Letting You In Read online

  I grabbed my laptop, a backpack, then began packing my things.

  ****

  When I finally came out of the bedroom, Owen had been quiet for some time. I didn't know if he had left or not, so I felt a stab of fear when I saw him sitting in a kitchen chair. He'd moved the table back into place, wiped up the spilled coffee. There was no sign of the muffin, part of me found that strangely upsetting.

  His eyes lit up when I came out, but they darted to the laptop case hanging over my shoulder, then the small backpack I wore. “Where are you going?”

  “I... don't know, exactly.” It was the truth.

  “Don't do this.” He stood, approaching me like I was ready bolt. I couldn't be sure I wouldn't, my eyes shooting to the front door to my left. It's right there, so close, if I move fast I...

  Owen met my gaze, apparently sensing my intent.

  My hand grabbed the doorknob, I shoved my way out into the hall as fast as I could. We lived on the second floor, and the stairwell was my next obstacle. I didn't get that far, something yanked sharply at my shoulder.

  Spinning, fighting with his grip, Owen's fingers were a vice on my laptop. He was just far too strong, in seconds he'd torn my bag free. “Give me that!” I snapped, hands extended.

  Owen lifted the computer, my horror surging when he held it out over the stairwell ledge. If he let go, my laptop would be smashed for sure. Even that padded bag couldn't have saved it. “Don't,” I gasped, hearing my own terror. His eyes lit up, hopeful, and he motioned behind him.

  “Come back inside, let's talk.”

  I looked from his face, to my laptop, judging how serious he was. I can't risk it... if I'm going to get out of here, I need that computer.

  “Okay.”

  He slumped, relieved, so I followed him back inside like a lost dog. I didn't sit, though, I kept the door open, standing near it with my arms folded tight as if to give me armor. He seemed to debate on if he should move closer to me or not, his body hunching, feet shifting as he held my bag. I wondered if he felt ashamed about blackmailing me.

  “Leah,” he started, his voice weak. “I'm just sorry, okay? I didn't mean to shove you.” He leveled a serious look at me, his hand gesturing, fingers spread. Just seeing his arm move like that made me flinch; I hated it, hated it to my core. “It wasn't that bad, alright? It was just an accident.”

  An accident?

  “I know,” I said carefully. “It's okay, I forgive you.” I don't, I can't.

  “You can't leave, not like this. Promise me you won't leave over something so stupid.”

  Lifting my gaze, I watched him from under my furrowed eyebrows. Stupid? Am I really overreacting?

  Owen hung his head, and to my surprise, he offered me my laptop. I took it eagerly, hooking it back on my shoulder. “Why don't you just get some air? Go for a walk, we'll talk about everything when you're ready.” He spoke like he was doing me a favor, making me notice how, even now, he was instructing me on how I should behave.

  When his dark eyes met mine again, they looked distressed, like he was caught up in his own conflicting emotions. It was enough to break down my barrier, just enough. My stomach ached with the shame of feeling myself already giving in to his plaintive manipulation.

  “Yes, alright.” No, no, don't agree, just get out of here!

  With that, I turned my back on my boyfriend, leaving on trembling legs.

  I wouldn't see him again for a very long time.

  Chapter 2.

  I wish I could say I had a really good plan on what I would do next.

  Instead, I ended up at a nearby bar, drinking at the proud hour of two o'clock. I was the only one there, and I didn't care how pathetic that looked.

  It amazed me how fast everything had happened, how I was still so angry about it all. Staring into my drink, I debated on what I should do. Most people could have called their families, but the very concept brought a bitter twist to my frown.

  Growing up, my whole life had been full of rough poverty. Of course, as a kid, I'd had no idea how bad off we were. My father worked all day in the glamorous world of factory labor, while my mother was an expert at finding ways to lose the money he earned. Every time she would write a check, she'd write it for more than she needed. You know, buying a 'soda' for us kids. The extra money she'd get back in cash, spending it while we were none the wiser.

  Gambling was her passion, she was convinced that one day, one of those scratch tickets would change our lives, then she'd show everyone. She was right of course, just not in the way she'd hoped.

  Losing the house to bankruptcy was hard on my parents, but by that point, I'd gone so far into my imagination, my books and my art, that I was oblivious to the hardship. My way of coping was to run away mentally, emotionally. It wasn't healthy for a kid, but who was paying attention? After that, though, nothing got better.

  Can a family just be unlucky?

  As it was, they one day abandoned me and my little sister. Just got in their car, driving away. I ended up moving in far too quickly with my boyfriend. My sister... well. She stayed with a friend's family, no one said a word. I was just nineteen, she was only sixteen.

  My parents never recovered, they were worse off than even I was. After they'd come back to our home state, they couldn't find much work, and ended up moving in with my mom's sister. They'd been living in a spare room.

  There was no place for me there.

  Trying to stay with my sister, wherever she was sleeping now, was pointless as well. We didn't get along one bit.

  I could call Colby, but what could he do? Tell me he had been right, or what if, since he was friends with Owen, he tried to coax me into coming back? What if I tell him I plan on leaving completely, and he lets it slip to Owen somehow? It was unlikely, given our talk that morning, but the idea made me nauseous.

  The reality was depressing; I didn't have many friends. Ever since I'd started dating Owen, I had become rather isolated. Still, there was someone I knew I could call, if just to talk. Vanessa, would she have some advice?

  Vanessa Dole was a childhood friend of mine, but we hadn't seen each other since she'd moved to California five years ago. She'd gone off to school to make it as a fashion designer, and I... well. I hadn't exactly managed to achieve my dreams.

  Whenever we did talk, I felt sour about being reminded that she had managed to chase her passion, to succeed, while I had let my own ambitions fall by the wayside.

  But I bet she'd let me vent. What have I got to lose?

  Finishing my drink, feeling the buzz of it already, I pushed my empty glass towards the bartender, dialing into my phone. It rang, and rang, until I was sure she wouldn't answer. Then it clicked, her voice coming through.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Vanessa, it's me.” I heard the fake cheer in my own voice.

  “Leah! What's up, is—is something wrong?”

  I laughed cynically, grabbing the new drink the man slid to me over the bar, taking a sip. “How did you know something was wrong?”

  “Your voice, you sound weird. Are you... drinking?”

  Taking a long swig, I paused before answering. “Yes.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  And so I did. I realized, as I was explaining everything, that I had told Vanessa so little about my boyfriend before that moment. Was he my boyfriend still? No, of course not. That much I knew I had control over, we were done.

  I was a little drunk by the end of my tale, also perhaps too loud, since the bartender was staring at me.

  How had that happened, how had I become so isolated from everyone in my life? Even Vanessa, who I talked to almost exclusively through email or on the phone, we'd never discussed anything serious. Had I been avoiding it all, knowing subconsciously that, if I brought it up, everyone would have reacted like Colby did? Told me what I must have known deep down for years, that Owen was abusive? I didn't even want to think that word. Putting a label on what he had done made me feel stupid and weak.
>
  Have I been burying myself in the sand this long?

  “Listen, Leah,” she said, her tone uneasy, “you can't go back. You really have no where else to go?”

  I thought about my car, perhaps sleeping inside of it. But I wouldn't tell her that, how could I? “No, not really. I guess I'll figure something out. Thanks for listening, you're right. I can't go back to him, he was terrible to me! Wasn't he terrible? Am I overreacting?”

  “No, no,” she assured me. “You sound kind of drunk, though. Okay, so listen. I have an idea, but it might be kind of crazy.”

  I sat up, draining the last of my drink. “I'm feeling kind of crazy, go ahead.”

  “Alright. Right. Um, so, why don't you just come stay here for a bit?”

  Blinking, I glanced up, seeing the bartender staring at me. Turning sideways, I whispered into the phone. “Wait, you want me to go to California?”

  “I kind of do, yeah. It might be a good change for you. Didn't you want to come out here anyway, when we first graduated?”

  Of course I did, it was what I wanted more than anything else, but... Inhaling deeply, I shut my eyes, trying to think through my fog of alcohol. Could I really do that? Go to California? I'd have to go across the country, it was really as far as one person could travel while staying in the states. If I did leave, was I doing it for the right reasons? Was I just running away from my problems even further, or could this actually be the right path for me?

  Calling it a problem, like I should waste anymore time trying to fix this relationship, solve it somehow. No, no, I want to be done, I need to get away. Is that really so terrible? What's wrong with escaping?

  I slammed some money down on the bar, grabbed my laptop, started typing. “Hope you weren't going to change your mind, Vanessa, I'm buying my ticket right now.”

  ****

  I hadn't been entirely truthful to Vanessa.

  Honestly, I had almost no money. I knew there was only one way to afford this trip. Luckily, I was ready enough, and drunk enough, to make the decision.

  It's amazing how easy it is to sell a car online these days.

  The guy met me back at my place, during which I spent most of my time shooting nervous looks up at the apartment windows. I didn't see Owen, I suspected he might have gone out, but my hair still prickled while I was there. After the heavy-set man who'd shown up looked my old vehicle over, he paid me two grand in cash, no questions asked, then drove the car away. Most people would assume he must have been some style of drug dealer, but having come from a family that never had bank accounts due to the number of debt collectors chasing them, I made no judgments.

  I was feeling pretty amazing, my heart thrumming, my lips actually shaped like a smile. Taking risks, it was part of life. There was no looking back.

  I sobered up some by the time I walked to the bank.

  Oh my god, did I really just sell my car?

  I knew Owen was going to be furious, because while it was my car, I had been letting him use it the four years we'd dated. He'd never had his own, it was part of how we had come to rely on each other so much. My stomach sank, thinking about how pissed he would be.

  The sweat was cold on my back, but I set my mouth into a tight line, approaching the counter at the bank. It isn't my problem anymore. He'll have to handle things on his own.

  Mostly, though, I had just given myself a reason not to see him ever again. I was truly too scared for myself, now.

  I deposited the money, then stopped at the ATM, doing a quick inventory of myself. I had a checkbook, about forty bucks in cash, and that left me twenty-one hundred in the bank.

  Finally, I set my laptop up, ordering a plane ticket. A one-way was expensive, but far better than a round trip. She said I could visit, if I can't find a way to afford to stay, I'll just... figure it out later.

  Texting Vanessa, I told her I'd be arriving tomorrow, then set off to do the one last thing I needed to.

  I wanted to say goodbye to my parents.

  The bus was slow, but that was fine. It gave me time to think about what I was really doing. I can't believe it's happening, I'm finally leaving this place. Watching the dirty brown, broken buildings and vacant, useless stores as the bus rumbled down the torn up roads, it only reinforced my decision.

  It was funny, Owen had actually been the one to push me into this. I'd never have guessed it, but part of me thanked him for showing me his true colors.

  I hopped off the bus when it neared my destination, walking the last few blocks to the tiny house. The sun was finally peeking through the clouds, warming my skin, lifting my spirit.

  “Back here, Leah.”

  Hearing the voice, I rounded the building and spotted my mother and father, reclining in the shade of a tree in their old lawn chairs. As always, they looked like death.

  Yellowed skin, thin arms, my mother's eyes were watery and red when she looked my way. Dad was no better, but most of his issues were internal, less obvious. My parents used to joke that the only reason they were alive was from their steady diet of beer and cigarettes keeping them embalmed by toxins.

  I don't know if they actually thought that was a joke.

  “Hey mom, dad.” I smiled, hoisting my bags, standing there awkwardly. This stuff always sounded better in my head than when executed. But, here I was, needing to at least tell them I was leaving. “How are you guys?”

  “Terrible,” my dad grumbled, looking me up and down. “Where are you off to?”

  “Actually, I'm... sort of going away.” I blinked, adjusting my strap. “I'm going to California.”

  “Oh, really,” mom laughed. “That's got to be expensive. What will you do with your car?”

  It was a strange question, that her first concern was my car. “I sold it.”

  She rolled her eyes, taking a sip from her plastic cup. I knew whatever was in there wasn't water. “You could've told us first, we could've used it.”

  “Uh, sorry.” This was a bad idea.

  Dad didn't say anything at first, then he leaned back, frowning. “Mn. Listen. Things are tight around here. Think you could loan us a little money, if you've got enough to go to California?”

  Do you not even remember, how much I wanted to do this, years ago? I wanted to scream at them, to shake them, just yell, 'I'm leaving, I might not come back, don't you care!?'

  But I didn't, I'd never have had the guts to do anything like that. “I mean, I'm using all my money to do this,” even as I spoke, I found myself digging in my pocket. Offering my dad a twenty from the cash I had on hand, he took with a nod.

  “Thanks sweety, we ran out of cigarettes, this will help.”

  I wished he hadn't been blunt enough to admit what the money was for.

  “Well,” I started uneasily, “I'll call you sometime. Alright?” They stood up to hug me, I couldn't help noticing how frail they both felt, just bags of bones in my arms.

  “Take care of yourself,” Dad said. Mom only smiled. They seemed strangely bitter, almost taking my good news personally. My suspicion was they were angry that I was somehow escaping this place, when they still couldn't.

  If they'd had their way, I'd have given them my car, everything I had, then just stayed around, giving up everything to satisfy them both. A task that was impossible.

  I can't let anyone control me anymore, through guilt or fear or otherwise. I can only move forward.

  Chapter 3.

  That night, I slept in the airport.

  I had lied when I told my parents I was in a hurry. I'd been doing a lot of lying, lately. My flight wasn't until the early morning, so I curled up in my sweater on a bench at my gate, drained by everything. I wanted to be excited about this, about flying across the country, but I was starting to get nervous.

  The buzzing in my pocket caused me to jerk violently, a rush of fear flooding my senses. Gripping the blinking device, I saw the number, recognizing it instantly as Owen. Oh god, he's already wondering where I am.

  With wide eyes, mu
scles straining uncomfortably, I stared at the blinking screen until it died out. There was no moment to feel relief, not when the next call came. I was tempted to turn it off entirely, but a part of me was just as anxious about not knowing if he was trying to contact me.

  Just don't answer, don't do it.

  He left me a voice-mail, then moments later, sent me a brief text message instructing me to 'call him back.' Shivering, I slid the device back into my purse, hugging myself into a tight ball. You're fine, everything is fine, he doesn't have a clue where you are. Shutting my eyes, I forced myself to breathe calmly, then tried to fall asleep.

  My dreams were on and off, strange amorphous things that involved screaming, furious eyes. Sometimes, I would come awake if someone spoke nearby, thinking it was Owen. I knew that was impossible, of course, he didn't even know I was leaving. Why would he come to the airport?

  Still, I was edgy, unable to fall asleep after the second time I thought I heard him say my name.

  When the sun began rising, bringing light through the large terminal windows, I felt a small thrill of relief. This was it, this was going to be the start of a new day for me. I'd go across the country, no one would ever have to know about my life before that moment. Not my abusive ex (for he was certainly my ex now) or how I had put up with it for so long. Not my broken, greedy family in their own pit of despair. I could be free of it all, no one would know.

  No one would know me.

  My back was tight, tender as I slipped from my chair. Being reminded of yesterday's assault did little for my mood. I was the first in line when they finally began boarding. Handing my ticket to the woman, she looked it over carefully. “Leah Rook?”

  “Yup, that's me.”

  That was all, she didn't care about who I was, only if I was on this flight or not. She'd forget me, then move on to the next person. But I didn't care, I didn't need to be remembered here.