Any Other Name

Chapter 24

One week into living—or perhaps hiding out—at Tesey's little apartment, Eliza felt that she had to come clean to Tesey. He had been a stellar host, somehow always offering just enough space and still a shoulder to cry on when the nightmares became too much. The cuts on her neck were healing faster than the ones on his arm, but the bruises that had appeared two days after she left the townhouse had brought on a whole new wave of guilt. She was living at his place, barred from doing any housework until she had physically healed despite Tesey objectively being worse off; he had brought her books and clothes and a number of things for River to get them situated—why had she offered almost nothing to the contribution of the house? And still, everytime he referred to her, he still called her "Anne."

Though, as it turned out, she had begun to prefer the name. It was so different from when Marshall called her "Elly," and certainly less chilling than when she was called "Eliza." She was torn between reminding him of her real name, far too aware of when Marshall had found out that Tesey called her by that name and he had assumed she was cheating on him, and taking it on as her real name. She could start introducing herself as Anne, when she eventually did leave the apartment, and separate that time of her life with this one with a single act. She could, or...

There were other things she needed to talk to Tesey about. Getting him to accept her help with house chores for one, and if and when she could leave the apartment to walk River. So far, Tesey had been doing it before and after work, whenever that was, to let Eliza stew in her fear a little longer. She knew she would have to leave eventually, but the last time she tried to leave without permission hadn't gone well for anyone. She wanted to, really did, but just the thought of approaching the front door had the power to send her into a panic.

Tesey, on the other hand, was dying to ask Eliza for more information. He was a curious person by nature, which is why he loved working so many different jobs, but he wanted to offer her as much space as possible. The bruises he had watched bloom over her skin looked like it had come from more than just what he had seen that day, some pale enough—old enough—that he wasn't sure if Eliza was even aware of them. She didn't seem to try to hide them like she did the darker ones on her arms and collarbone.

A part of him wanted to know what had happened to her. Seeing her in the hospital had kept him up at night, but now that she lived with him—now that he saw how badly she perceived herself—he couldn't help but wonder just how bad it got.

That guy, Marshall. She had woken up saying, "Marshall, no," the other night—had practically screamed it. He had seen the way he leaned over her the day she left. He knew how strong that guy was.

Part of him wanted to know the severity of what Eliza went through, and part of him never wanted to bring it up and hoped that she'd bury it deep in her mind.

That was, until the night he fell asleep on the couch while they watched yet another movie she had never heard of and woke up to her curled up against his side. It was so unexpected, so out of bounds that he didn't know what to do.

There were rules when living with Eliza—no touching, no sudden or loud noises, and no asking prying questions that had no lead up. And yet, here she was, leaning against him. An oversized pajama shirt revealed the back of her shoulder where a starburst of scars lay.

He couldn't help the questions that popped into his head: how many more? Where else? What from? From Marshall or from before? How old was she, anyway?

Their conversations usually revolved around him not letting her do any housework or River—it was here he realized he had let a near complete stranger stay in his house. That wasn't really the issue since he felt like he knew her personality well enough, but—