Page 57 of The Space Between
Tugging the sheet tighter around me, I stare at the ceiling and replay it all.
The dock.
His voice.
That kiss.
The way he growled into my skin like he hadn’t touched anyone in six years and forgot how to hold back.
The way he looked at me after… like I’d gotten under every wall he thought was still standing… like it scared the hell out of him.
And then he left… but not like before.
This time, he didn’t disappear. He stepped back.
Breathed.
And he let me breathe, too.
I sit up slowly, my muscles protest in the best way and I look myself over. There’s no dried blood on my skin from fists or boots. I’m not covered in bruises that don’tbelong. There are marks… from his fingers on my hips, from my shoulders hitting the wall and the table, but they were earned through passion, not pain. There’s no guilt curling inside my stomach like a storm cloud. Only the echo of the way he whisperedagaininto my throat and held me like I was the first thing he’d ever wanted after all he’d lost.
My chest aches, but not in a way that makes me want to curl in on myself.
I ache because hedidn’tstay—but I think hewanted to.
The coffee potgurgles as though it’s annoyed to be woken up this early.
I dig through the cabinet until I find the cinnamon I picked up at the gas station and sprinkle a little into the filter on top of the dark rich grounds the way Grandma Nan used to. She used to grin and say, “It gives it thatjuge, baby girl. And thatjugeis a little thing to show you care.”
I smile as I do it, thinking that not that long ago I thought I’d never do domestic little things like this again.
Tyler poisoned everything good.
He even made coffee feel like a trap. He made kitchens feel like cages where I had to be fearful of if the eggs were too firm… or too runny. Because of him, because I stayed out of fear and shame, my body felt like it didn’t belong to me anymore. It was just a vessel for him to abuse… however he chose.
This morning, I’m grinding beans. I’m humming under my breath. I’m smiling as I do the little things again. Lifting my arms high above my head, I reach for the stars and arch my back, stretching in a way that feels so damn good. Then, I yawn and laugh as I curse the Texas heat.
One thought fills my head.
This is mine.
There’ssomething folded on the tabletop outside.
Spotting it through the window, I freeze.
My pulse skips and for one raw second, I think…Tyler.
Even though I know better. Even though he showed up and Gruene ran him off. I haven’t seen a trace since.
Trauma is like that, though.
It sits in your marrow, waiting for shadows to turn into threats.
I step outside barefoot. The boards of the porch are still warm from yesterday’s heat.
The note is written on a plain sheet of white printer paper. There’s no envelope, just a thick fold of paper with two words scrawled across the top in black ink.
Still here.
