Steady as the Snow Falls(33)

Beth sucked in air, felt the inhalation move her whole frame. She was  living, Harrison was living. And because of that, they should laugh. It  wasn't fair for her to expect things from Harrison she wasn't willing to  do herself. It was time to believe in herself, fully, without the  self-doubt that was always waiting in the dark. Beth would gather the  light around her, and there it would stay.

"You're right," she told him.

"Was there any doubt?"

Beth narrowed her eyes at Harrison. "I don't see you laughing."

"I laugh on the inside every day." The brown of his eyes sparkled as if  diamonds were trapped inside the irises. "I'm laughing right now."

"Tell me the last time you laughed, out loud." A challenge was in her tone.

"The night we shoveled snow. I laughed."

"Barely."

He studied her, humor taking some of the hardness from his mouth. "There was a distinct chuckle."

"That was one time." Beth crossed her arms, fighting a battle with a smile she knew she was about to lose. "When else?"

"The day you climbed the hill and fell three times. I laughed each time you fell."         

     



 

"Great. Glad you found humor at my expense. Twice."

"What can I say? I enjoy your misfortune," Harrison deadpanned.

Beth tried to keep a scowl on her face, but it was no use. When Harrison  met her eyes with his blazing with mirth, it completely vanished and  was replaced with a grin. Needing movement, she brushed the hair from  her face and shifted her feet. The dark melted away, taking her hurt  with it. A slice of her soul was healed, a part of her heart stitched  back up.

Harrison moved to his chair and sat, locking his fingers together and  resting them on his abdomen. "There are times when we take more pain  than we should from those we love, Beth, but don't think of that as a  weakness."

"Don't think of fear as one either," she told him, unable to look from  him as his body turned to stone and his eyes shot to hers. Quiet weaved  around them as she sat on the couch. Beth crossed her arms and legs as  she looked back.

"Fair enough," he finally allowed. Harrison set his chin on his fist.  "Tell me more about Ozzy. Tell me what made you come here. Something  happened."

"He has a temper." She took a choking breath of air into her lungs. "And he has a dark side."

"We all have a dark side."

"No." Her eyes flew to Harrison's. "Not like his."

Harrison stared at her, not only hearing her words but listening to them. "What did he do?"

"I saw him tonight." Beth's throat tightened. "I was walking to my  parents'. His brother lives near me. Ozzy was there, outside, like he  was waiting for me." She unconsciously rubbed her sore wrist, glancing  down. Beth's eyes widened as she noticed the ring of fingermarks and  jerked her arm back as if to hide the evidence of Ozzy's fury.

Harrison was to her before she could cover up her reaction to the sight  of the small bruises. He crouched beside her, keeping space between  them. Flints of steel held her gaze. "Show me."

Beth shook her head and gripped the wounded arm. "I told him to stay  away. He won't bother me anymore. It won't happen again." Conviction  rang hollow in her words. Even she couldn't believe them.

His mouth hardened into a thin line.

"The last time we broke up, I broke up with him." The bookshelf across  the room held her gaze, and Beth gathered strength from all the many  stories waiting for her to get found in them.

People talked about getting lost in books, and that was fine, but it was  the opposite for her. They reminded her of who she was, and who she  wanted to be. Books were nightlights in the darkest days. When she was  lost, she could open up a book and feel the light of it, the life. It  pulsed through the pages, brought words to her heart, and in doing so,  gave her heart to the words. Beth could read on any day, and be better  for it.

"It sounds horribly weak of me to admit, but all the things he'd done  through our relationship-none of those things were bad enough for me to  go. He always apologized. He always made me feel bad for being upset  with him. And I always gave in." Her mouth went sour at the admission.  Not anymore. There is no more giving in.

Parts of Harrison's face were obscured by the dark, others by his thoughts.

"But when I told him I was serious about pursuing a writing career, he  laughed at me, like he thought I was joking. I spent my childhood and  teenage years writing, and he knew how much it meant to me, that it was a  dream of mine. For him to laugh … that was the end for me. He told me I  was nothing without actually saying it. I didn't realize until then that  that was possible-to make someone feel small without uttering a word."  Beth's fingers worked at the hem of her shirt, tugging at it and  releasing it, curling it up and smoothing it out.

"He went out with some friends that night, and when he came back, I had  my clothes and most of my things packed. I told him I was leaving, and I  wasn't coming back. That we were finished. I couldn't keep telling  myself what we had was what I wanted when it wasn't. When I tried to  leave, he stopped me."

Beth remembered the smell of alcohol on his breath, the feel of his  fingers biting into her flesh. The fear, the disbelief. "He tried to  take my bags from me, and we fought over them. I tried to get around  him, but I couldn't. He grabbed the back of my neck and shoved my face  to the floor, and when I tried to fight him, he went out of control.  Furious. It was like looking at a monster. The things he said to me."

She inhaled. Exhaled. "He grabbed me by my ankles and dragged me across  the floor of the house and to the door. He threw me out, and he tossed  my stuff out after me." Beth went still and quiet as she relived the  helplessness she felt. It was a surreal scene of black and sickness. It  could have been worse. She knew that too. That didn't lessen what it  was.         

     



 

Harrison moved to recline on the couch beside her, close enough that she  felt the heat of his body, but always physically out of reach. Ozzy  left bruises on her collarbone and shoulders, proof of his maniacal  love. The ones that hurt the most, that wouldn't fully heal, were the  ones he'd left upon her mind and heart.

He'd broken her that night, just a little, enough to leave a tattoo.

"It wasn't long, maybe three or four days, and he was the old Ozzy  again. Of course, he said he didn't mean it. Of course, he said he was  sorry. Of course, he cried and promised it would never happen again, but  it happened once, and it never should have happened at all. I stayed  with my parents until I was able to get my own place. I never told  anyone, and the bruises were hidden."

She took a sharp breath of air into her lungs and looked up. "I almost  went back. He wouldn't leave me alone, and he kept wearing and wearing  me down, and I started to minimize it in my head. I made excuses for  him."

Beth met Harrison's fathomless eyes. "He knows I come here. He's  followed me. I'm worried he'll find out who you are. It won't be good  for you when he does."

He was shaking his head before she finished. "It doesn't matter. Don't think of it."

"You've done so much to keep your identity secret. How can you act like it's of no consequence if it's known?"

"Beth. It doesn't matter." His tone was even, inarguable.

She dropped her eyes to her marred skin, and Beth closed her eyes  against the sight. Stop being that girl who loved Ozzy Peck. Be the  woman who told him goodbye. She took a shuddering breath, told herself  she couldn't be scared anymore, not of anything. When Harrison's fingers  lightly trailed across the bracelet of discoloration on her wrist,  Beth's breathing turned shallow. He thought he was poison, but he didn't  realize how much he mended her.

"You're safe now," he said in a low voice, and Beth believed him.

"When I was with Ozzy, I felt … I felt like I lost myself. I was an  extension of him, a possession." She opened her eyes and looked at  Harrison. "But when I'm around you, it's like I'm finding me." Beth  smiled and shrugged, turning her eyes back to the books. The books that  centered her, like Harrison.

His fingers dropped from her, and he moved farther down the couch, physically denying her words even as none passed his lips.

"We need to talk about that." He nodded his head toward the papers on the coffee table.

"Do we?"

"We do," he said firmly.

Beth set her shoulders back and clasped her hands together in her lap. "Okay. What is it?"

Black flashed at her from his eyes. "You mentioned an illness."

"Yes," she said evenly. Beth held his hard-eyed gaze. "Because there is an illness."

Harrison's jaw tightened, and he looked away.

"You're not letting me do what I need to do to give your story justice."  Beth spoke sharply, her frustration coming out. "You told me to write  your story, but then you have all these rules. You're only allowing me  to write half of it."