Page 65 of The Space Between
He’s quiet, but not cold.
I don’t push. Not yet. Instead, I talk.
I don’t talk about the river. I don’t talk about school. I don’t talk about him.
I open up and I tell him about me.
“I met Tyler about four years ago.” He goes still but let’s me talk. “At first, he was charming and perfect. He didn’t stay that way long. I think you know that considering he showed up here and you broke his rib.”
His jaw tics. “I should’ve hit him harder.”
I shake my head. “I’m not telling you because I want you tofixit…fixme. I’m telling you because I need you toknowwhat you’re touching when you touch me. I wantyouto know.” His hands clench around his knees. “I fell pretty hard pretty fast. But like I said, he seemed perfect. But he knew what to say… what to do. He made me feel like he really loved me and cherished me. Like he was the luckiest man in the world because he had me. I moved in with him within a few months. And it started not long after that. He was a different person. I realized really fast that the man who courted me, who hooked me, didn’t exist. He played a part to get what he wanted… me. The first time he hitme, I was shocked. I didn’t answer the phone when he called me on my way home from school because I was on the phone with my grandma. I was going to call him back. But we didn’t hang up until I was home. So, I went inside, and he was waiting for me. He didn’t say anything, he just punched me in the ribs and said it was my fault for not valuing him enough to take his call. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe he hit me. I started crying and he leaned down and grabbed my hair. He yanked it as hard as he could and I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. He told me that I had better answer when he called on the first ring from then on. Then, he stood up, dusted off his hands and told me to get up and make dinner. I laid there, in complete disbelief that had just happened to me. When I didn’t get up, he kicked me in the stomach with his boots and as I curled in on myself, he said, ‘Don’t make me repeat myself.’” I swallow, shaking from the memory.
“He didn’t leave bruises where people could see. He left them where I’d doubt I ever felt whole in the first place. His favorite places were my ribs, my stomach… and my vagina.”
Gruene exhales angrily and stares ahead, his jaw clenched tightly. I can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He’s letting me talk. Letting me get it out.
“He never let me say no. Not really. He said I didn’t mean it. He said that he knew my body better than I did… he’d abuse me physically, and then, while I was still writhing in pain, he’d abuse me… sexually.
“His favorite way to humiliate me was to kick or punch me in the vagina, and then, fuck me as hard as he could… He’d laugh while I cried, and then, he’d get off and just leave me there, used and full of shame.”
Gruene is dead silent, but his rage is palpable. I can feel it pulsing off of him.
“I left. I’d been packing up small things in small boxes for a month. Only what I knew he wouldn’t notice. And then, finally, I left in the middle of the night. I took my car—it’s mine but he made me put his name on it when I bought it—I changed my number and dropped the last name that was never mine but he made me use as though it was… and I ran. I hopped around in motels and stayed at rest areas in my car for a bit. But I applied for teaching jobs… and I ended up here.”
His voice is a low growl when he says. “Why here?”
I blink. “Because here felt like the farthest place from there. And because I figured if I was going to rebuild, I should start somewhere that didn’t know me by anything but my own name.”
He exhales. It’s long and rough. He looks at me and reaches out, as though he wants to touch my cheek, but his hand falls. He says, “Blakelyn… I’m sorry. No one should have to endure that. Especially not you.” I swallow as tears fall down my cheeks.
He’s right. No one should. But I did. For too long. Because I was too scared to leave.
But I did leave.
I took my power back and I’m holding onto it.
Gruene starts quiet. “Molly smelled like oranges and clove and… sunshine on a spring day.” I don’t breathe, afraid he’ll stop if he realizes he’s opening up. “She would bake on Sunday mornings before church even if she didn’t have time to eat what she made. She said it made the house feel alive and she wanted her loves to have full bellies from food made with love.” I stay perfectly still. “Aubree was five and she was smart as hell. She looked like me. She looked like me but had her momma’s personality. She was so fierce. She wanted to be a firefighter and a ninja and a marine biologist and a fairy princess… all at once.” He smiles thinking about her.
I shift closer, slow and quiet.
“The night of the crash, it rained. So hard. I was going too fast, trying to make up time, because she was fussing that we were late. We were and it was my fault. I messed around at the shop too long. The rain was coming down in sheets. You couldn’t see anything. Just rain falling so fast that the wipers couldn’t keep up. The road curved… I knew it… I’d driven it a thousand times. I knew it curved, but it was raining and we were late and I couldn’t see. I should have pulled over. I should have said we could just be late…” He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t have to. I know what happened. He told me. His whole body is so tense. He looks at me and the anguish on his face has me sobbing. “I came to on the bank. I had been ejected. I was so cold. So fucked up. I couldn’t move my leg and blood was everywhere. I was in so much pain. But I kept trying to crawl back in the water anyway. I—I thought that maybe… maybe they were just trapped. That if I could just get to them, I could still…” His hands are shaking. I reach for them. He lets me.
“I blacked out again. Came to in the hospital, hooked up to wires and with tubes running out of me and connected to machines. I knew… I knew but I couldn’t believe it… I refused to. I wan— wanted someone to tell me it was a nightmare and that they were fine… but they weren’t. I knew it.” His voice cracks and I reach for his hand. I can’t help it. It’s ice cold. My palm covers it, offering warmth, comfort, just anything…
He brokenly sighs. “I think about what she would’ve looked like now,” he’s hoarse. “She’d be eleven. Probably tall. Molly was tall. She’d probably be beside me every fucking day, hauling tubes and latching life vests and fearlessly diving off the rocks even though I told her not to.”
My eyes burn.
“You know what pisses me off?” he says, almost laughing. “She loved this fucking river… wanted to swim in it every day.She loved it, she wasn’t scared of it… and it’s what took her from me.”
I don’t have words. So, I give him what I have.
Presence. Stillness. Touch.
The moment hangs between us like breath in a storm. And then, he leans in.
It’s soft. It’s gentle. Just the press of his lips on mine. His are cold and mine are wet with my tears. It’s nothing like our previous kisses. This kiss doesn’t taste like hunger. It tastes likesurvival.
