Page 102 of The Space Between
I don’t mention the man who lives next door. The one who takes and takes and vanishes before the sheets cool. The one who kisses like he means it and then leaves like he doesn’t.
I swallow it. I survive but by the time lunch rolls around and I’m alone in my classroom staring at a turkey sandwich, I feel like I’m going to scream… not from the kids… fromme.From the version of myself I keep betraying just to stay close to someone who isn’t evenreally here.
He doesn’t checkon me.
Not at lunch. Not after school. Not that I really expected him to… but it would’ve been nice.
To be seen.
I walk to the cabin from my car after parking. My bag strap digs into my shoulder and sweat curls the edges of my hair. Unlocking the door, I drop my things and stand in the middle of the kitchen like I don’t recognize my own life.
Then, I do something I haven’t done since the night I left Tyler… I scream.
I scream into my hands until my throat burns, and my knees hit the floor and the worn wood presses into my skin.
And then, I cry… for all of it. For the way Tyler used to twist my words until I apologized for bleeding. For the way Gruene touches me like I matter, and then disappears like I never did. For the way I keep waiting for someone to stay without needing to be convinced.
And then, I stop… just like that.
I wipe my face. Stand up. And start cleaning. Because that’s what you do when your heart’s a mess and your life’s in pieces and there’s no one coming to pick you up off the floor.
You pick yourself up.
He knocks just after eight.
I don’t look through the peephole. I already know who it is.
Gruene… of course.
I open the door and there he is.
His baseball cap is pulled low. His shirt damp from the river and sweat. His eyes search mine like he’s checking for damage but not ready to ask how it got there.
“What?,” I say.
He shifts. “What do you mean what?”
“It’s late. I’m tired.” I flatly say.
His jaw tightens but I’m not here to make it easier for him anymore. “Did you want something?” I ask, holding the door open only an arm’s length. “Because you won’t be getting fucked tonight. So, let’s just skip the shit. Go on back to your cabin for another night of silence after you get exactly what you want.”
He blinks. “Blakelyn?—”
“No.” I straighten. “Don’tBlakelynme. You don’t get to show up like this, fuck me into the mattress, and then, disappear until it’s convenient again. That’s not who I am. I’m not your fuck buddy. I’m not a pair of legs that spread, you pump, you come, and you leave.”
His face pales as his mouth opens. Shock covers his face but I’m already walking away, tossing the dish towel onto the counter, leaving the door open like an invitation he hasn’t earned. “You have something to say?” I call out over my shoulder. “Then,talk.But youdon’tget to touch me unless youseeme first. I’m not a cum collector.”
Holy shit, Blakelyn. That’s blunt.
No, I don’t care!
I’m sick of this shit.
He doesn’t move. For a second, I think he’s going to leave, like always. But then, I hear the door shut behind him. And footsteps.
As I reach the sink, I turn, facing him, revealing nothing. He follows me into the kitchen, stopping ten feet away, like he’s afraid coming any closer will make me disappear. His hand rises, but not to touch me. He grasps the back of his neck, squeezing it. “I’m not good at this, Blakelyn.”
“No shit.” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.
