Read Online Hard by Lily Harlem, Natalie Dae - Free Book Online

Stop it.
    ‘Well…’ I tried to think of what to say. ‘I was just about to
clean and —’
    ‘I don’t mind mess.’
    ‘I do. I don’t want you to see it.’
    ‘Then I’ll wait until you’ve put some things away if it makes you
feel better.’
    ‘But there’s too much to do.’
    ‘I have time. I could maybe take a walk, go and see the monument
at St Giles. Have a pot of tea in the Randolf Hotel, come
back in an hour.’
    ‘That’s not long enough.’
    I scrunched my eyes shut, hating myself for lying, for pushing him
away when all I wanted to do was have him come inside. Why couldn’t I just open the door? Why was everything such a trial?
    ‘Two hours then,’ he said. ‘Will that do you?’
    He wasn’t going to give up, was he? A
surge of dread shot up from my stomach, bile flooding the back of my tongue
because I’d lied. Lied , lied,
lied, and he didn’t deserve that. Before I could talk myself out of it, I
opened my eyes and scrabbled at the locks, my hands shaking, my knees jolting. The chains came next, me wrenching them back, the sound of metal
on metal seeming too loud, too abrasive. I flipped up the snib then grabbed the Yale knob, twisting, twisting
it until, if he pushed on the door, it would open. And I wished he’d do that so it took the final decision out of my hands.
Instead, I let the knob go, the keeper falling back into place, and stepped
away, my breaths coming out as heavy pants. A panic attack was raising its ugly
head, peeping out from wherever the hell it hid until
it decided to overcome me.
    ‘No,’ I said, to the attack, not Michael, and sprang forward,
turned the knob then stepped back again.
    The door opened a tad, like a disguised yawn, and I reversed into
the living room, unable to stand seeing it ajar like that. It was too much, too
frightening even though it was only Michael on the other side. I’d seen him, I knew damn well it was him. The visual or his
voice hadn’t been enough confirmation, though, and I
darted to the door at the back of the room that led to a short hallway. There,
I stared at the bathroom door, the kitchen, then my
bedroom. Chose the latter because of the corner, my place,
the safe haven. I knew it was insane, knew me rushing over there and
hunkering down wasn’t right — mental, some would say —
but I did it anyway. Fitted my back into the corner, bent my legs and rested my
chin on my knees. Hugged my shins. And stared at the
doorway, knowing he’d come in, knowing he’d look at me
as though I belonged in an institution. And maybe I did. Maybe I bloody did.
    I heard the door close — thank God he’d shut it — and waited for him to find me. I could have stood, could have made
out I was straightening the quilt, him none the wiser that I was a complete
mess. Him smiling, taking my hand and leading me to the
kitchen where he waited for me to boil the kettle and sort out cups for some
tea. Telling me it was great to see me again, that he’d missed me, and asking how things were going on the work front.
    It took ages for him to appear, and when he did shame burst inside
me and my face heated. Tears burned my eyes, a mixture of relief at seeing him,
knowing he was there, that he’d wanted to pay me a visit — me, a visit! — and the utter fear of being seen as a fuck up. He filled the
doorway as I’d imagined many times he would, his
shoulders almost brushing the frame either side. He stared across at me, a look
of sorrow on his face — or was that pity, I couldn’t be sure. Raised one hand to jam it into his short dark hair,
shaking his head and biting the inside of his cheek again.
    ‘Rebecca, stand up,’ he said.
    I’d thought if
anyone had ordered me to do something like that now I’d have remained in place,
refusing to get up, not being able to through fear. But it didn’t work out like that and I stood, arms dangling at my sides, and lowered my head
because I couldn’t look at him, just couldn’t bloody look.
    ‘Your