the door, the e-brake, everything that fought against me, and I feel my tears washing over my cheeks.
“This is okay,” I whisper to myself with gut wrenching resignation. “This isn’t even close to bad, Mikaela.”
The sound of keys in the door startles me and I dart to my drawers, pulling shorts and the first top I can find out quickly and throwing them on. As I pull the thick cream knit over my frame I hear him suck in a breath.
My heart sinks.
“I thought I needed to let you in.” I mumble as I move to the side of my bed and begin pulling the covers up. My eyes remain glued to my hands as I feel him move into the space and across to the other side. Immediately, he’s helping me – pulling up the sheet and handing me cushions that were thrown from the bed last night – and I chew my lip as he moves quietly around me.
Once the bed is made, he pauses and waits until I look up at him. In an instant, I feel a little less damaged.
His eyes are soft and he is smiling. It isn’t the sort of smile I expect, where it doesn’t meet the eyes and is partnered with a sad tilt of the head and softly raised eyebrows, instead it’s calm and warm. His eyes crinkle slightly at the edges and he stands straight and tall. This is a smile to remind me I’m stillLittle Mikand gratitude washes through me with unexpected strength.
“I thought I’d make omelettes?” He motions to the kitchen.
The swelling in my chest pushes me to smile back at him as he eyes me with a lazy grin and when my heart starts a light pattering, I find myself blushing.
“Omelette is good.” I drop my gaze, peeking through my lashes as he moves away from me and over to the brown paper bag on the table, where he unpacks enough groceries to get me through the next few days.
“Come on.” Ben gestures to the seat beside where he’s standing as he unhooks a pan from its place above the cooker and starts to rummage in drawers for chopping boards and knives. “Sit.”
Ben
As I chop and dice, I can feel Mikaela watching me intently. She’s pulled the heels of her feet up onto the chair and tucked her knees under her chin, focussing on the silence of it all as she watches my fingers move.
“Where did you learn how to cook?” She asks.
“My mom taught me the basics.” I try to sound casual as I weigh the fact she’s talking against the fact she sounds like she’s not asking the questions she really wants to ask. “And then at college I picked up a few skills.”
She doesn’t speak again.
