Let Me Adore You (N.H.)

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I couldn't cry anymore. It simply wasn't possible for me.  

I've cried so much these last minutes. How long have I been in here? Minutes? Hours? Maybe it was the latter since my back and butt started to hurt after sitting for so long on this wooden floor. But I couldn't bring myself into standing up. After all, it was the safest place I knew of at the moment. With my back pressed against the door, nobody could come in. Especially couldn't.

Why couldn't I be strong and go downstairs, facing him? Was I that scared of him already?

I looked out of the window. Spring began to change the world outside, making everything appear a bit friendlier, something winter couldn't do. I thought about climbing out of it. The window. I could try to find a way down by jumping or sliding down the gutter. I wouldn't land softly and might sprain an ankle, but it was better than staying.

Concentrating on breathing evenly, I went over my palm with my hand. The salty residues of tears and snot were now on the back of my hand and on my sleeve. It was disgusting but I felt better, now that it wasn't on my face anymore. A few seconds later, I put my palms on the wood panels and pushed myself up, my knees made it a bit difficult to move. But I did eventually, taking small steps towards the window and reaching for the windowsill, being extremely quiet. Old wood like this could be very loud and for once I wished it wouldn't be.

I wasn't scared of him. I was scared of how different he acted. 

The moment I reached the glass, I wondered what I'd do next if I decided to jump out of the window. My phone was still downstairs, in the pocket of my coat. I've searched for it a long time ago. So calling someone - even a cab - was out of question. And I didn't knew my way back home. I cursed myself for not once taking the bus.

Staying would've been fatal. I'd have had to talk to him, look at him. He'd have lured is way back in, soothing me with his words and his touch. Not anymore. He has gone too far.

My fingers clasped around the handle, ready to turn it around and open the window. I looked down, estimating how deep it was and if I'd land on moss and grass when I heard a noise. It was him. I could identify his heavy footsteps, climbing the stairs. Panicking, I stared at my hand on the window and back on the door, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I wouldn't be quick enough. What if he'd see me fleeing? What would he do?

Tears brimmed in my eyes, making them burn as I let go of the handle and rushed to the door. That's what was making me so sad. I thought I knew how he'd react. Guess I didn't. 

He walked slowly, almost relaxed. As if he was unbothered by what has happened. I knew better than this. He didn't want to calm me or say sorry. He never said sorry. My heart was thumping inside my ribcage rapidly now that I was pressing against the white door with full force. I've locked it, the key safely hidden in my back pocket. 

He was coming closer and I covered my mouth with my hand. What does he want? Hasn't he done enough? I've trusted him, I've told him too much. I've seen almost everything of him - and he of me. Cold sweat ran down my spine and I had difficulties to breathe normally. What would he do?

Would he grab me again? Putting his fingers around my throat? Would he push me, so that I was landing on my knees? 

I heard him whistling. Maybe he was bipolar. Or he was warning me about his rage. Rage he was ready to take out on me, when he had always told me he wouldn't. The noise of his footsteps swelled, rang in my ears. Before they stoped. 

I could nearly sense his hot breath. I was begging, I was praying, that he would leave. To no avail. When did this go wrong? It surely couldn't have been today. Seconds I spent in silence, searching in my memories for signs of this downfall, until he knocked. I've expected it, but I gasped nevertheless, not answering.

My throat was still sore from all this yelling and screaming, from his grip around it.

"Angel."

No, no, no. I got sick, feeling nauseous all of the sudden. He had never really called me by my real name. Why? Was calling me angel his sick way of mocking me?

I felt the doorknob slightly moving against my waist, so it looked like he wanted to open it. He quickly realised I've locked it. I might be naive, but I'm not stupid. He of all people had to be aware of it. He sighed. 

How would I get out of here? 

"Angel, you know you can't run away from me." He said, voice clear. 

"You're like me. You need me. And I need you." No I don't. I don't need him. I don't want to need him. And he didn't need me, he wanted to use me for his own good. I was too blind to see it. 

All this time I thought this would be all about pleasure, about a connection. But there was this bigger picture behind me, every second of these last months.

"You're like me." He repeated again, as if he tried to remind him of my helplessness. 

"That's why you're going to help me. And deep down you know that you will." There was silence again, then I heard footsteps retracting. 

My mind was full of thoughts and at the same time it felt empty. I was lost, I didn't feel like I was myself anymore. Who was I after all? I had to find out. For my own sake.

I struggled with myself, but I unlocked the door and opened it. Exhaling, I stepped out of the room and into the hallway, seeing him stop in his tracks, holding onto the banister. At first he seemed surprised that I've changed my mind this quickly. It didn't last long since a smile was already forming on his face. He took a step in my direction, holding out his hand for me to take it.

In my mind I flinched, in reality, I kept my stand.

"I know you'll make the right decision angel." 

This time, I will. 

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Bonsoir and welcome (back).

For those who worried something has happened to me: I'm good. 

I just had a few problems with some chapter so I decided to take them down to go over them and change some minor things. And add some things. But yes, have fun reading over them and this new chapter I added.