Love Abstract (The Art of Falling Book 2) (5 page)

“Ivy,” he says, his voice laced with unease, “I really think you should reconsider pressing charges.”

I close my eyes and slowly inhale through my nose, attempting to rein in the mounting rage. It’s like he’s pulled the pin out from the grenade and I’m mere seconds away from detonation.

Three
…

Two
…

One
…

“Jesus Christ, not this again!” I turn off the TV and throw the remote down on the coffee table as I stand to leave. This has to be the hundredth time he’s brought this up over the past few weeks and I’m sick of it. I just want to move on and forget it ever happened. There are plenty of other issues that we should be addressing. Like his issues.

“Yes, damn it! Yes, this again.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to think about this right now, Phoenix.” I storm into the bedroom, putting some much-needed space between us. I busy myself by folding the shit out of the basket of clean laundry that has been sitting on the floor for days. His heavy footsteps come up behind me, but I don’t dare turn to look at him.

“Can’t we talk about this rationally?”

“No.”

“You can’t pretend it didn’t happen, Ivy. It did.” There’s compassion in his eyes, but I just don’t care.

But he’s wrong. I can pretend. And I’ve been doing a pretty damn good job of it lately,
I think
.

“I know it did. And I don’t need you to fucking remind me of it every other god damned day.”

I snatch up the pile of T-shirts and toss them in the drawer before slamming it shut. It rattles so hard the framed photo of us on top tumbles over the edge. I watch it hit the ground, but by some miracle the glass doesn’t shatter.

“Stop it.” He spins me around and pulls the rest of the clothes from my hands. “The only time you ever clean is when you’re pissed off. Can’t you just stop and talk about this?”

I look at him blankly and pull a loose piece of hair behind my ear. No, I can’t talk about this. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to relive anything that happened with Sully. I don’t want to think about that night and how I can’t remember anything that happened with him. It’s like Phoenix expects me to suddenly remember and piece my emotions together. There are no memories other than how empty and confused and angry I felt sitting in that hospital room as the truth of Sully drugging and raping me soaked in.

The only thing I carry is rage over being violated, and that has the power to consume me, so I’m doing my best not to let it. I just want to forget about it all. Forget learning the truth.

The truth doesn’t set you free. The truth will fucking destroy you.

There are days I think I would have been much better off not knowing. I want to move on and leave the past exactly where it belongs—in the past. But Phoenix won’t stop pressing the issue.

“Please, Ivy. You
clearly
have unresolved issues over what happened.”

I know he’s coming from a good place and wants to help, but his pompous intonation makes me want to slap the dimple right off his perfect cheek. “The only issue I have right now is that you continue to bring it up.” I clench my teeth so hard that pain radiates through my jaw.

“You need to deal with this. You need to do
something
to help you work through it.”

His eyes look desperate. I know he’s coming from a genuine place, but I really don’t think he’d like who I’d become if I dealt with this head on. I wouldn’t like me. I know he wants me to feel some kind of resolution over what happened, but the truth is that is never going to happen. I just need to accept that it’s a part of me and move on.

He needs to learn to accept that, too.

“You know, there are days I wish I would get hit by a truck on my way to work. Suffer some head trauma. Get amnesia. Forget any of that shit ever happened to me. Just leave it all behind and get a fresh start.”

Phoenix cringes and I instantly feel horrible wounding him like that. I’ve reminded him of the way his mother died. And as much as I hate it, he is deeply woven into my past. Forgetting where I come from and what happened to me would mean forgetting him, too.

“You don’t mean that.” He reaches down and picks up the photo, setting it gently back on top of the dresser.

“Sometimes I think I do,” I bite back. He needs to lay off.

I watch his chest rise and fall slowly for a few moments before I finally meet his gaze again. “I love you, Ivy,” he says, searching my face.

“If you loved me, you’d just let it go,” I whisper.

“It’s because I love you that I
can
’
t
let it go. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. Sully abused you. He fucking drugged you and took advantage of you. And you’re going to let him get away with it?”

“You can’t even say it. Can you?” I give him a pointed look, reminding him that
I
’
m
the victim here. Not him. “Sully raped
me
. How does it feel to hear that? To know that someone you once called your best friend raped your girlfriend?”

Phoenix rakes his fingers through his hair and I’m certain he’s going to rip his locks from his skull. “I know! And it fucking kills me to think that I could have prevented it. I fucking beat myself up over this every day. I should have stayed with you in the room that night. He never would have laid a finger on you. I should have taken better care of you. I can’t help but take the blame for this.”

“I wasn’t your responsibility. And neither was he. You can’t take the fall for that piece of shit. He would have found a way to take what he wanted. And if it weren’t me, it would have been somebody else. “

“And that is
exactly
why I think you need to talk to someone. File the police report.” His voice turns commanding and that is
not
the way to get me to crack.

“Look. Pressing charges isn’t going to turn back the clocks and change the past. It can’t undo what has already been done.” Selfishly I haven’t filed because I don’t want to relive any moment that involves that asshole.

“No, but it can prevent it from happening to someone else.” His eyes plead with me.

“So I report it and then what? Sabotage Genevieve’s sham of a marriage? I’ve already ruined my family enough as it is. Any more damage and my mom will personally schedule my public execution. I’m done with them. I’m moving on. And you need to move on with me. I can’t think about this right now.”

“Look, I get it, babe. You’re not ready to face your past. I just don’t think you should be so quick to dismiss it. I can’t force you to do anything about it, but if you decide to, I’m here for you.”

Oh.
Now
he wants to play the nice guy? He’s so wrapped up in me and my problems he’s not even going to acknowledge his own.

“Really? Really,
babe
? You think
I
’
m
not ready to face my past? What about you, Phoenix? What the fuck are you not telling me?”

His eyebrows knit together and he softly gasps. Judging from the look on his face, I’ve caught him off guard.

“You don’t think I know you sneak out of our bedroom in the middle of the night? What were you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit! I’m thrilled to finally get to be the pot because I was getting tired of being the goddamn kettle.”

His eyes fill with rage and I watch his jaw tense as if he’s grinding the words in his mouth before he spits acid at me.

“I don’t know what it is you’re hiding from me, but I know whatever it is, it’s bad enough to eat at your insides.” I push him away from with all of my strength.

“Stop it! You’re acting like a child, Ivy. Can’t you see I’m not fighting
with
you? I’m fighting
for
you. You don’t seem to have any fight left.”

No fight left in me?

“You want fight? I’ll show you a fucking fight.” I storm out of the bedroom, grab my purse and slam the front door with so much force our neighbor pops his head out into the hallway.

“Everything okay out here?” He looks sheepishly at me from his doorway.

“I’m fine, Thom,” I mutter as I walk away with more purpose in my step than I’ve had in weeks.

IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS AND we haven’t said a word to each other.

Three. Painful. Days.

On my walk home from work, I resolve to extend the olive branch. I hate that we’re fighting. But secretly I’m relieved because it means we have something that is actually worth fighting for. I’ve been with far too many men who have no backbone. They’d let me walk all over them and simply had no fight. Maybe if I had cared about them, things could have been different. But now? Now I have a partner who isn’t afraid to punch back and fight with me. Fight for me. Fight for us. When I get caught up in my own head, he knows how to push me and bring me back to earth. And knowing I get to kiss him each night with a proverbial swollen lip and bruised cheek makes me the luckiest girl in the world. The amount of happiness Phoenix brings is incalculable. And I am such an idiot for not talking to him the past few days.

Both of us are idiots, really.

Even if he’s not ready to talk about whatever is eating at him, I need to put my pride aside, go home and make this right. I know he was only looking out for me. And frankly, our relationship is far more important than my need to be right and get the last word in.

Standing outside the door, I take a deep breath and collect myself while searching for my keys.

When I push open the door, I find our home is eerily peaceful. And just when I think he’s not here, I hear a slight cough coming from the back of the apartment.

The sooner you say you
’
re sorry for losing your shit, the faster you can get back to loving each other.

I stand in the kitchen doorway, watching him silently. It’s hard to see what he’s doing from behind, but I don’t want to interrupt him. It’s probably some new plans for work. He’s been working just as hard as I have these past few weeks.

“Hey,” he says, quickly glancing over his shoulder. His voice is meek and his eyes are red as if he’s barely slept since I walked out a few days ago. “How long have you been standing there?”

He’s at least talking to me. That has to be good, right?

“I just got home.” I set my bag down and slowly walk into the kitchen. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

His head is back down, leaning over the kitchen table. “No, I’m just keeping my mind busy.”

Coming up behind him, I rest my hand on his shoulder and give it a soft squeeze. His back melts into my hands.

“I’m sorry.”

I want my apology to come across as confident and meaningful, but my voice just sounds feeble. It’s one thing to feel weak, but it’s a completely different story to actually
be
weak. And I loathe being weak. I wish I’d never started this stupid fight with him.

“I hate arguing with you,” I admit softly.

“I know, me too. But it’s what we do, Ivy. We fight hard, and then we love even harder.”

He pulls away from the table and holds me in his arms like he means it. His embrace is so tight it nearly suffocates me. Even so, his touch breathes life back into me. I’ve never felt more loved than I do right at this moment. And the ironic part is, I know I don’t even deserve it.

“I just hate fighting with you. I know it’s inevitable in any relationship, but it doesn’t mean either of us enjoys it.” I let go of him and pull back to look him in the eyes.

Even though I’m the first to break the hug, he doesn’t break contact. Instead, he drapes his hands over my shoulders and tangles his fingers in my hair. I watch his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.

“Look, the way I see it is neither of us is fighting to win the argument or piss the other off,” he says.

“Then what the hell are we doing?”

“We’re figuring each other out,” he says calmly. “Rather passionately, I might add.”

Passionate. That
’
s one word for it.

I nod my head knowingly and offer a small smile. “Well, I
am
sorry, Phoenix.”

He tilts his head as he looks down at me. That single look makes me feel so many unnamed emotions. Slowly, he sits back down in his chair and reaches out to take my hands. I’m taken aback by just how handsome he is.

“I know. I’m sorry too, Ivy. I shouldn't have pushed the issue—”

“Stop. I was a complete bitch and you caught me on a shitty day where I was over-thinking everything. And even then, that’s no excuse for my behavior. You don’t need to apologize … Unless, of course, you have something to be sorry for.”

I leave the door wide open. I silently promise that I won’t be mad about whatever it is. I just need him to talk to me.

Tell me. Please just tell me. I know there
’
s something. I can feel it.

He opens his mouth to say something, but quickly snaps it shut before he looks down. “There are …
things
I want to tell you. I just can’t. At least not right now.”

I nod my head, trying to respect his admission, but secretly wanting to pummel whatever it is out of him. Perhaps that’s something that I would have done once upon a time. But this is a relationship of equals. And I need to appreciate the fact that he’s at least acknowledging that there is
something.
Even if he can’t bring himself to talk about it yet.