Feelings

Chapter 20 :

Meredith's POV

"Thank you so, so much, Newt," I tell him.
"Of corse. Do you have all your stuff?"
"Yes, I think so. If not it's fine I can get it eventually," I shrug.
"I'll wait to make sure you get in the house," he smiles.
I sigh and nod, looking at my house. At least until Friday, when I move out. Even though I know I was wrong, and my mom said I can stay, I know it's time for me to find my own place.
"Thank you."
"And you're sure I can't help you carry that?" He frowns.
"I'm positive," I smile.
"I'll see you later, Mars. The road trip was fun," he says.
"See you later," I agree, turning to walk up my driveway. When I get to the door, I unlock it, tuning to give him one last wave. He salutes, and then I pull my things inside, closing the door as he drives away.
I stand for a few minutes, and then I hear someone rushing towards the door. It's Hannah, and her eyes widen when she's sees me.
"Mom said you wouldn't be back until Friday. Mom! It's Mere!"
"SHH!" I scold. "Stop shouting, it's 3 in the morning," I whisper. "Shy are you up?"
"I slept most of the day today, well technically yesterday, because I had a soccer game early and it was exhausting so I took a long nap and now I can't sleep. I've also had a lot of caffeine," she explains quickly.
"Mere?" My moms walks down the stairs.
"Hey mom," I set my things down.
She hugs me tightly. "I'm so glad you're ok, and you're back. Where were you?!"
"Well, I was going to Florida, but only made it to Kentucky before coming home," I admit.
"Florida! And you drove all the way to Kentucky with a cold, and a stranger? You sound better, dear, but come on I'll make you some tea. We really need to talk, about everything," she rambles, leading me to the kitchen, Hannah disappearing to the living room.
"Mom, it's late and I'm exhausted."
"We need to talk."
I groan, sitting at the kitchen table.
"Why did you drink?" She jumps right in.
I deserve it. "I was pressured into it, and I thought it would be just a sip of one," I admit. I still can't believe how much I drank.
"Who pressured you?" She starts filling two mugs with water.
"Some girls at the party we went to. I knew a few of them," I continue.
"How much did you drink?"
"Enough for me to act crazy, but I'm not sure I even technically qualified as drunk," I defend, although I do remember calling Harry hot at least three times. Which isn't untrue, but I don't often state things like that.
"Qualified?" She raises her eyebrows. "You make it sound like a competition."
"I'm sorry."
"Hmm, well those were the easy questions," she says, and I prepare myself for what I know is coming. "Are you a virgin?" She stops her tea-making to look me in the eye. She phrased it differently than I was expecting.
"Yes, mom," I say, not breaking eye contact.
"Have you ever come close to not being a virgin?"
I cringe. "Yes," I say more quietly.
"With Harry?" She's still looking me in the eye.
"Yes."
"The other night, after you drank?"
"Yes," I admit.
"Is that why you were wearing his clothes?"
I sigh, glad I can finally answer her with "No, it wasn't."
"Why were you wearing his clothes?" She asks, finally blinking.
"We had a huge argument in the morning, but then he realized I was sick and my outfit wasn't comfortable and his was," I say. Technically I'm not lying. Just leaving some things out.
"Why do you want to move out?" She continues to make the tea.
"Because I'm eighteen and it's time for me to go."
"Why else?"
"Because I'm still dating Harry and I know you disapprove and I know that you won't let him come here," I admit honestly.
"So you're letting him, that... That good-for-nothing asshole, come between us?" She turns away from the counter again.
I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. "You're the one letting him come between us."
"He's a terrible man, how could I possibly be ok with this?"
"He isn't a terrible man," I defend. "He may be a jerk sometimes but he's not a terrible man."
"How can you say that, when he's gotten you drunk and tried to take advantage of you, and landed you in the hospital?!"
I'm not sure what to say, because she's right, he's done all those things.
"You can't even deny the truth. You know he's no good, but you let him abuse you!" She continues.
"He doesn't abuse me!"
"Has he ever hit you?" She looks worried and pissed all at once.
"No! Never, not once," I stand up. "He isn't abusive, and he's not a terrible man."
"Every time you go somewhere with him you come home a mess! You've come home soaking wet, you've come home crying, you've come home and not slept for two weeks, now you don't come home at all!"
I stay silent again, because she's right again.
"I'm going to bed," she says, and walks away without another word. She's right.
Stressed, I look up the signs of an abusive relationship. We fit nearly half of the definitions. The more I read, the angrier I become. She's right. My mom is right. He has an awful temper, attacking people left and right. He is so jealous and possessive, beating up Louis because we ate lunch. He is so controlling that without me realizing it he got me to come back instead of going to Florida. He put on a show of generosity, buying the groceries. He pressured me for sex, and is intimidating when angry. I am in an abusive relationship and I didn't even know it. Before I know what I'm doing, I've opened a bottle of wine. I know this isn't me, but I'm so mad and stressed I can't help it. If I just have a little it will go away and I can go to sleep.
But a little becomes a lot, and I soon find myself angrier, and drinker, than ever. And then I get in the car. Sick, drunk, and pissed, I drive to his house.
I don't remember the ride there, but the fact that I made it alive it surprising. His car is here but the lights are all of. He doesn't answer my angry knocking. I walk around the back, and find his window ajar. After climbing through it and landing on his bedroom floor, I notice he's not in bed. I head through the pitch dark living room to the kitchen. I turn the light on and search for any alcohol, but I can't find any. Either he's got it all hidden or he doesn't have any. Knowing him, it's hidden. Or maybe he drank it all. When I turn around from the cupboards, I jump to find him standing in the doorway. His hair is a mess. He's leaning against the frame, arms folded against his chest. He looks relieved and pissed at the same time.
"Are you looking for something?" He asks. He's clearly just woken up.
"Alcohol," I answer.
He squints at me. "You're completely drunk," he concludes.
"You're a complete asshole," I snap. "I know you have alcohol, where is it?"
"What happened to 'I'll see you soon, smiley face'?" He steps closer.
"That's right Harry, keep stepping closer, anything to intimidate me!" I yell.
"How much did you drink?" He's surprisingly calm. I hate it. I want to to yell and scream. I wanted to find him drunk. I want him to be the typical abusive boyfriend so that I can get it over with.
"None of your business," I tease.
He sighs and rubs his temples. "Ok."
"Where's the alcohol?"
"I don't have any."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying."
"Why weren't you sleeping in your bed?" I change the subject.
"Because it reminded me of you," he says.
I blink. What is he doing?
"So you hate me that much?" I invent.
"I'm glad you're back," he says randomly.
"I'm not." I say. "But I'm sure you are. You got just what you wanted. You can even control me from a hundred miles away! I hate you for it," I spit.
Instead of the angry spark I was trying to ignite, his whole ember seems to to out.
"Why did you come?"
"I hate you," I repeat. "I hate you because you're controlling, and jealous, and possessive, and intimidating, and you can't control your temper. Do you know what all those things add up to Harry? An abusive boyfriend. You're abusive."
He opens his mouth, but says nothing.
"That's right. You can't punch you way out of this. You can't scare me into kissing you. You can't control it. Do you know what people do in abusive relationships? They get out of them," I drop the bomb.