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I looked down at the sheet I sat on, both of my hands in my hoodie pocket now. If I was honest, I’d say I was relieved to hear he didn’t have a girlfriend.
It shouldn’t matter. Of course, it shouldn’t matter to me… but deep down, I was happy to hear that. I didn’t know how I’d feel if another woman lived here, if I had to watch them together—or hear them doing stuff through the walls.
Awkward. Yeah, let’s just call it awkward.
“You should shower,” Creed said. “I’ll make you a little something. You need to eat.” His arms dropped to his sides, and he disappeared down the hall. Within a minute, he was back, holding onto a towel and two containers of what must be shampoo and body wash. He went to place them in my bathroom, and I watched, unable to hide the smile on my face. When he came out, he saw that smile, and he frowned at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I quickly said, getting up. I moseyed over to him, craning my neck back to meet his stare, standing a foot or two away. He really was tall. I didn’t remember him being so tall—funny, since at the time I’d been a kid, and therefore smaller myself.
My voice dropped to a bare whisper when I said, “I just missed you so much.” I could hardly get the words out, like they were top-secret even though I’d already told him I’d missed him. Just how badly I’d missed him he’d never know.
Creed’s gaze dropped, and I hoped he wasn’t looking at my neck. I hoped I wasn’t bruising already there, not so much that it was terribly noticeable. He said nothing, reaching up and brushing some of my hair away from my eyes, tucking it gently behind an ear.
I didn’t flinch or move away; if there was one person I trusted not to hurt me, it was Creed.
“I missed you, too,” he whispered back, saying it aloud for the first time. I couldn’t help but grin stupidly at that; hearing it made me so happy. “What?” Creed almost sounded suspicious.
“It’s just… you didn’t say it back before,” I told him. “A part of me always thought you didn’t miss me at all.” The hand that had tucked hair behind my ear fell to my cheek, his fingertips dancing along the skin on my face until they reached my chin, which he then held between his thumb and his finger, tilting my head back even more so he could look into my eyes.
My breath caught, and I couldn’t move. The only thing I could do was stare up into his dark eyes and lose myself in them. Such an intense expression he wore, gazing down silently at me, and yet his fingers on my chin were so gentle, almost like he was afraid to touch me. We stood so close, and suddenly it didn’t matter that I hadn’t seen him in ten years. This man had been a part of me regardless.
“Of course,” he whispered, his gruff voice so low it damn near brought a chill to my spine. “Of course, I missed you, Taylor.”
It occurred to me then just how odd this might look to a third party. The way he gazed down at me, the way he held onto my chin so softly… was it what someone would consider brotherly? I didn’t know. I’d been missing him these last ten years, so I had no freaking idea.
“Then why did you leave me?” The question came out of me so quietly, even I had trouble hearing it, and the moment I said it, Creed dropped his fingers from my chin and stepped away from me, turning his head and closing his eyes.
I was older now, so I knew it wasn’t fair to him to have expected to stay. He’d been nineteen at the time, as old as I was now. Just because it was normal these days to live with your family in your young adulthood didn’t mean everybody did. Legally, he could’ve left even before his mom died. He didn’t owe me anything.
And yet…
His answer was unsatisfying in every way: “Because I had to.” And then he walked away, exiting my room and leaving me in a breathless, confused, slightly annoyed heap.
I watched him go, wondering what he meant by that. Maybe, one of these days, I’d drag the answer out of him. He couldn’t hide from me forever, now that I’d be living here a while. We’d be seeing a lot more of each other, that much was obvious.
I think I was a little too excited about that.
Heaving a sigh, I went into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I flicked on the lights, slow to turn to stare at myself in the mirror. Finally, after what felt like forever, I brought out my other hand. It’s kind of funny; that hand trembled a bit, even now. It didn’t hurt at the moment, but once I started cleaning it up, it probably would.
Another sigh left me as I worked to get the hoodie off me. Thankfully, the fabric was thick; you couldn’t tell I’d bled inside the center pocket. I lay the hoodie beside the towel Creed had left me, and then I started going through the drawers in the vanity, looking for something, anything I could use: bandages, peroxide, stuff to clean the wound.
The only thing I found was an old, half-used bottle of antibacterial soap. It’d have to do.
I took it, along with the shampoo and body wash bottles Creed had given me to use, to the shower, arranging them. It was a giant, walk-in shower, white tile all around, along with a glass door. No privacy whatsoever, but I guess that’s what I’d expect from a place like this.
I shut the glass door and turned on the water, my intent to let it get hot before stepping in. My feet took me back to the vanity, and I cradled my bloodied hand against my stomach, staring at my reflection. My eyes dropped to my neck, and I tentatively reached up and touched the skin on my throat.
Nausea flared up in me, the skin still tender, a reminder of what happened. I closed my eyes, the memory too recent and vivid for me to push away.
I was in my room, drafting a paper for one of my sociology classes, when I heard a door slam downstairs. A typical occurrence at home; Dad had a job, but he hated it. Worked as a painter or something. The hours weren’t steady, and since he wasn’t the owner of the business, he didn’t make a lot. Jobs came and went too quickly. It was why I had to take out a bunch of loans to go to school.
I was trying to pay attention to my laptop, to the word document opened before me and all the notecards with quotes and paraphrased passages I wanted to use that I didn’t hear the swearwords coming from Dad, nor did I hear the angry footsteps as he came to my room.
I jerked when he threw open the door. “You know I have an open-door policy in this house,” he growled out, slurring his words a bit. He must’ve stopped by to have a drink with his buddies at the bar he liked going to. Funny how he always had money for that, but not the electric bill. Going to the library to do my homework for my classes wasn’t very fun.
But then again, neither was living in this house most of the time.
“Dad,” I spoke, turning away from my work, “you know I never bring any boys home—”
