I don’t know how long I stay on the cold floor for, long enough for the light to dim beyond the window and darken the spacearound me. I still don’t move though. The tears have stopped but my skin feels tight, dry and my eyes are sore. Rain pats against the windowpanes, not having stopped for a single minute since it started this morning.
When darkness fully falls though, I decide to get up, my muscles aching from having stayed in the same position for so long. I stretch my body and then slowly trudge through the almost pitch-black house, knowing it so well I don’t need to turn on any lights. It’s so big and sterile, my steps echo and long corridors stretch left and right, the very ends of them swallowed by darkness so black it feels like you’re looking into a void. They used to scare me as a child but not so much anymore. I’d often dreamed of stepping into it and getting lost.
I push the door to my bedroom open, inhaling the scent of the rain that has filled my bedroom from the open window. It calms me a little, the cool air a refreshing change from the dusty stale air in the rest of the house. In the bathroom, I wash my face with cold water and brush out my hair before I change into some sleep shorts and River’s Sinclair Motors t-shirt and then climb into the bed, facing toward the window so I can see when he arrives.
It's already almost nine P.M, he usually shows up between now and midnight and while I’m a little tired, I could probably stay awake until he does. I reach for the book on my nightstand, opening to the last page I was reading and settle against the pillows.
But I can’t fully commit to the words on the paper, not when every little noise, every bump or movement of my curtains grabs my attention. I keep thinking it’s him, but it never is. And when the clock ticks over the hour and then another, the numbers reading seven minutes past midnight I start to doubt he’s coming.
We’ve spent every night together for the past several days, it’s quickly become a routine, and he said he would come.
I’ve formed an attachment to him, he feels safe when everyone doesn’t. He’s a real and raw human being when I’m constantly surrounded by fabricated or watered down versions of people.
When the clock ticks over to one A.M and he still isn’t here, I lay my book down.
Perhaps it’s for the best really. I don’t feel good myself, I feel drained and empty and my problems aren’t his problems. Hell, my problems aren’t really problems at all.
What a poor, spoiled, little rich girl I am.
What do I have to complain about? I have a nice house, a nice car, money to never have to want for anything.
Money doesn’t buy happiness, Marly. My grandmother warned me so often I lost count of how many times she did, and of course she is right. But then there’s the guilt for wanting more for myself.
And it’s the guilt that keeps my mouth closed and my complaints unheard. Be the good girl they want you to be, smile and be polite, don’t cause a fuss. Marry the man your father wants because it’s the least you can do for everything he gave to you.
I swallow down bile that rises in my throat at the thought.
I just want out. I just really want to get out.
Rolling over, I push the thoughts away and squeeze my eyes closed.
Sleep takes me swiftly but it’s anything but peaceful.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Icrawl through Marly’s window when the sun is cresting the horizon, painting the sky a deep shade of pink, the clouds parting and the rain finally coming to a stop after drenching us for nearly twenty-four hours straight.
I’m not going to lie, I fucking hurt. I’m certain I’ve got a broken rib, and the swollen, split lip has been giving me hell since I crawled out of the ring after the fight. I wasn’t going to go. I wasn’t but then Jake’s words had eaten me up all through the day and into the night. I couldn’t come here with that. I couldn’t let her see what this is doing to me.
So, I got the shit beaten out of me instead.
It’s still early and Marly is sleeping, curled into a ball as if to make herself as small as possible. I barely see her under all those sheets bundled on top of her, only her hair poking out from the top showing me she’s in there. It’s cold in here thanks to the window being left open and the lamp on the bedside table is still on, telling me she left the window open and the light on for me. And I didn’t come, not when I should have at least.
I limp toward the bed, my thigh screaming with the movement. I’d taken a brutal kick to it during my fight and the fucker has been aching since. The climb up the trellis didn’t help and when I got here, I almost used the front door instead.
Staring down at the bed, I watch her sleep, oblivious to my presence. I should shower but I don’t, I move the sheets and get in the bed beside her instead. I washed off the blood before I came and changed my clothes, but I know I’m not clean.
Moving slowly, I bring myself toward her, putting an arm around her as I mold myself to her back, inhaling that scent that is inherently hers and let it fade away the roaring thoughts. I couldn’t even race I was so fucked in the head from Jake laying it down for me.
But I should have known coming here would have chased away that anger. Marly has this aura, this purity that can chase away any storm.
My arm curls a little tighter, but the move stirs her awake.
She turns in my arms, her sleepy eyes dragging over my face before they flick open suddenly, wide awake as she takes in the bruises and cuts.
“River!” She cries, bolting up, the sudden movement jerking my body and pain flares across my ribs.
I hiss, gritting my teeth against the agony that attempts to tear me apart.
