Here Is All I Have

e l e v e n

"are you okay staying at my place?" Lee asks. "or should I buy you a hotel room?"

"if I stay at a hotel, Peter will find me much easier than if I'm with you," I tell him. sad I have to think that way.

"so it was pretty bad today?" Lee asks another question. I'm just not in the state to answer anything right now...

"yes," I take a breath. "he wanted to kill me. his father was there, David, and he kept saying he wanted to fuck me. and he hit me, too.  at least I see where Peter got it from. the moment I was out the door, Peter said he would kill me eventually. and his father offered to help him cover it up. then Peter said he would call him if I ever crossed the line."

"like he doesn't cross a line every fucking day!" Lee has a raised voice, but when he notices my shaking hands he apologizes. "you can't go back there," he whispers. "it's not safe,"

"I love him, Lee," tears spark my eyes. "I don't know why. but I really do,"

"I know, Bella. but it's not good for you to love that asshole. he is planning on killing you!"

"I want to go back," suddenly I don't want to run. I always do.

"Bel, if I upset you I'm sorry, I'm just trying t-"

"no, it's just... I live for him. I've lost touch with everyone I used to know, except for you. you somehow slipped back in and I took advantage of that. I should go back, and talk to him. either he chooses to work on himself or he gets pissed and he kills me. I know it's bad, but I don't care which way it goes,"

Lee pulls over quickly and grasps my chin, softer than Peter ever has. "don't you ever say that again. not to me."

suddenly I remember something Lee said before. his girlfriend committed suicide. hearing those words come out of my mouth must've hurt him so bad. "Lee, I'm so sorry. I never should've gotten you involved again,"

"why do you go to therapy, Bel?"

"um... I was hurting myself. that was a big part of it. I decided therapy was a good idea. I wanted to get better for him. I got a job so I could pay for it... I'm a writer, of course, but for now, I work at a publishing house. I read and edit books. decide if they're worthy of publishing. it's the highlight of my day, every day."

"that's amazing. but you could do that anywhere!"

"I'm stuck." I tell him.

"I know. you need to leave that relationship."

"no, no. I'm not stuck in love. I'm stuck in here," I point to my torso. "I'm stuck in my body, I'm stuck in my brain. I'm stuck thinking that the life I have is not worth the pain I feel. but it is. I need to overcome the pain to really live the way I'm meant to. but I'm stuck in this body... this weak body. he overpowers me, and my brain tells me that I should just stay. there's no point in leaving. my fucking brain tells me he's worth the pain, he makes life worth it. but that's not true. there's this small, defiant, rebellious part of my brain that says he's an ass and I would be better off without him.

"so I'm stuck. stuck with a battling left and right brain. and it's exhausting. I'm so, so tired." his eyes look nervous when I see them. he smiles, but the joy doesn't meet his eyes.

"my girl always, always said she was tired. I always thought it was because she had two very busy jobs. but no, her brain was battling itself, too. and that sad part won. and she chose to cut herself off from the pain. to abandon her thoughts.

to die."

"I want to do that," I feel a warm tear slowly travel down my face. "I mean, there's so much I enjoy about life. but I'm not allowed to write anymore. all of my family has left already. Peter will never love me. I will never love myself. so what is the point of living a lifeless life?"

"you aren't allowed to write?" he ignores the most depressing parts of what I said and brings up the most heartbreaking thing to occur in my life since my mother's death.

"Peter has writing utensils for himself, in a locked drawer. he took the journal I've written in for years and years, and he burned it in front of me. I swear my heart shattered. he doesn't like when I write, because I sort through my thoughts much easier that way. and he doesn't like how happy it makes me,"

"that's horrible. that journal could give you a career!"

"could've." I correct him. "it could have."

"I hardly know you. I hardly knew you back then. but I know writing is your save haven, he had no right to take that away from you." I simply nod, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"but, still, I let him. I let him burn that journal, sure I cried, but I didn't fight him,"

"because he could hurt you. he has hurt you. it's okay to be afraid of fighting back. and it's even okay to love him. but you need to change how you handle your fear, and how you ration your love."

"God, Lee. I swear every time I'm with you, you say the most beautiful things. you should be a writer,"

"I kind of am. not of poetry, or anything you write. but I've written a few self-help novels, and I shared my experiences with depression."

"did you..." I trail off, hoping he catches on to what I'm saying.

"yeah," he breathes, "I put you in it." I can tell he's nervous about telling me, but I'm really not bothered by it. "I didn't use your full name. I called you Bella."

"I'd love to read it,"

"when we get to my place, you can,"

"thank you." and he must know that this thank you stretches further than this conversation. this is for everything.