[chapter ten]
Disclaimer: If you've heard of them, I don't own them. Everything else is mine, so no stealing, pretty please. ;-)
This story is gonna be darker, and deal with serious, sometimes disturbing
issues. Just so everyone knows. Okay? Okay.
**
~Faye's POV~
I don't know what I'm doing here.
I mean, really.
Of all people on the planet, why do I want to pour out my heart and soul to him?
Him. That I…that I need approval, reassurance, backing, support, laughter…all that stuff from.
Him. That I want to…that I want to like me.
As much as I like him.
But how can you like someone you don't respect?
He can't respect me. He can't.
And yet here I am, standing on his front doorstep, unable to even knock on the door.
I jump back as the door swings open and Jimmie is standing in front of me, a gentle smile on his face.
"Hi." He says softly.
"Hi." I echo shyly.
"Come on in. I thought I heard your car." He says, ushering me in and shutting the door. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Um…sure. What do you have?" I ask, trailing him to the kitchen before chuckling out loud.
Laid out on the kitchen counter is every kind of beverage known to man. Coffees, teas, soft drinks, bottled water, everything.
"Uh…everything?" He says with a grin. "I started stocking everything ever made for when you come over."
"Coffee would be great." I say, touched, noting the pot warming behind him. "Thanks."
Two steaming mugs and several minutes polite conversation later, we're ensconced on his balcony, watching the sun slowly set behind the trees. And I feel like I can breathe for the first time all week.
Matt's been home all week.
"So." I say tentatively.
"So." He echoes, shifting to look at me, his head cocked to one side, regarding me. I can feel him staring at the fading bruise on my arm, looking for other signs of injury, of bruises, though he says nothing.
He always does that.
We sit silently for several minutes before I suddenly feel the dam burst inside me. The words just start pouring out, and even if I wanted to censor them, I can't.
Because I've needed to talk about this for so long. With someone who won't judge me. Won't scream at me.
Won't take their anger out on me.
I take a deep breath and start explaining.
"A few months before I met Matt, I was engaged to be married. 12 days before our wedding, my fiancé was killed in a freak accident. I was…I was devastated. Lost. In a really…a really dark place. I met Matt, and he was…he made me feel alive again, even just the tiniest bit. We started seeing each other, very casual, very laid back, and I came to depend on him more and more for that alive feeling."
I pause and take a shaky breath before continuing, not daring to meet his eyes.
"Everything with us was fine for several months. I mean, I was still…broken, but mending. With his help. We started spending more and more time together, I started traveling with him on the weekends, stuff like that. And then one day…"
I look down at my trembling hands.
"He hit me. Right across the cheek."
I can hear Jimmie inhale sharply, but I keep speaking.
"I don't even remember what I did."
I wince at the memory.
"And then it happened again. And again. And again. Until almost every day I did something wrong, I made him hit me. And…I deserved it. I made him mad, or I screwed something up, and in some way, having him punish me reminded me I was alive, I was breathing. And he was always so sweet afterwards, so apologetic. He still is. He…he's an angel so much of the time. Attentive. Caring. Buys me flowers, makes me dinner, but then…"
I close my eyes.
"He can turn on a dime. And lately…lately, the…it's been getting worse. A lot worse."
I can feel his eyes on me.
"I think…I think I've lost myself. I don't even know who I am anymore."
One tear slides down my cheek.
"And I'm scared to death."