He chimes a set of keys and continues, “We have each other’s house keys. Most of your clothes are at my place. At this point, I’m not even sure why we don’t officially live together.”
“We barely know each other.”
“You know everything about me,” he claims.
“What about your family?”
He frowns and clears his throat. “You already know what matters. I’m an only child to a single mother. We lived with my grandparents so they could help her raise me. Now, I choose to avoid them because my uncles and cousins are a bunch of assholes. Any other questions?”
“That’s all?”
He nods. “Everything else is unimportant. If I don’t talk about them it is because I’d just be complaining about how useless, incompetent, and stupid they are. Now, can we get back to you, please?”
“I’ll hate it when you look at me with pity. Heads up, this will be over,” I trace the scar on my arm.
“It wasn't an accident,” I confess. “My name is Leyla Faye Gibbs. My father was Justin Gibbs.”
He frowns and snaps his fingers. “Gibbs…where have I heard that word?”
“Gibbs department stores. They also owned a grocery store chain in the New England area,” I answer. “They changed their name fifteen years ago, but they used to be a household name.”
He nods. “I remember receiving presents from there. What happened to you, Leyla Gibbs?”
“We lived in a small town. Bristol, Maine,” I continue. “Dad was a raging alcoholic. I didn’t know that term when I was young. All I knew was that he was scary, and we had to be very quiet around him. Nights were the worst. We’d hear him yell at Mom, and the next morning, if he wasn’t careful enough, we could see where he hit her.”
My heart is hammering hard inside my chest. I want to stop, but I prefer to get it all out so he can leave now before I can’t live without him.
“Why did your mom stay?”
I shrug. “Probably for the same reason every woman who is abused stays. They can’t leave. They are afraid… There are so many factors involved. I’ve read a lot about it, trying to find an answer. What if she had done things differently? But you read stories about women in her position, and not every story is the same.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive,” he says, touching my arm and then my abdomen where the other scar is. “I just…I wish I could protect you from whatever happened to you.”
“You’re the first one,” I state. “Back then, nobody cared, and I’m sure everyone knew what was happening in our home. We lived in a small town. Everyone knows your business, but no one helps you.”
“Did your dad hurt you before…?” He kisses my arm.
“No. Every night, Mom would put us to bed and lock the door from the outside. She’d hide the key, and we never came out until she opened it for us. Usually, it was early, so Rosco, our dog, could go out too.”
His jaw twitches, and asks, “What happened?”
“It was Mom’s birthday,” I explain, moving away from him. “One of her friends organized a surprise party. Dad wasn’t happy about it. Mia, my sister, and I were allowed to stay up past our bedtime.”
I hug myself as I remember the night. After everyone left, my parents began to fight. Mia was asleep on the couch. I was leaning against Dad’s office’s door frame, watching how he was slapping Mom. I wanted to hide and to protect her, but I couldn’t move.
I can still hear her vivid screams, “Stop! You’re going to hurt the baby!”
I didn’t understand what that meant, but he called her a whore, a slut, the hooker of the town.
“Stop! Leave me alone. I’d rather die than keep living like this, with you,” she begged, and that’s when he pulled out his gun.
“I ran out screaming after he shot her,” I tell him. “I tried to wake up Mia so we could hide together. My arm burned when the bullet hit me. That’s when Rosco ran toward me. Dad shot me again, and the third bullet hit my dog, which ended up on top of me. He killed Mia and then himself.”
“Your dog saved you.”
“The cops thought so too,” I confirm.
“Which is why you spend your time saving animals.”
I shrug. “Everyone died that night.”
“I have to be thankful to Rosco. Because of him, I have you with me,” he states, walking toward me.
“I need to go,” I announce when the tears threaten to roll down my cheeks.
“This is your house,” he reminds me. “Can I hug you?”
I shake my head. “No, I… This is over. We agreed once one of us couldn’t do it, we would stop.”
“Why do we need to stop seeing each other?”
“Because if I get past this, I might fall in love with you,” I confess. “I’m not ready to fall in love with anyone. I’m still broken.”
“But it’d be nice if you caught up with me,” he states.
I freeze and mumble, “What?”
“I’m crazy in love with you, and if you leave… Well, that would be a fucking tragedy.”
“You can't. You just learned my last name,” I argue as my heart hammers fast.
“But I know you have to sleep with a nightlight, the door locked, and under the covers. I know that you like wine but only drink a couple of sips before you switch to water. You love fairy tales, sitcoms, and to run every morning before you start the day. You love the taste of chewing gum, but you hate to chew it. You’re a picky eater who can’t stand the consistency of cheese but loves mac and cheese—”
“Pierce, this is more complicated than that,” I insist.
“But it’s so simple. It’s effortless to be with you. Baby, I don’t want to let you go.”
He clears his throat and says, “It’d kill me if you leave. Please, give us a chance.”
“I’m scared,” I confess.
“But I’m here to protect you, always.”
My instincts urge me to run, but his arms envelop me, and his mouth captures mine. Our souls entwine, and they run into an infinite world where only the two of us exist. I realize that I have been lying to myself.
I don’t know how, but I’ve been in love with him maybe since the beginning of time.
Chapter Eight
Pierce
My mother calls my relationship with Leyla a rebellious phase. An unfortunate situation that hopefully will disappear as soon as I get bored with her. The same way it happened with every sport, instrument, and hobby I took up when I was a kid.
I hate to disappoint her, but she’s wrong.
There isn’t an exact definition of what Leyla means to me. She’s without a doubt more than just a fling or some random woman I’m fucking when I’m bored—as my mother rudely stated.
When I introduced Leyla to my family, I was expecting… I’m not sure why I did it, to be honest. My mistake was inviting Leyla to my grandma’s birthday.
It felt like the timing was right. After the night when she told me about her past, I felt that it was time to accept what I was denying for so long. I am in love with her.