It's been two weeks since I've been to my house, and I'm as nervous as I thought I'd be.
Doesn't matter that it's a bright, gorgeous spring day or that I've had all this time to process or even that Grey is with me, climbing the steps ahead of me to unlock the front door with the new key, one only he and I have. My body remembers, sending a warning through me.
Last time I walked through this door, Carlin was inside.
For the last two weeks, Grey and I have been in heavy recovery mode, cocooning, resting, healing. Being together. We took two weeks of personal leave, which was granted without question after all we've been through.
The first few days there were things to attend to, my parents, police questioning. Then, lots of sleeping. Grey didn't leave my side for the first week, which was filled with ice cream and take out and movies. The nightmares started the night after Carlin, though they've gotten better. I've gotten in the habit of checking locks, making sure things are secure, sometimes a little jumpy,glad I haven't been alone. The girls wanted to see me, but I wasn't ready until the second week, when the cabin fever hit. I even ventured out of the house for a couple of girl's nights at The Horseshoe and a couple of baseball games.
The town gossip has made a shocking flip, making it easier to be in public than it's been in months. Now Grey is a hero, and I'm a victim of anactualpredator. Everyone wants to know how I'm doing, praises Grey and Danny, all of them looking for some detail they haven't heard yet to pass down the grapevine. It's nice enough. But it feels hollow after how they treated us. Still, it's better than being a pariah, so I'll take it.
Those two games were the only ones Grey coached, he hasn't been to practice or anything. He has enough help, he promised me when he knew I felt guilty about it. He didn't want to be anywhere else, and neither did I. But when I was with the girls, Grey and Danny went to my house and worked on repairing the damage. Installing new locks, outdoor cameras and floodlights, had a security system installed.
Honestly, I was tempted to just sell it, move in with Grey like he offered. But it's like watching a scary movie and turning it off before you see the end and know the boogieman dies. Harder to get over if the scary part is the last thing you know. And I love this shabby little house too much to walk away from it.
I hope this is the hardest part, that it gets easier. Just gotta rip the Band-Aid off.
At least this is the last Band-Aid.
We've had Danny over for a couple of dinners, deciding to do a weekly thing, which has been wonderful and sad, reminding me of the family I've lost. I'm starting over in every way--my parents were my anchor, and when the chain snapped, I drifted away. But I have Grey, and he doesn't weigh me down or hold me back, just loves me. Mom's trying, but it's not enough. I haven't been able to have the conversation with her yet, not ready for herto try and convince me what she did was right. I haven't talked to Dad at all. I try not to dwell on it, try to focus on looking forward, wanting nothing more than to put it behind me. Sometimes I'm successful. Sometimes I'm not. I sit in those feels as much as I can stand, grateful for Grey's solid presence.
Carlin has been charged with multiple crimes, and we've been assured that when they stack, he could be in for as much as twenty-five years, though probably more like ten in the end. He's still in jail awaiting trial, held without bail. But we put a restraining order in place anyway, a no contact order, and if he's released, I have victim notification, so I'll find out immediately.
It should make me feel safer than it does. It's impossible for him to get to me.
But like I said--my body remembers.
I just refuse to let it control me. This house is mine, and I want to reclaim it.
Grey takes my hand, watching me through my hesitation. "We don't have to do this."
I smile and squeeze his fingers. "Yeah, we do. I'm ready."
He brushes my cheek with his knuckles. "Okay, peaches. Anything you want."
Grey opens the door and waits, letting me enter first, right behind me when I do.
I'm braced for memories, for fear. But my living room is cozy as it ever was, smells like home. Clean and organized, peaceful. There's no sign of struggle, everything in its place. The couch where we used to make out. The coffee table where the raccoons stole my egg roll. I make an amused sound through my nose, and Grey gives me a curious look.
"I thought I'd be afraid as soon as I walked in, but all I can think about are the memories we made here," I explain.
"Good," he says, only a little relieved. "You ready for the hard part?"
I nod, drawing a deep breath. Walking toward the kitchen. There it is--the fear, cold and sharp, crawling up my spine. But then Grey's hand is on my back, and it's banished just like that.
I pass the threshold and look around, surprised at how different it looks. In my head it was still busted and broken and bloodied. But it's pristine, with new cabinet doors, the floor refinished. My old table is gone, replaced with a little breakfast table for two. It's small and cute and different. I'm dying to see gigantic Grey sit at it.
Lucky for me, I'll get to any time I want.
"You did all this?"
He nods. "Danny and I did a lot, but I had to hire somebody to redo the floors and install the cabinet doors. Didn't have enough time, not without leaving you for too long." He pauses, something soft in his eyes. "I…I wanted it to be yours again."
Tears prick my eyes, and I slide my arms around his waist. "It's perfect. Thank you."
"Always," he whispers, leaning down to kiss me gently. "But we're not done yet."
He takes my hand, and confused, I follow him to the closed door of my guest room where he stops. He looks bashful.
