Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Imogen

I'd waited so long to have a place of my own, so why did it feel so empty?

Because I hadn't moved in here on my own, I reasoned. Mike, Phil, even my strange rescuers had taken that from me. I could've slowly, methodically moved in through a series of trips, adjusting myself to the process of leaving Mike behind.

But why?

Why did I need to adjust to anything? I'd hated living with him for so damn long, it didn't make sense that I'd be staring at the bare walls, the empty room, jumping at every sound. Someone's muffled shout from blocks away, the sharp blare of a car horn, it felt like they sent shockwaves down each nerve ending, exploding inside me.

But this is what I wanted.

I wanted to be on my own, away from Mike, ready to take steps towards becoming who I was an adult. I just thought it would be easier than this. My eyes roamed around the place, seeing new furniture, new rooms, sensing strange smells. Not familiar, not home, not safe , my overworked nervous system told me. I let out a long, shuddering breath, even as tears pricked at my eyes, trying to push that feeling aside and let this in.

My new place wasn't a threat. The men who helped me weren't the enemy. Like when you sat too long in the one position, then felt your legs ache with itchy, scratchy pins and needles, it was only now I'd gotten away from Mike that this feeling was allowed to rush in. One tear rolled down my cheek and that gave the others the go ahead, more following quickly. A sob caught in my throat, threatening to choke me, because there were so many more to come. Every single cry I'd kept down in the months since I'd decided to leave Mike.

I sank to the ground, my arms wrapping around my legs, trying to hug myself, because there was no one else to do it, to comfort myself through this. Emotion, tangled, nasty, snarly barbed-wire threads of feeling tore through me, leaving me bleeding. My tears made a messy pattern on my old/new tiled floor, but now I could barely see them. It was all coming, I thought that hysterically, all of it, more than I could deal with. My whole body shook with my silent sobs, but right when I thought the massive wave of emotions was going to drown me entirely, there was a gentle knock at the door.

I was used to pulling shit back, packing away even the messiest of emotions back inside me to explode quietly while I put on my social mask. Rising to my feet now, the tears dried up instantly as I approached the door. Was it Mike, Phil? Some tweaker from downstairs? Shit, were Jehovah's Witnesses doing door-to-door visits at this time of night? In response to my silent questions, I heard a voice.

"Imogen… It's Lucas."

I could've ignored this man, this stranger, and his inopportune interruption of my misery, but that was the problem. Part of me was always reaching out to other people, despite the dangers. Perhaps that's why I opened the door. Just a crack at first, but I saw the gleam of his glasses before his golden-brown eyes stared into mine.

"You OK?" I looked around me, knowing the walls in this place were thin, but they couldn't be thin enough for him to hear my muffled cries. "I only ask…" He sighed and looked away, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed bright pink. "The guys don't send me on field duty for this reason. Look, the women we help, they often talk about the first night being the hardest. Everything feels weird, different, and that can be super overwhelming. If you'd been referred to us, you'd have been brought to headquarters. There'd have been people, women you could talk to, so you'd know you weren't alone."

It was when his eyes met mine and held them that I finally let a breath out.

"You're not alone." Those three words seemed to fill me with something I hadn't known I was missing. "Not unless you want to be. If I'm intruding…" His voice trailed away as I opened the door wider and then stepped back. "I…"

This was wrong. I didn't ask anyone for help, not when it'd been shown over and over that people wouldn't turn up when I needed it, but maybe it was because he was a stranger, or maybe I just couldn't bear that look of pity in his eyes. I took a step towards him, then another, not needing to move any further, because he was just there. Just as strange, just as unfamiliar as this apartment, but when I clung to him—when his arms went around me—there was a comfort there that I hadn't found in my new place. I closed my eyes and tried to keep my breathing regular, even as the tears came rushing back. Instead, his hand landed on my shoulders and stroked down as he said the magic words I didn't know I needed to hear.

"It's OK. This is perfectly normal." That comforting advice was delivered in a shaky voice, but somehow his vulnerability made it possible for me to sit with my own. "It's OK. I'm here for as long as you need me."

That was it, the push I needed to topple off the cliff of self-control and into the sea of emotion that raged beyond. Rational thought about the door, the lock, a stranger in my place, was pushed aside as I pressed my face into his chest and bawled.

I cried for the shame of it. In some ways, it would be easier if Mike was physically violent because then at least I'd have something to show for it. Evidence of abuse that I could point to so no one would argue with me about my plan of action. Instead, he left marks all over me that no one else could see, not even myself, just leaving me with this feeling of wrongness. Up was down, the sky was green and the grass was blue, he made me crazy with his circuitous logic, and after every argument, I walked away dazed and confused.

But I was still there.

That's what mattered in all of this, that I stayed. Because when I dried my tears, collected myself, I'd do all the things he needed me to. Suck his dick, change the sheets, clean the toilet, and make sure we had TP to wipe our arses with. I'd clung to the everyday rituals like a drunk person might stair railings, to keep me moving forward.

Because what would happen if I let go?

This, I realised, was the real reason that kept me from leaving for all that time. The pain of the unknown for far too long had been greater than the shitty state of familiarity I lived with, and so I'd stayed until I just couldn't anymore. I clung to that idea just as much as I did poor Lucas. He seemed to be coping just fine as he reached down, collecting me up in his arms and carrying me to the couch before sitting us both down.

"It's OK. Everything's going to be OK."

Right then he had me believing it would be, because rather than that terrible emptiness, it was filled with him. He was so big I felt tiny, despite being reasonably tall. That animal satisfaction that came from having my hair stroked, being pressed against his chest, being held as my emotional storm raged and through the aftermath. But everything good came to an end, so I pulled back and stared into his eyes, ready to thank him.

He was so hot. The shaggy hair tried to obscure his face, but as he stared back, I saw it. Sharp cheekbones, broad jaw, there was no mistaking how attractive he was and that feeling was odd. I hadn't had sex in months. The last time was the night I realised I had to leave. Mike wheedled, complained, bitched, and openly sulked about it, but it was one thing I could stand firm on because every time he touched me, my skin crawled with the need to knock his hand away.

But not Lucas.

He was unfamiliar, but that was alluring and had me drawing closer. I must've looked a right mess, with my hair all tangled and tears drying on my cheeks, but if that's what he was thinking, I couldn't see it. Instead he looked… fascinated. That seemed to be the only word for it, his focus unwavering as he studied me closer. I watched him take in my hair, my eyes, my face, just as I had him, then drop down to stare at my mouth and not move. The pupils expanded rapidly as my tongue flicked out and across my lips.

I wanted to kiss him.

Where the fuck did that impulse come from? Vaguely thoughts of trauma bonding and escapism rose, but I shoved them away. Rationality was just as undesirable as the weirdness of being in this place. Feeling desire for anything other than escape was a welcome thing, like parts of me were coming back online, and perhaps that's why I darted closer. His eyes turned from pale brown to molten gold, a strange heat there that was a twin of my own, making me feel bolder. I moved slowly, deliberately, choosing to do this, to kiss a kind stranger, to feel again, but right as I got close he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"We can't."

Fuck. I went to jerk away, my cheeks flushing hot as I realised what I'd done. Lucas was just being kind and I… I'd misread the signs. He was just trying to rescue a damsel in distress and I?—

"No." His voice was much firmer now, a little growling edge to it, and when I wouldn't look at him, he tilted my face his way. "I want to. Fuck, how I want to."

How long had it been since a man talked like that about me, as if it took everything in him to hold back? I shifted in his lap then, feeling the evidence of his words. My eyes dropped down and when I looked back, it was his turn to look embarrassed. "I really, really want to kiss you, Imogen, but…"

He was going to be sensible, smart, and the same shitty impulses that had me going out with Mike rose, ready to derail that. Lucas was hard. An experimental shift of my hips made that clear, and that had his hands slapping down to stop me. I could persuade him. I could move forward, silence his protests with a kiss, and then he'd pick me up again, lay me down on the bed Kyle had helped me make and…

I'd be right back where I was.

Like a bucket of cold water dropped over my head, I saw it. Recklessly jumping into something new, even for one night, with a guy I barely knew? That shit was what got me here in the first place. I pulled backwards then, my teeth worrying my bottom lip as I met his eyes.

"I'm sorry?—"

"Don't be." I didn't know who Lucas was, but right now he shot me such a sweet smile, I wanted to. "Seriously, don't apologise for any of it. I wanted…" A little laugh and I was smiling too, unable to stop myself. The muscles felt sore, unused to movement, but I was glad to be using them again.

"I wanted to do a whole bloody lot, but…" When he stared at me then, I felt safe, and how the hell was that possible? "It's not smart. You're hurting and vulnerable and any bloke that takes advantage of that right now doesn't have your best interests at heart."

He was saying words but I was struggling to decipher them, staring until they sunk in.

"Thank you." That felt painfully awkward to say, but so was all of this. "Thank you for…" My hands rose and fell as I struggled to put everything into words. "I thought I'd be relieved, ecstatic to be out of that place, and I am."

"But its also really weird and everything feels different, and that's a lot to take when you're feeling raw."

Whichever god was on duty tonight, he or she was looking out for me, because they sent me the one guy who seemed equipped to deal with this shit.

"Yeah. That."

"So I came upstairs to check in, wondering if that was an issue." He peered up at me. "Did you want me to stay? Not in any sexual or romantic capacity, but… as a friend."

"Do friends sleep in the same bed?" I asked in a small voice, unable to believe I was asking that.

I watched the rhythmic bob of his Adam's apple.

"With their clothes on they do."

The walls didn't feel so bare, not when I could trace the fall of moonlight across them. The room was unable to feel empty with him in it, so when we laid down on the bed, I found myself relaxing into the bumpy mattress.

Into him.

I crawled under the blankets, Lucas taking an inordinate amount of time to tuck me in to his satisfaction. When I looked up at him sleepily, he laid down on top of the covers beside me. A discreet space was maintained at first, but with a sigh he drew me into his side and that was it. There was still a faint stink of Mike and his cigarettes in my quilt cover. I'd take it off and wash it tomorrow, but right now, the woody, pine scent of Lucas was enough to overpower it and allow me to sleep. I closed my eyes, and for the first time in years, really surrendered to sleep.