Page 101 of The Quiet Tenant

THAT NIGHT, YOUplan to do what you always do. You plan to wait for him to be done. You plan to be Rachel. You plan to do the things that keep you alive.

And you try. But he finds you in the dark and you think about the women downstairs. You think about his daughter. You think about you and the ones like you.

You have never let yourself feel this. You knew that it would be dangerous. That this wasn’t a type of anger that could be meted out in drops, only tsunamis.

He goes to handcuff you to the bed frame and misses. The metal nicks your skin. You pull your wrist back—it’s instinct, what people do when someone hurts them. He clasps your arm and holds it in place. This, too, is instinct. Putting your body, all the moving parts of it, in the places where he wants them.

The wise thing would be to let him. He’s going to handcuff you anyway, so what does it matter? But tonight, it matters. Tonight, you get onto your knees and give another tug. Your wrist slips out of his grasp. Immediately, his hand is on you, grabbing for your elbow, your shoulder, any part of you he can use as an anchor. You resist him. Slide out of his reach, stand up, swat his palm away. Your movements surprise you—so quick, so precise. Muscle memory. Your body, brought out of a long hibernation by your secret exercise sessions.

He comes at you with both hands and you forget to be scared. You are only angry.

It’s a silent tussle, reckless, desperate. Your hand makes contact with his chest. You push—it’s a light shove and it barely shakes him, this immovable force of a man. It barely does anything but it means everything, everything to you.

He regains control—of course he does. He is him and you are you. He grabs your arm and twists it and the other one too, puts hisweight on you until you crumple like a shriveled leaf onto the floor. But his breath is heavy and his heart beats against your back, fast and loud and panicky, and you did that, you got away from him for a few seconds, and it scared him.

You have terrified this man. You have made his pulse race.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, furious breath between gritted teeth, “do you think you’re doing?”

He twists your arms tighter. You surrender to it. Now you can. You must.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him. You don’t mean a word of it. It’s a password, a conduit to another day.

Your own breath settles. You realize what you’ve done, how close to the sun you just flew. Foolishly, without a thought for your wings and the wax holding them together. “I’m sorry,” you say again, and a dash of truth: “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He regains control over the handcuffs and chains you to the bed frame.

So strong, this body of yours. You didn’t know you had it in you. To push him like that. To fight back.

He runs his fingers over the back of your head, gathers your hair in a tight fistful, and pulls. Your head snaps back. He brings his face close to yours.

“You have some fucking nerve, you know that?”

Don’t try to nod. Don’t try to explain. Just let him speak.

“You were lost. You were so fucking alone. I found you.” A tug. “I’m the only reason you’re alive. You know what you’d be, withoutme?”

Nothing.You recite the words in your head so they won’t touch you when he says them.You’d be dead.

“Nothing. You’d be dead.”

Do not listen to him. Do not let him inside your brain.

He lets go of your hair with a nudge.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. You could say it five hundred times if he needed you to.Sorrycosts you nothing.

“Shut up. Can you do that? Can you just stop talking for one fucking second?”

You settle against the bed frame. He shakes his head at you.

He has plans beyond you. You have seen the photos. The Polaroids of Emily in his basement, the tools in his boxes and on his workbench.

It was a mistake, shoving him. Scaring him like that. You do not regret it, not completely. But you must be careful.

You are so close.

CHAPTER 69

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