Atlas was at the front of the bus, so he got off before I did. He just kind of awkwardly stood there at the bus stop and waited for me to get off. When I did, he opened his backpack and handed me the bag of tools. He didn’t say anything about my invitation to watch TV from earlier this morning, so I just acted like it was a given.
“Come on,” I told him. He followed me inside and I locked the dead bolt. “If my parents come home early, run out the back door and don’t let them see you.”
He nodded. “Don’t worry. I will,” he said, with kind of a laugh.
I asked him if he wanted anything to drink and he said sure. I made us a snack and brought our drinks to the living room. I sat down on the couch and he sat down in my dad’s chair. I turned on your show and that’s about all that happened. We didn’t talk much, because I fast-forwarded through all the commercials. But I did notice he laughed at all the right times. I think good comedic timing is one of the most important things about a person’s personality. Every time he laughed at your jokes, it made me feel better about sneaking him into my house. I don’t know why. Maybe because if he’s actually someone I could be friends with, it’d make me feel less guilty.
He left right after your show was over. I wanted to ask him if he needed to use our shower again, but that would have cut it real close to time for my parents getting home. The last thing I wanted was for him to have to run out of the shower and across my backyard naked.
Then again, that’d be kind of hilarious and awesome.
—Lily
Dear Ellen,
Come on, woman. Reruns? A full week of reruns? I get that you need time off, but let me make a suggestion. Instead of recording one show a day, you should record two. That way you’ll get twice as much done in half the time, and we’d never have to sit through reruns.
I say “we” because I’m referring to Atlas and me. He’s become my regular Ellen-watching partner. I think he might love you as much as I do, but I’ll never tell him I write to you on a daily basis. That might seem a little too fan-girl.
He’s been living in that house for two weeks now. He’s taken a few more showers at my house and I give him food every time he visits. I even wash his clothes for him while he’s here after school. He keeps apologizing to me, like he’s a burden. But honestly, I love it. He keeps my mind off things and I actually look forward to spending time with him after school every day.
Dad got home late tonight, which means he went to the bar after work. Which means he’s probably going to instigate a fight with my mother. Which means he’ll probably do something stupid again.
I swear, sometimes I get so mad at her for staying with him. I know I’m only fifteen and probably don’t understand all the reasons she chooses to stay, but I refuse to let her use me as her excuse. I don’t care if she’s too poor to leave him and we’d have to move into a crappy apartment and eat ramen noodles until I graduate. That would be better than this.
I can hear him yelling at her right now. Sometimes when he gets like this, I walk into the living room, hoping it’ll calm him down. He doesn’t like to hit her when I’m in the room. Maybe I should go try that.
—Lily
Dear Ellen,
If I had access to a gun or knife right now, I’d kill him.
As soon as I walked into the living room, I saw him push her down. They were standing in the kitchen and she’d grabbed his arm, trying to calm him down, and he backhanded her and knocked her straight to the floor. I’m pretty sure he was about to kick her, but he saw me walk into the living room and he stopped. He muttered something under his breath to her and then walked to their bedroom and slammed the door.
I rushed to the kitchen and tried to help her, but she never wants me to see her like this. She waved me away and said, “I’m fine, Lily. I’m fine, we just got into a stupid fight.”
She was crying and I could already see the redness on her cheek from where he hit her. When I walked closer to her, wanting to make sure she was okay, she turned her back to me and gripped the counter. “I said I’m fine, Lily. Go back to your room.”
I ran back down the hallway, but I didn’t go back to my room. I ran straight out the back door and across the backyard. I was so mad at her for being short with me. I didn’t even want to be in the same house as either of them, and even thought it was dark already, I went over to the house Atlas was staying in and I knocked on the door.
I could hear him moving inside, like he accidentally knocked something over. “It’s me. Lily,” I whispered. A few seconds later the back door opened and he looked behind me, then to the left and right of me. It wasn’t until he looked at my face that he saw I was crying.
“You okay?” he asked, stepping outside. I used my shirt to wipe away my tears, and noticed he came outside instead of inviting me in. I sat down on the porch step and he sat down next to me.
“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just mad. Sometimes I cry when I get mad.”
He reached over and tucked my hair behind my ear. I liked it when he did that and I suddenly wasn’t nearly as mad anymore. Then he put his arm around me and pulled me to him so that my head was resting on his shoulder. I don’t know how he calmed me down without even talking, but he did. Some people just have a calming presence about them and he’s one of those people. Completely opposite of my father.
We sat like that for a while, until I saw my bedroom light turn on.
“You should go,” he whispered. We could both see my mom standing in my bedroom looking for me. It wasn’t until that moment that I realized what a perfect view he has of my bedroom.
As I walked back home, I tried to think about the entire time Atlas has been in that house. I tried to recall if I’d walked around after dark with the light on at night, because all I normally wear in my room at night is a T-shirt.
Here’s what’s crazy about that, Ellen: I was kind of hoping I had.
—Lily
I close the journal when the pain pills start to kick in. I’ll read more tomorrow. Maybe. Reading about the things my dad used to do to my mom kind of puts me in a bad mood.
Reading about Atlas kind of puts me in a sad mood.
I try to fall asleep and think about Ryle, but the whole situation with him kind of makes me mad and sad.
Maybe I’ll just think about Allysa, and how happy I am that she showed up today. I could use a friend—not to mention help—during these next few months. I have a feeling it’s going to be more stressful than I bargained for.
Chapter Five
Ryle was correct. It only took a few days for my ankle to feel good enough that I could walk on it again. I waited a full week before attempting to leave my apartment, though. The last thing I need is to reinjure it.
Of course the first place I went was to my floral shop. Allysa was there when I arrived today, and to say I was shocked when I walked through the front doors is an understatement. It looked like a totally different building than the one I bought. There’s still a ton of work that needs to be done, but she and Marshall had gotten rid of all the stuff we marked as trash. Everything else had been organized into piles. The windows had been washed, the floors had been mopped. She even had the area where I plan to put an office cleaned out.
I helped her for a few hours today, but she wouldn’t let me do much that required walking at first, so I mostly drew out plans for the store. We picked out paint colors and set a goal date to open the store that’s approximately fifty-four days from now. After she left, I spent the next few hours doing all the stuff she wouldn’t let me do while she was there. It felt good to be back. But Jesus Christ, I’m tired.
Which is why I’m debating on whether or not to get up from the couch and answer the knock at my front door. Lucy is at Alex’s again tonight and I just spoke to my mother five minutes ago on the phone, so I know it isn’t either of them.
I walk to the door and check the peephole before opening it. I don’t recognize him at first, because his head is down, but then he looks up and to the right and my heart freaks the hell out!
What is he doing here?
Ryle knocks again, and I try to brush my hair out of my face and smooth it down with my hands, but it’s a lost cause. I worked my ass off today and I look like shit, so unless I have half an hour to take a shower, put on makeup, and throw on clothes before I open the door, he’ll pretty much have to deal with me as is.
I open the door and his immediate reaction confuses me.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, dropping his head against my door frame. He’s panting like he’s been working out, and that’s when I notice that he doesn’t look to be any more rested or clean than I am. He’s got a couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face—something I’ve never seen on him before—and his hair isn’t styled like it usually is. It’s a little erratic, like the look in his eye. “Do you have any idea how many doors I’ve knocked on to find you?”
I shake my head, because I don’t. But now that he mentions it—how in the hell does he know where I live?
“Twenty-nine,” he says. Then he holds up his hands and repeats the numbers with his fingers while he whispers, “Two . . . nine.”
I let my gaze drop down to his clothes. He’s in scrubs, and I absolutely hate that he’s in scrubs right now. Holy hell. So much better than the onesie and way better than the Burberry.
“Why did you knock on twenty-nine doors?” I ask with a tilt of my head.
“You never told me which apartment was yours,” he says, matter-of-factly. “You said you lived in this building, but I couldn’t remember if you even said which floor. And for the record, I almost started with the third floor. I would have been here an hour ago if I went with my gut instinct.”
“Why are you here?”
He runs his hands down his face and then points over my shoulder. “Can I come in?”
I glance over my shoulder and then open the door farther. “I guess. If you tell me what you want.”
He walks inside and I close the door behind us. He glances around, wearing his stupid hot scrubs, and puts his hands on his hips as he faces me. He looks a little disappointed, but I’m not sure if it’s in me or himself.
“There’s a really big naked truth coming, okay?” he says. “Brace yourself.”
I fold my arms over my chest and watch as he inhales a breath, preparing to speak.
“These next couple of months are the most important months in my entire career. I have to be focused. I’m closing in on the end of my residency, and then I’ll have to sit for my exams.” He’s pacing my living room, talking frantically with his hands. “But for the past week, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I don’t know why. At work, at home. All I can think about is how crazy it feels when I’m near you, and I need you to make it stop, Lily.” He stops pacing and faces me. “Please make it stop. Just once—that’s all it’ll take. I swear.”
My fingers are digging into the skin of my arms as I watch him. He’s still panting a little, and his eyes are still frantic, but he’s looking at me pleadingly.
“When is the last time you’ve had sleep?” I ask him.
He rolls his eyes like he’s frustrated that I’m not getting it. “I just got off a forty-eight-hour shift,” he says dismissively. “Focus, Lily.”
I nod and replay his words in my head. If I didn’t know better . . . I’d almost think he was . . .
I inhale a calming breath. “Ryle,” I say carefully. “Did you seriously just knock on twenty-nine doors so you could tell me that the thought of me is making your life hell and I should have sex with you so that you’ll never have to think of me again? Are you kidding me right now?”
He folds his lips together and, after about five seconds of thought, he slowly nods his head. “Well . . . yeah, but . . . it sounds way worse when you say it.”
I release an exasperated laugh. “That’s because it’s ridiculous, Ryle.”
He bites his bottom lip and looks around the room, like he suddenly wants to escape. I open the door and motion for him to walk out. He doesn’t. His eyes fall to my foot. “Your ankle looks good,” he says. “How does it feel?”