Page 26 of All I Have Left

EVIE

W illie Nelson’s “Have You Ever Seen the Rain” plays in the distance. I hate the song, but it’s somewhere in the midst of that song, an outcome plays out before me, everything surrounding me bathed in a blue tint. My eyes, the side of his face, my cheek, it’s shades of blues he can’t erase.

I lie flat on my back and stare out a window. It’s clouded up with steam from the running shower, slow trickles of bubbled water streaking down. The low hanging sun shimmers against the drops, sparkling like a firecracker.

I feel like those water drops. Slowly filling, gathering strength before finally giving up and letting my fate fall where it may.

An entire week passes since that night at The Point. A week of avoiding family, friends, work… and Grayson. He’s called every day, until Shane cracked the screen on my cell phone throwing it at the wall. I quit my job, or rather, Shane quit it for me. It’s his plan. To have me fully depend on him.

Sunday afternoon, the soreness in my face is fading, but it’s a constant reminder of what Shane did, what he is doing. He touches me, his hand on my thigh, his apology on repeat.

Today, I have to be seen. My mom is threatening to file a missing person’s report if I don’t make an appearance. Tonight, Aiden, Grayson’s cousin, is in town. I have to make an appearance. I want to.

To my left, Shane sighs, his heavy arm weighs down on my stomach. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the spot on my shoulder. It’s yellowing, the marks of his grip fading, but the reality never will. “I guess I got kind of carried away.”

I don’t acknowledge his useless apology. “I have to make an appearance at Aiden’s parents’ house tonight.”

His grip tightens and he nods to the bathroom where steam rolls from the room. “I can’t let you go. Take a shower with me.”

“I have to go.”

His hand moves to my face and angles my head toward him. “No.”

I void my tone of emotion. “I don’t have to go alone. You could come with me.”

His jaw tightens, his eyes searching. “You’d want me to?”

I don’t, but I know him coming with me is my only chance of leaving this house. “I do.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. He swallows and blinks slowly. “Is he going to be there?”

“It’s his cousin, so probably.”

Rolling onto his back, he sighs and reaches for his joint next to the bed.

He lights it, takes a hit, and then blows the smoke into the air.

He sets it down and sits up, a rough growl emitting from his chest with the movement.

And finally the words “You’re not going” follow and their finality of my fate.

I hate him. I hate me.

My hands shake. I close my eyes, and when I open them again, they drift to the window and then his back, his muscles flexing when he breathes in and out.

I’ve upset him, because his moods are dictated by me conforming to his demands.

“I have to. If I don’t, my mom and Ethan will come looking for me. ”

At first, he doesn’t say anything.

But I’m desperate and have to make him see that if I don’t go, they’ll come here. “Do you really want them to come here and see me like this?”

He looks over his shoulder at me, a scowl plastered to his face. I sit up and gesture to the bruises on my face. The ones I can’t hide this time and when that’s not enough to convince him, I drop my eyes to the place above my left breast he bit so hard he drew blood.

“I said I was sorry. Sometimes I don’t think.”

“Sometimes sorry isn’t good enough. And it doesn’t make these bruises invisible.”

“Jesus Christ.” His chest expands with a deep inhale. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to stop doing this, Shane.” I gesture to my face. “How can you say you love me and turn around and hurt me?”

“I do love you, Evie.”

“If you love me, you’d see that I deserve better than this.

You hit me. Again. After you said you wouldn’t.

You raped me,” I whisper, barely able to say the word in fear that he might hurt me again for accusing him of it.

Shock hits his face. He blinks, unable to process what I said at first. There’s a slow shake to his head, his denial.

“I said no, and you still took it from me. This is not love. These bruises, that’s not how you treat someone. ”

I’m not sure he understands it. Actually, maybe he does. He turns, sets the joint down in the ashtray next to his bed, and then hovers over me on all fours. “I didn’t rape you. It’s not like that with us.”

I stare at him, the bruises on his cheek fading. What the fuck is he talking about? He’s not even making sense. “You did, rape me . I told you no. I deserve better than this.”

“I know you deserve better. And I’m so fucking sorry.” His glassy eyes drift from my face to the headboard he broke yesterday when I tried to leave and then back to me. “If it’s a big deal, then I’ll go with you tonight.”

While I can see that he’s sorry, it’s not enough. I stumble over how to word my next sentence but blurt, “He’ll know we’re together and won’t bother you.”

We’re not together, but these words are the only way to get out of this house and away from him. It’s the only way , I repeat to myself.

His body weight presses into mine, as suffocating as his presence in my life. “If he tries anything….” His words fade, as if to leave the statement open and undecided.

I blow out a breath with his heaviness. I want to be stronger. I want to fight for myself and the ability to leave when I want to. I want so much more than I’m allowing, yet I can’t make myself do it. It’s like the signal to my brain is severed from fear and rewired for survival. “He won’t.”

Shane’s arms shake as he holds himself up again. I watch his jaw work back and forth, his eyes on my cheek, lips, breasts, everywhere he’s left a mark on me this week. I’ve done nothing to cover it up.

There’d be no way to cover this up. Someone, Grayson, everyone will notice. And maybe that’s what it’s going to take. I have to show my face in public. They have to see this.

“I need a shower,” I tell Shane, my hands on his chest.

He nods and walks me into the room. For the first time in days, I see my reflection in the mirror. He stands next to me, his arms crossed over his bare chest. “I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”

It’s not the bruises that keeps my attention on my reflection. It’s not the swollen lips or even the mark on my chest. It’s the lifeless and tormented eyes. They’re empty and worthless like his love. It’s my fragile hold on my emotions. I can’t look at him when he apologizes.

I used to look at my mother and see this same expression.

A sadness that lingered so deep, present when she looked at Ethan and me, two people born from hatred and violence.

It’s then that I wonder if she ever regretted us.

When Shane got me pregnant, my initial reaction was fear as I couldn’t imagine loving the baby. Not when it came from him.

Did she ever look at me and see hate?

I stare at my reflection and the tears rolling down my cheeks. I crumble and tell myself, You’re enough. Don’t let this break you .

Shane moves behind me, his hands on my hips as he guides me to the shower. He doesn’t care that he’s destroyed any ounce of love remaining for him. Or maybe he does. Maybe it was his intention.

He steps in with me.

And as the hot water stings my tender skin, I take it because I desperately want to wash the scent of him from my bones.

He holds me against his chest, his apology coming again, his tears becoming one with the drops descending on me.

I listen to him tell me he loves me and that he doesn’t remember hitting me.

That he’d never do it if he had control.

But it’s not enough. It never was.

I want to rid my life of the reminders. He may have clipped my wings, but tonight, tonight I fly. Tonight, I reveal his true colors to the world regardless of my outcome. I will show him that surviving him can be beautiful.