Page 3

Lucy

I wipe my brow with the bottom of my sweat-soaked shirt and plop down on the bare mattress in the middle of our bedroom. Moving is over. Although I don’t own many things, the spiral staircase I loved when viewing this property is now my arch-nemesis.

Staying with Miles was better than my parents, but it sucked sharing the house with a bunch of guys.

The small reprieves I got from going to my best friends JoJo’s place were far and few between.

Miles groans from where he leans against the doorframe. “I thought this place would be better from the pictures you showed me. Sure, it was a good deal, but it’s a dump.”

“It has charm,” I mumble.

It’s the total opposite of the tomb of a trailer I grew up in. Here, I can make memories that last a lifetime instead of haunting tales that are better off dead.

“Charm is something I have. This place is a fucking write-off. If you had let me choose, we could’ve taken my parents’ offer to buy a proper home.”

He spins on his heels and goes to the bathroom down the hall, slamming the door behind him.

I roll my eyes, already regretting letting him move in with me.

Is the farmhouse rugged? Yes. Are there missing shingles and broken boards? More than a few. I don’t care that the property needs work. From the moment I came across the listing, the place spoke to me. It needs me as much as I need it.

Pipes rattle, and after a few seconds, water runs for Miles’ shower. Sighing, I get off the bed and cross the room to the window facing the back of the house. With decaying branches covering most of the yard, overgrown and-uncared-for is a recurring theme here.

The setting sun gives an eerie glow to the old garage and barn further back on the property. Both buildings are not safe, according to the realtor, because of rotting wood and sinking foundations or something. I couldn’t care less about them. The house and furniture left behind by someone who loved this place are all that matter to me.

“Can you quit daydreaming for three seconds? We have to get ready for dinner with my parents. I don’t know where my clothes are.”

I turn, seeing water droplets fall off Miles’s dark hair. He stands at the door with a towel around his waist. Muscular arms cross his chest as he glares at me.

“I’m not an idiot, and you don’t have to look at me like I am one. They should be in the duffel bag. We have plenty of time before we have to meet your folks.”

I open the lid on the nearest box, finding it filled with pillows. Miles must have packed this. Who the fuck packs cushions in a box?

Shaking my head, I can’t help but wonder why his parents need to dine with us on moving day? If they were nice people, I wouldn’t mind, but the thought of sitting through dinner with his mother turns my stomach.

Barb has always taken digs at me. She claims I’ll never be good enough for her son, even after high school and me rising from the trash I grew up in to become a paramedic. In her eyes I’ll never suffice for her burger-flipping son, which is laughable but still hurts.

“We’ll barely have enough time to get to the restaurant once you’re done making yourself up. I’ll go find my clothes,” he says. I move to walk past him on my way to the bathroom, and he reaches out and caresses my cheek. “It’s been a stressful day, you understand. I’m sorry.”

It’s always about Miles and how he wants to run the show. I lower my gaze to the worn wooden floor, and whisper, “I know. I won’t be long.”

After I close the bathroom door, I let out a deep sigh. Exhaustion from moving all day and feeling emotionally exposed has my stomach in knots. Stripping out of my dirty clothes, I look at my reflection in the large mirror. I used to love my curves, the way my thighs dip in the sides and the stretch marks that cover my stomach. In the past year, Miles has eroded the confidence I had. His words echo my father’s haunting remarks.

Linoleum flooring is cool under my feet. Wiping the droplets that Miles left everywhere, I turn the dial as I wait for the water to warm. The realtor said the well was good. I hope she’s right, because the pressure sucks. Using the soap on the perch, I clean the dust and sweat off my body.

Once the temperature runs cold, I pull back the plastic shower curtain, step out, and reach for the empty towel rack. Shit, there isn’t another towel. Refusing to use the one on the floor, I lean against the moldings of the window. Opening it, I try to air-dry from the breeze. I love that the closest neighbour is three miles away.

Miles bursts open the door. “Do you know where my belt is?”

Jumping, my heart races as I look at him. “No.”

“Get dried off and dressed. We’re going to be late.”

“I don’t have a towel.”

He leaves the door wide before reappearing with the one he used. I take it from him and finish drying off. Using it to wrap my hair up on top of my head, I grab my dirty clothes and hurry past him. I’ve always been uncomfortable with him looking at the entirety of me, laying bare all my flaws and imperfections. His gaze never strays below my face, and I have a powerful urge to cover my plus-sized figure.

I walk into the bedroom, rummage in my suitcase for a pair of jeans, and wiggle into them. Looking through the bag I packed, I run my hand over the shirts and grab a soft yellow one.

“Is my belt in there?”

“Why didn’t you pack a suitcase like I did? It’s going to take me days to unpack everything,” I say to him as I reach for a hairbrush.

“What do I need to pack for? I have my work uniform.”

His gruff tone hits me in a place I’d like to forget. My father would point the finger at me, claiming I wasn’t doing enough and insinuating that I was lazy or not working as hard as he expected .

“Should have booked the time off, if it was important to you,” I tell him, walking back to the bathroom. His large hand grips my upper arm and stops me in my tracks.

“Don’t get smart with me,” he scoffs.

My body freezes, muscles tensing under his touch. As I school my features, showing my normal tight-lipped smile.

“Sorry, I’m just stressed.” His tone becomes neutral.

I smile. “So you’ve said.” Our relationship has turned into a toxic hug from the past. Each malicious poke reminds me of my parents.

The restaurant is a big chain. Families crowd other tables and chatter fills the large space. Miles’s parents sit in a booth with a table and chairs across from them.

Herb is a balding guy, his face a reddish colour, and he looks like he’s aged ten years since I last saw him. Barb is wearing bright orange. It clashes with her box-dyed red hair, which is curled. She has a big, fake smile plastered on her face.

She stands to give us both a hug. His dad stays seated. Her overpowering rose perfume hangs in the air, mixing with the smell of fries and chicken.

“We’re so glad you both could make it to dinner. Sad that we couldn’t do it at your house tonight, but maybe another time,” she says, narrowing her eyes at me as we take our seats. “If you feel up to it, dear.”

If Miles or his father notice, neither comment. I hold my tongue. She’s the wingnut who wanted to have supper on moving day. Miles and I sit in the chairs across from them.

“We’re so happy to be here with the two of you. Sorry, moving was a lot of work.”

I put on my fake smile, letting Miles lead the conversation.

“Mom, your hair looks great. Do you have a new stylist…”

My attention moves to the art behind their heads above the booth. His mother and him dominate the conversation, seeming to fight over who can talk the most.

I imagine Miles gets his attitude from his mother. Years of narcissism rub off on a person. They either grow from it and become a diamond over time, or they become like their worst nightmare, spreading the sickness to others .

A server dressed in all black shows up, asking for our drink order, and hands us menus. Miles orders a beer, but I stick to water. I’ve never been much of a drinker. Years of watching my father poison his body and mind ruined it for me.

“When do you intend to go back to work, Lucy?” Barb asks.

“I’m taking a few days to get unpacked and settled, then I’ll return to my normal shifts.” I smile, mostly at the server with my water.

“Interesting. In my day, it was a simple thing to work and get a house ready, but I guess this generation is different.”

I wish I were anywhere else but here, although if I’m making wishes, I would hope Barb gets hit by a bus. Her remarks are snide and unneeded.

“Everyone ready to order?” The server grins, ready to scribble down the orders.

“Lucy, the salads are to die for.” Barb is on my last nerve. Every single fucking time we have to meet with them, she has a new diet for me to try. If she can’t accept that I won’t be a stick figure, the least she could do is shut the fuck up.

“I’ll have the quarter chicken dinner with fries, thank you.” I hand back the menu.

Barb clasps her hands together, resting her chin on them. Her lipstick is over her lip, which surprises me because, at first glance, she looked put together. “I guess you worked hard today. ”

“She sure did. It was incredible. I hardly had to do anything.” Miles tells her, stretching his arm over my shoulders.

“Good, because you’re going back to work. Wouldn’t want to pull any muscles moving furniture. Do you guys need anything for the new place?”

Miles straightens in his seat. “Well—”

“The house came furnished. And while it needs some tender loving care, I know it’ll be perfect in no time at all.”

Barb’s mouth opens at the same time the server comes with our drinks. I hide my smirk behind my water glass.

Barb and Miles, as per usual, continue to control the dinner conversation. I tune them out and look around the establishment. Chain restaurants are always the same and lack personality. I glance at Herb, who’s gazing around the place. It almost feels like we’re interrupting a date between mother and son.

Someone is celebrating a birthday, and the cake looks delicious, or maybe I’m just starving. Thankfully, the server comes with our plates. Focusing on my fries, I don’t glance up at Barb. She can suck a lemon if she thinks she is going to make me feel bad about enjoying this meal.

We barely finish eating before Herb stacks the plates in the centre of the table, placing the silverware on top.

I reach for the dessert menu, and Barb’s eyebrows raise. I almost laugh, because the hairy arches could make it clear off her forehead if she tried hard enough.

“Do you think you should eat so much?” she questions.

Gritting my teeth, I put the card back. My smile contains enough sugar, and I could give her a toothache. Instead of responding, I excuse myself to the bathroom.

Barb is awful, and Miles never stands up for me. I wipe my hand over my face, trying to brush off the emotion, but frustration brews in my belly.

It’s not just that Miles acts like a fucking baby. It’s the past all over again, my parents always pushing me around and treating me like I wasn’t worth a fucking thing.

I stare at myself in the mirror, taking deep breaths, in through my nose and out through my mouth like Uncle Billy taught me when I was young. I need to pull myself together.

After washing my hands, I head back to the table.

“Dinner was lovely. We should do it again soon. At your house, Lucy.” Her sickeningly fake voice infuriates me. I smile and nod, like Herb does. After his parents pay, I grab Miles’s hand as we walk out of the restaurant .

“You could have been more talkative. She’s not a terrible person. She wants to get to know you better.”

He’s so fucking dense. That woman has never wanted to know a single thing about me. If I have to fake my smile one more time, my face is going to shatter.

“It’s been a long day and I’m tired. She should understand.”

Once we’re in his car and on the road, he turns up the music until we reach our street. The trees create a canopy over our dark driveway, as if welcoming us into another dimension. Moonlight falls across the property and light glints off the windows, making the farm look haunted. It’s otherworldly, and it’s mine.

As Miles parks next to my old Toyota Corolla, his fingers move to my thigh, which he squeezes. I do my best not to sigh. My legs ache, and I feel exhausted.

Turning to give him a kiss on the cheek, his hand cups my face as he presses against my lips.

“You look beautiful tonight. I forgot to tell you.”

I hold my eye-roll. He’s going to give me whiplash.

“Thanks,” I whisper. Pulling away from his embrace, I get out of the car and walk to the porch. Stepping over the broken boards and I head toward the door.

“This is dangerous. I don’t have time to fix this shit,” he mutters.

He acts like his job is so hard. Flipping patties at Meaty Burgers must be so strenuous.

“I’ll take care of it,” I say, unlocking the door.

The entrance leads straight into the kitchen. Flicking on the lights, I glance around. I’m going to have to paint so many rooms, but that’s the beauty of starting fresh. I slip off my black boots and throw my keys on a stack of boxes.

With great effort, I climb the stairs. If I had a couch I’d be sleeping down here, but I continue to push forward. I just want to collapse into my bed.

After I wash my face, I grab a scrunchie and put my hair in a messy bun. Slipping off my yellow shirt, I wiggle out of my jeans. I fold them both and flip open the suitcase.

I find a pair of shorts and an oversized tee. Before I can get dressed, Mile’s hands grab my hips, and he grinds against me.

“Babe, I’m so tired.” I straighten and take a step away from him.

“I’m going back to work for days. This is my only chance.” His tone is whiny and I grit my teeth.

“In the morning,” I tell him.

Miles strips off his jeans and boxers. “Fuck that. You never want to have morning sex.” He grips the bun on the back of my head and jerks me to him. “I want it now.”

My scalp burns, and the sudden movement jars my neck.

His tall, muscular frame covers my back as he presses into me. Miles pulls my hair out of my bun, yanking my head backward against his chest before forcing kisses along my neck.

If I let my mind float away, this will be over before I know it. Our intimacy is dead. Miles used to light candles or give me a massage after work. Now he can’t even be bothered to be nice to me unless he wants something.

He guides me to the bed, laying me on my tummy. He spreads my legs roughly, shoving his fingers into me.

“Least you could do is to be wet for me,” he grumbles.

I lay my face sideways in my hands. There’s always a problem with me when it comes to our sex life. I am too wet or not stimulated enough. I do too much or too little. The biggest part about Miles is his inconsistent and unreasonable expectations.

He spits between my thighs, the warm liquid dripping down, and my skin crawls. When his dick slides into me, groans fill my ear as we go through the motions.

As he thrusts into me, I pretend to enjoy it. I’m too exhausted to even touch myself. I rest my head on my hands .

My mind wanders. Starting over in a new place means I should have left him in the past, but I felt obligated to bring him into my future since he’s stood by me.

“Such a beautiful bitch you are.”

Miles smacks my ass and pulls out of me. I forgot to fake it, and it doesn’t seem to matter. He leaves the room soon after.

I can’t even be bothered to get myself off. Exhaustion seeps through me. I grab my oversized tee and put it on. Slipping on the shorts, I make my way to the bathroom, the cool floor sending a shiver up my spine.

Rounding the side of the shower, I find Miles facing the sink. His reflection in the wide mirror vigorously jerking off.

“Are you looking at porn?” I ask.

He turns, his cell is in one hand.

A picture of Leah, the bitch I hate from my work, is on the screen. Miles’s fist doesn’t slow as his stare shifts from his phone to my reflection in the mirror. He jerks into the sink, the spurts of come coating the basin.

“What the fuck are you doing?” My voice is shrill.

“You’re not blind,” he says. His hand grips the counter, glancing down at the white release before tilting his head and staring at me. “You just don’t do it for me anymore. I mean, look at her and look at you.”

Miles uses two fingers to scoop his come up before he wipes it down the side of my face. Shame curls around me as rage boils through my veins. Years of emotional abuse have prepared me to be calm at this moment.

“We’re done. I’m done with you and your bullshit.”

He darts to press me against the linen closet, his face twisting in utter disgust. “I’ll tell you when we’re done.”

“Get out of my house.”

“When I’m ready, then I’ll leave. You’re my cash cow.” He sneers at me, then stalks out of the room.

I run the water, scrub my face, and use the toilet before heading to the bedroom. Miles isn’t in bed, and I’ve never been so fucking thankful for that.

Calling the cops would be useless. They didn’t help when I was a child. Every year in school, they told us we could always depend on an officer, but every time I told someone what was happening at home, I was left in that trailer to rot with my useless parents.

I lay on my side and my mind races, causing thickness to well up in the back of my throat. Silent tears run down my face.