Behind The Book (Sexy 2)

She laughs. “Well, you just asked me yesterday, and things were good, so today is no different. I’d ask how things are with Blake, but I can hear in your voice things are great.”

I pull the waffles out of the freezer and pop two into the toaster. “Yes, things are great.”

“Can I ask you something?” I hate the sound of her voice. It’s as if she’s unsure of the question, but feels the need to ask it anyway.

“Sure?” I don’t mean it as a question, but it comes out that way.

“Are you ever going to tell Blake about Axel? About what he did to you and maybe even your real name?” Why, on my release day when things are going good, does she feel the need to bring this shit up?

“Why today, Shan? You know how much I love my release days, so why the hell would you even bring it up today?” My waffles pop up, but I’m not even hungry anymore. I’m too pissed, hurt, and obviously scared. I don’t want to tell him. He’ll leave for sure—not because of Axel—he’d be pissed at him and sad for me. He’ll leave because I’ve lied about me, especially about my name.

“Listen, I’m not trying to ruin your day. I’m trying to understand how you can say you love each other when you aren’t one hundred percent honest.”

I dump my waffles in the trash and lean against the counter. “You know, I’ve come a long way in the last few months. I’ve put myself out there and I’m finally enjoying life again. Who gives a fuck if I leave out one detail? I am who I am. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not. I think that’s good enough.” She’s quiet for a few minutes, and I give myself a mental high five for standing up for myself.

“Laken, you’re pretending to be someone else. London.”

That’s it. For the first time since we have been friends, I can’t take it. “Fuck you, Shannon.”

I hang up and turn my phone off. I’m done dealing with her and her questions. I push off the counter and head to my room. I slam the door closed, open up my nightstand, and pull out my cigarettes. It’s been so long since I smoked one, I know they’ll be disgusting, but I’m too pissed off to give a shit. I get one out of the pack and light it. I cough, choking on the stale taste. I sit on the edge of my bed and pray for the nicotine to wash over me. It doesn’t seem to be working, and when I put it out, I flop back on the bed and cover my face.

I end up smoking three more stale-ass cigarettes, before deciding that I need to get back on the computer and see how things are going. Even in the mood I’m in, I can’t help but smile when I see I’ve hit the top hundred. I make a post thanking everyone for their endless support and love, getting no less than fifty replies.

I look at the clock and realize that I’ve been on the computer for hours. I haven’t even gotten myself a drink. It’s late afternoon now, and I decide that I need a drink. I go in the kitchen, get a wine glass, and pour myself a big glass. I know I should eat something, but right now, I just want to get drunk. I finish off the glass and pour myself another, deciding I should go sit outside for a while. I know I should bring my phone, but I don’t want to even see how many missed calls I have from Shannon and Blake. I leave it on the counter and go outside with the bottle of wine in my hand. I sip my wine and listen to the kids in the neighborhood laughing. It reminds me of how carefree I was as a kid, hell, as a teenager. Axel stole my trust and my free spirit. I finish off my glass and pour another. I’m starting to feel the effects of the wine, and I close my eyes, thinking about my last night with Axel.

“Laken, I’m home.” My heart starts pounding and I try to hide the handwritten book I am writing. I know I’m breaking the rules by not showing him, but I love this story, and I know he will make me get rid of it. I rush out of the bedroom and hope he doesn’t notice that it took me a minute. He gives me a smile and I feel relief.

“Hi.” I give him a kiss and walk into the kitchen. “How was work?” I open the oven to check on the roast, and he opens the fridge and takes out a beer.

“It sucked. I submitted the article that you proofread and it was rejected. Full of mistakes, he told me.” My heart starts pounding again, and I feel myself tensing up, just waiting for him to come undone. I turn around with my fake smile in place and debate what the best move is—try to show him affection or keep my distance. “Did you hear me?” Shit, show affection. I cautiously make my way to him and wrap my arms around him.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Tomorrow will be a better day.”

He wraps one arm around me and sips his beer with the other. “You think so?”

Fuck, he’s testing me. It’s like walking a thin line with him, and I never know when I’m going to fall off. “Yes, I really do. You’re an extremely talented writer.”

He pushes me off him and looks at me with pure fire in his eyes. “You think I need you to tell me that? The only reason the article was rejected was because you are fucking horrible at editing. It’s your fault, Laken, not mine.”

Fuck. I swallow a few times before I force my smile. “You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He shakes his head and finishes off his beer. “I’m going to watch TV. I hope dinner will be ready soon because I’m fucking starving, and you know I don’t like waiting.”

He leaves the kitchen and I say a silent prayer for that. I know this relationship is horrible. He’s just about the most disgusting man I’ve ever met. He did a complete one-eighty from when I met him. He used to be so sweet and loved to write together. Now he only cares about his writing. He doesn’t want me writing, not unless it’s to help him. I’m better than him, that’s the problem. He also used to be so gentle, so romantic. Now when I feel his touch, it makes me sick, and that’s when he isn’t hitting me.

I snap out of my thoughts when the oven timer goes off. The last thing I need is to do anything to piss him off. I pull out the roast and let it sit while I finish the sides. Once everything is done, I make his plate and bring it to him like he’s taught me. “Here, sweetie.” He takes the plate and stares at me. Shit. I sit down next to him, and he focuses back at the TV. He told me the other day that I had gained a few pounds and he thought it was probably best I skipped a few meals. Lucky for me, I’m always nauseated from nerves, so not eating is not a problem. He eats, paying me no attention, and the only thing I can think about is my book. I want to write it so badly, but I only have a chance here and there because I know he’ll burn it if he finds it. He did it with all the drunken books I started, after he beat the crap out of me, of course. It wasn’t too bad back then though, a smack here, a push there. Now, I’m getting close to fearing for my life. The hits are hard, and I’ve been to the emergency room several times with broken ribs, cuts, and bruises.

“How much longer do I need to hold this plate before you pull your head out of your ass?” I jump up and take the plate. He lets out his creepy laugh, and I rush to the kitchen to get him more. I bring the plate back and he takes it, while I sit down next to him like the fucking robot I’ve become. “I don’t know why you act so scared of me.” I turn my head to him and look at him as if he’s crazy. “Laken, please. I’ve only hit you a few times, and you have to admit you deserved it.”

I’m against a wall here. If I argue with him, he’ll be sure to take it out on me, so I force my smile. “You’re right.” Who the fuck have I become? I just told the man that he was right to beat the shit out of me because I deserved it. I’m so scared for my life that I’ve lost myself along the way. I feel him move next to me and glance over. He gives me his sickly-sweet smile and I want to throw up. He wants to have sex. I hate it. I’m repulsed by it. Having him touch my body makes me want to be ill physically, and when he is inside of me, I need to hold back the tears.

“Why don’t you go clean up dinner while I shower? Then you shower and meet me in the bedroom.”

I swallow and force a smile. “Sounds perfect.” I take his plate from him and start walking to the kitchen.

“Laken, I want you to wear that black nighty. You know, the one that makes you look like you have nice tits.” I close my eyes on the hurt of his words but turn around with a smile plastered on.

“Of course.”