Page 4 of Traces Of You
Truce.
That was a joke.
More like Oliver had chilled out and given her space. Not like she ever had much since he would just come find her and bring her back when she ran from him.
She took advantage of it and acted as if nothing was wrong and she forgave him, all the while formulating her next move.
It wasn’t just a dream; it was going to be reality.
If she could work up the courage.
She got out of her old beat-up sedan, locked the doors as she always did, then walked to the back entrance.
The kitchen she’d left spotless nine hours earlier was now a disaster with dirty dishes piled in the sink, crumbs and something sticky smeared across the counters. Three empty glasses, four upside-down beer cans, and half the cabinets left open like he couldn’t decide what the hell he wanted to eat.
Her purse dropped on the small table, then her feet halted when she saw the condition of their living room.
“What the heck happened?”
The cushions from the couch and chair were strewn across the floor, the indentations in the carpet showing the furniture had been dragged out of place. An end table was tipped over, its drawer half out, and a shattered lamp lay beside it like a casualty of chaos.
“You tell us,” Randy said. Oliver’s cousin always made her skin crawl. More like his skin that crawled with lumps and bumps of evil trying to burst free and grab you.
If he wasn’t leering at her, his eyes moved over her body in a silent appraisal, then he’d shout at her to get him and Oliver a beer or some food.
Most of Oliver and her fights came after her boyfriend spent time with his cousin.
Not that Oliver needed anyone to egg him on, but Randy enjoyed doing it.
“How would I know?” she asked. “When I left for work the house was clean.”
Like it always was so that Oliver didn’t give her shit.
He’d said he loved how she took care of him. Early on, he convinced her to move in, made her believe they could be a family. Something she’d never had. He said he needed her, and that was all it took. No one had ever needed her before, and she fell hard for the dream she’d always longed to live.
She ended up being nothing more than a maid and a sometimes punching bag when things weren’t done the way he wanted.
He left for work at six and it gave her two hours to walk around picking up his clothes, his shoes, all the leftover food and empty plates and glasses, washing down counters and sinks.
“Maureen wouldn’t do this,” Oliver said, frowning at his cousin. She’d never been defended before and was surprised Oliver was doing it now, until he snickered and added, “Because she’s the one who has to clean it up.”
Her teeth smashed together, her fists clenched. The ache in her wrist from her recent break reminded her to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t needanotherER trip.
“Why would I do this?” she asked, her voice level to mask her anger. “Did you come home to this? You two didn’t get into a fight and cause it?”
Randy snorted. “Don’t be an idiot. If Oliver and I were fighting you’d be picking his body up off the floor.”
The crimson tide rolled over Oliver’s face. He didn’t like anyone touching his pride, let alone damaging it. “Asshole.”
Randy shrugged. “Don’t be a dick. You know it’s the truth.”
There were traits of Satan in both of them, but she wasn’t stupid enough to let those words slip.
“If it was like this when you got home, why didn’t you call the police? Is any other part of the house like this?”
“The bedrooms,” Oliver said.
She rushed past them and took the stairs two at a time. Difficult with her short legs.
