CHAPTER 12: The First Crack
(Betty's POV)
He sees me.
And no one has seen me in a very long time.
I watch him standing at the sink. His back is to me. His shoulders are tense. His hand is pressed against his side.
The wound is still healing. Slow. Too slow.
But he made me coffee.
Black. No sugar.
He noticed.
I do not know what to do with that.
Days pass.
We fall into a strange routine.
He makes coffee every morning. I check his wound every night.
He sleeps on the floor. I sleep with the knife under my pillow.
We do not talk about the wedding. We do not talk about the police. We do not talk about the man he killed.
We just exist.
In the same small space.
Breathing the same air.
Taylor calls me every day.
I do not answer.
She leaves voicemails. Angry. Then worried. Then angry again.
"Betty, you cannot just disappear."
"Betty, I am your best friend. Talk to me."
"Betty, if you do not call me back, I am coming over again."
I listen to them all.
I do not call back.
I cannot.
What would I say? I married a criminal. I am hiding him in my apartment. I am not afraid of him anymore.
She would not understand.
I do not understand.
Luke comes by every few days.
He never comes inside. He just stands in the hallway. He and Adrain talk in low voices. I cannot hear the words.
But I see Adrain's face after Luke leaves.
Harder. Colder. More dangerous.
One night, I ask him.
"What does Luke want?"
Adrain looks at me. "He wants to keep me alive."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one you are getting."
I stop asking.
I stop being afraid of him.
It happens slowly. Then all at once.
One morning, I wake up and he is not a stranger anymore.
He is just Adrain.
The man who makes my coffee. The man who sleeps on my floor. The man who flinches at loud noises like a child who was hit too many times.
I do not ask about his past. He does not offer.
But I see it.
In the way he eats. Fast. Like someone will take it away.
In the way he stands by the window at night. Staring at the city like he is saying goodbye to something.
In the way he looks at me.
Like I am the first person who ever stayed.
One night, I wake up screaming.
The nightmare is still there. My parents. The car. The glass. The blood.
I am sitting up in bed. My heart is pounding. My face is wet with tears.
I cannot breathe.
Then I hear his voice.
"Betty."
I look up.
He is at my bedroom door.
He did not come in. He is standing in the doorway. His hand on the frame.
"Go away," I whisper.
"No."
"I said go away."
"You are crying."
"I am fine."
"You are not fine."
I wipe my face with the back of my hand.
"Just leave me alone."
He does not move.
"Do you want me to leave?" he asks.
I look at him.
His dark eyes. His pale face. His bloody bandage.
He is not asking about the room.
He is asking about everything.
I shake my head.
He nods.
He sits down on the floor. Outside my door. His back against the wall.
Not inside. Not touching me.
Just there.
I lie back down. I stare at the ceiling.
I can hear him breathing. Slow. Steady.
I fall asleep.
When I wake up, morning light is coming through the window.
He is gone from the floor.
I sit up. My face is dry. My head is heavy.
My phone buzzes.
Taylor.
I pick it up.
"I am fine," I say before she can speak.
Silence.
"Betty," she says. Her voice is soft. Worried. "I have been calling you for days."
"I know."
"Are you going to tell me what is happening?"
I close my eyes.
"No," I say. "Not yet."
"Then when?"
"I do not know."
She is quiet for a long moment.
"I am scared for you," she says.
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"If you need me, I am here."
I feel tears burning behind my eyes.
"Thank you," I whisper.
I hang up.
I walk to the kitchen.
The coffee is on the counter.
Black. No sugar.
I pick up the mug. It is warm.
He made it. Then he left the room. So I would not have to see him.
So I would have space.
I look at the mug.
My chest feels tight.
I am not afraid of him anymore.
I do not know when it happened. I do not know how.
But the fear is gone.
And something else is taking its place.
Something I cannot name.
Something that terrifies me more than any criminal ever could.
I whisper to the empty kitchen.
"What are you doing to me?"