Mo Grá| Derek Morgan

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

┌── •✧• ──┐
London
october 21, 2002

I stood in the center of my soon-to-be old bedroom, surrounded by the remnants of a life I was desperate to cling to. My heart raced as I hurriedly shoved clothes into my suitcase, the fabric crumpling and wrinkling as I tossed them in with little care.

Killian's absence hung heavily in the air, a suffocating reminder of last night. I had never seen that side of him before, and I couldn't shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before he returned. I needed to be gone before that happened.

As I zipped up my suitcase, I glanced around the room one last time. Memories flooded back, making it harder to breathe. I could almost hear the laughter we had shared, the late-night talks, but with every happy thought came the darkness of what had happened. I didn't want to be living in fear, exhausted from waiting for the next explosion.

With a final, deep breath, I grabbed my bags and headed for the door. My hands trembled slightly as I turned the knob, pushing it open and stepping outside. I walked down the path, my heart pounding with each step, fearing that at any moment he might return.

The yard was quiet, the only sounds being the rustling leaves in the light breeze and the distant hum of a car engine. I kept my head down, focusing on my feet against the pavement, willing myself to keep moving forward. The weight of my decision pressed down on me but it was a burden I was prepared to bear if it meant away from him.

As I turned the corner, a chill ran down my spine. My stomach dropped when I saw him. Killian stood a few feet ahead, leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette. My breath caught in my throat. I should have turned back, I should have run back in. But I didn't. I straightened my back and kept walking, determined to ignore him.

"Leah!" His voice sliced through the silence, sharp and demanding. I quickened my pace, focusing intently on the ground ahead. I could feel his eyes on me. "Leah, stop!" he yelled again, his voice rising.

I refused to turn around, my mind racing with thoughts of escape. I had to get away. I had to get to the car. But then I felt his hand grip my arm, pulling me back and around to face him.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, the stench of alcohol on his breath. I could see the redness in his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. "Hmm?"

"I'm leaving," I pleaded, "Killian, please, just let me go."

"Leave?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You think you can just leave? You are home!" His words struck a nerve.

"You think I wanted this? No, I didn't." My voice rose, confusion on his face morphing into something darker. "You attacked me! You ruined us!" He stepped closer, his presence looming over me. "You don't get to walk away from this, Leah. You're not leaving me!"

My heart raced as I looked into his eyes, "You have a pretty good deal, don't you? You go out, you do whatever while I sit here just waiting on you?"

But all I saw was anger. He invaded my space, his voice low and menacing. "You have to understand, Leah, I thought you did. I'm the man here—I make the money, so I make the rules. Right?"

"And what if I don't like your rules?" I scoffed, but before I could react, he lunged forward, grabbing me by the waist and lifting me off the ground. I screamed, flailing my arms as he threw me over his shoulder. My suitcase slipped from my grip, falling to the ground, everything spilling out in a chaotic mess. "Killian! Put me down!" I shouted, my voice echoing down the empty street.

He marched back toward the house, ignoring my protests. Tears stung my eyes, frustration bubbling over. "You can't do this, Killian!"

Inside the house, he kicked the door shut with his foot, the sound reverberating ominously. He set me down roughly, and I stumbled, catching myself against the wall. "It'll be easier if you just realize you're not leaving," he stated, his voice low and dangerous.

"Just let me go!" I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. He stepped closer, "And what? You'll run to someone else?" His voice was a mixture of anger and desperation. "No, I just want to go home!" I cried, "I want to feel loved, not scared." His expression shifted, as if wrestling with something inside. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between love and anger.

"You think I'm hurting you because I want to?" he asked.

"Then why are you?"

For a moment, silence hung between us. I could see the hurt in his eyes, the confusion. But then his anger flared again. "I've done everything for you!"

"Everything?" I scoffed, bitterness dripping from my words. "You've done nothing but make me feel trapped!"

He took a step back, shoulders sagging slightly. "You've made me feel like I'm losing you. I can't lose you."

"Then stop pushing me away!" I yelled, my voice breaking. "You're the one forcing me to leave!"

"What do you want from me?"

I took a deep breath, my chest aching. "I want you to get help. I want you to see that you shouldn't live this way. We can't keep going like this."

He looked away, turmoil evident in his eyes. "And what if I don't? What if I can't change?"

"Then we're done," I said, my voice steady despite the tremor within. He turned back to me, fury boiling behind his eyes. "You think you can just make demands?"

I took a step back. "It isn't a demand."

He stepped forward, fists clenched. "You don't get to decide what I do, Leah."

In that moment, I knew I had to stand my ground. "But you think you can decide what I do?" His expression twisted in anger, and I braced myself for what was to come. Yet deep down, I held onto a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would recognize the truth in my words.

"What are you going to do about it?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom.