I Know What Love Is (19 page)

That's how I spent my nights. In the dark, I lay awake, my mind from wandering back to the last night we'd been together. He'd fucked me like he knew our time was up and he wanted to make it count. It had been so good, it was impossible to forget. I didn't
want
to want him, believe me. But the more time that passed, the more I craved him. The more obsessed I became. The more I wanted him to suffer as much as I had, and then some.

Then, when he'd suffered enough, maybe I would take pity on him.

Maybe I'd let him have me.

I know, I know. I sound like a total headcase. Even now, I go back and forth between absolute hatred for him and absolute, all-consuming desire. It's hard to divorce the two, really, where he's concerned. Since I was 22-years-old, he's been the most hated person in my universe, but he's been the only constant, as well. The threat and promise of him is always alive in the back of my mind. He's the only person I can truly count on to love me unconditionally. My parents and brothers can never know me like he does. He knows the dirty parts, the ugly parts, the crazy parts, because he's bred and fostered them in me. And he loves me anyway.

I also know all of his bad parts. I know what to expect. I don't fear him anymore.

In a lot of ways, I'm his mirror, and he's mine.

That warm sunny day in June, as I did my laps in the pool, my whole mind was focused on him. My first thought when I woke up in the morning was him. My last thought the night before when I crawled into bed was about him. I was completely and totally fucked-up over him, truthfully. I told my mother I would start going to a therapist, but I'd cancelled the appointment about fifteen times. I didn't want to get over him. I didn't want real closure.

The idea came to me out of nowhere. My head broke the surface of the water and I gasped in a breath, my fingers finding the concrete edge of the pool. I was going to go to Austin. If I left in the next hour, I could be back before my mother got off work. I hauled myself out of the water, drops flying to and fro as I jogged into the house, my ankle crying out in protest. I slowed in the kitchen, taking time to grab a banana out of the bowl on the counter. Then I was upstairs, in and out of the shower so quick that I practically got dizzy.

I threw on jeans and a black tank top, tied my wet hair in a messy topknot and slipped on flip-flops. I was on the road in less than twenty minutes, speeding toward the last place I knew where I could be close to him. I didn't know much about him, truth be told. I'd learned his full name and address from the police report. Elliot John Pritchard, twenty-seven, construction worker, lived at 45 Cherry Hill Drive. I'd memorized it. I was pretty sure I knew how to get there, but I programmed it into my iPhone as I booked it down highway 35 toward my old city.

I turned up the radio, letting my hair loose as I rolled down the windows. I turned on the classic rock station, screaming along to Nirvana and Metallica and Led Zeppelin as I drove. I felt free, for the first time in months. Shit, for the first time in years. I was on the open road, free from fear, free from my family, free from everything but the ache of craving someone I couldn't have. But I would never be free of him. His memory lived on the edge of my mind, slowly driving me insane.

Still, I was in good spirits as I breached the Austin city limits, finding the little subdivision where he lived relatively quickly. It was one of those neighborhoods built in the fifties, during the housing boom. All the houses were ranch-style boxes, on small lots with old-growth trees shading the street. It was almost picturesque, but I knew firsthand that cute little neighborhoods like Elliot's could hold many dark secrets. I passed his house on purpose, doing a quick drive-by. His big black Ford truck was in the driveway, and I felt my heart jump in my throat, although I knew no one was home. I imagined knocking on the door and him answering it, shirtless, with his jeans hung low on his hips. Like he was waiting for me. He would grab me and throw me against the wall, like he'd been dying to touch me while I was away. I closed my eyes for a brief moment, letting the arousal pass through me as quick as the fantasy.

I parked the next street over. On foot, I backtracked to number 45, walking past his truck. I glanced in the window, I don't know why. I saw his hardhat in the front seat, but nothing else of note. I continued around to the back yard like I had every right to do so. I didn't bother skulking around the front. I didn't want to garner any unwanted attention. I didn't know if anybody in the adjacent houses knew that their neighbor had been arrested in Dallas for some pretty unseemly crimes, but I didn't want anyone to notice a weird girl wandering around, either way.

I hopped the low chain-link fence relatively easily, even with my ankle still being sore. The back yard hadn't been mowed in weeks, and looked pretty sad besides. An ancient swing-set rusted in the back corner of the yard and an overgrown flower bed lined the back of the house. Some bluebells still bloomed amongst the weeds. I stepped onto the cement back patio, tenting my eyes with my hands as I leaned into the look in the window. The glass was dirty, and the curtains were pulled shut, so I couldn't see much. I tried the backdoor, but it was locked. I kicked up the mat at the foot of the door, looking for a key, but found nothing.

I was going to have to break in.

The window over the sink was cracked slightly, and I pulled off the broken screen window and set it at my feet. I found a broken branch to pry the window open and felt a surge of victory pass through me when I got it open enough to get my fingers under the seam and shove it the rest of the way up. I hesitated a moment, glancing around to see if anyone was watching me, and then hauled myself up into the house.

I shimmied in on my stomach, scraping my skin awkwardly on the aluminum edge of the window. I caught myself on the edge of the counter, happy that I had the muscle tone from swimming to pull myself in. I finally landed on the yellowed linoleum floor, dropping to my knees painfully. I sat there on all fours for a moment, getting my bearings. I was in the middle of the floor, where Elliot had raped me on that very first night.

It was strange to be back in the house after two years. Before, it hadn't felt like it was truly his house; now, I felt him all around me. I could smell his scent, lingering beneath the smell of stale air and rotting food. The house had been sitting empty for over a month, and it was depressing to say the least. It was almost like someone had died. I stood up after awhile, wandering into the stuffy living room. It still looked the same. Everything was the same. A pair of his steel-toed boots were by the door, and a black leather jacket was thrown across the couch like he was going to come back for it. I sat down beside it, lifting it to my face. His scent filled me up, took me back to the motel room when he slept with his body pressed against mine.

Fuck
.

I was so messed up.

I slipped the big jacket on over my tank top, despite the stuffy stillness of the air, and wandered into the bedroom, looking at the old photographs that lined the hallway for the first time. There were faded pictures of people from another time, including an old man that kind of looked like Elliot. There was a smiling gap-toothed kid who had to be him, his green eyes bright and happy. I had never seen him look so happy. I took the frame off the nail and tucked it under my arm as I continued on to the bedroom.

The door was slightly open, sunlight pushing its way through the crack. I took a deep breath and pushed it open. His presence slapped into me and I froze in the doorway. His clothes were tossed about, and the bed was unmade, the pillow still indented from his head. But the real shocker:
my
clothes. The tank top, skirt, panties, and bra I'd left behind were washed and folded, placed on top of the dresser, like he expected me to come back for them. I ran my hand over them, then bundled them up to take with me. I didn't want any trace of me left in his house.

Well, no trace that anyone could see.

I couldn't resist sitting on the bed and then laying down in his shadow. I bet he lay awake in bed the night before he came for me, plotting and planning how he was going to take me. His plan had been to bring me back to Austin, back to this house, I knew. I rolled over, pressing my nose into the pillow and wondered how he planned to get out of the mess he'd made of everything. I supposed I just going to have to sit back and enjoy watching him squirm. He deserved everything that was coming his way and then some. I ran my hand over the cool sheet, wondering what would have happened if he'd actually succeeded in getting me all the way back to Austin. If he'd been smarter and less crazy over me, it could have happened.

We could have disappeared and no one would have ever found us. They wouldn't have even known where to look. I would have become just another missing woman in a world full of them. I would have fought him every step of the way, but eventually, we would have slipped into a routine like before. Sex everyday, all day, and sleeping together all night. Maybe I would have even gotten pregnant and fallen slowly and fitfully in love with him, like he dreamed.

Who knows?

Most likely, we would have ended up killing each other. Shit, we still might.

The future is a mystery.

I ran my hand under the pillow and I furrowed my brow when I felt something underneath. I lifted it up, revealing a picture. When I flipped it over, I almost couldn't believe it.

It was the picture of me and Chelsea from The Blue Mermaid. A Halloween party, I remembered. I stared down at my younger, happier self, smiling like I didn't have a care in the world. I closed my hand around the picture and balled it up. Rolling back over onto my side, I shoved the remains of the picture into my jean pocket. I let out a slow breath, wondering how often Elliot had looked at the picture of a girl that didn't exist anymore.

I must've closed my eyes and dozed off, because when I opened them again, the light outside was hazy orange.

“
Shit
!” I hissed, sitting up straight. The digital clock beside the bed read 6:10 p.m. “Shit!” I muttered again, gathering up the things I planned to take from the house and shoving them under my arm again. I stood and jogged back to the kitchen. My mother was going to freak out. She would be home shortly and when I wasn't there, she would start blowing up my phone, no doubt. I'd never be allowed out of her sight again.

I spied a plastic shopping back balled up on the dining room table and snagged it, shoving my clothes and the picture frame inside. I took one last look around the house, and then hiked myself up onto the counter and swung my legs out of the open window. I landed hard on my feet and felt the vibrations go through my bum leg. I gritted my teeth at the pain, standing still on the concrete patio to let it pass.

That's when I saw the cat. Elliot's calico cat was sitting in the lawn, as sneaky as ever, its big yellow eyes on me. It didn't seem worse for wear, considering it had been on its own for awhile, but it did have a slightly feral look about it, as if it could fight or flee at any moment. I took a step closer and the cat didn't dart away, so I leaned closer, my hand out and low to the ground.

“
Here kitty kitty,” I whispered as the cat approached me, on dainty paws. It ran one soft furry cheek across the tips of my fingers, then another. “What's your name?” The cat, of course, didn't answer, but continued letting me pet her. I scratched her behind the ears, and I felt her whole body vibrating as she purred. “Do you miss Elliot? Did he used to pet you like this?” I continued talking to the cat like an idiot, but I couldn't seem to stop. “Do you want to come home with me?”

The cat purred in answer and I crouched down, running my hand down her bumpy spine. She was skinny, probably half-starved. “My mother would love you,” I murmured, snorting out a laugh. My mother loved her expensive rugs and furnishings more than she loved animals. “But you're a nice kitty.” She looked up at me, her little cat face so innocent, that I bit my lip and glanced back at the house. There was nothing for her there. If I left her, she'd probably end up dead in the street, a victim of a speeding car, or maybe a stray dog. I wondered if she knew how to survive on her own in the wild. She seemed tough, but not that tough.

A car honked on the street and it startled both of us. Just like that, she darted away, hopping the fence and streaking across the neighbor's lawn. I stood, my mouth dropping open like I was going to call after her, but I caught myself. I didn't even know her name. As she disappeared from view, I felt oddly disappointed. I wrapped my arms around me, realizing suddenly that I still had Elliot's jacket on. And I still had the picture of him as a boy.

I wasn't leaving empty handed.

I quickly replaced the screen to the kitchen window, then glanced back over my shoulder, my eyes searching again for the little black and white cat, but she was long gone.

I hopped the fence, more carefully this time since my ankle was throbbing, and walked down the driveway to the sidewalk. No more looking back, I told myself. I hurried to my car and slipped inside, the sunset blazing in the sky. My phone was vibrating in my purse, which I'd stowed under the front seat. I knew who it was before I even looked at the caller ID.

“Momma, I'm fine,” I said as soon as I answered, pinning the phone between my shoulder and cheek as I pulled onto the road.

“
Where are you? I got home and you weren't here...”

“
I'll be home in a little while. I'm out with friends,” I cut her off, lying smoothly.