Salvation

Chapter 22. How she keeps running

Chapter Twenty-Two: How She Keeps Running

Edited and Rewritten

Nathan's POV

I close the cupboard after preparing for dinner. I sigh, pushing against the counter, and I start to walk back towards Grace's room. I had left her for a while, allowing her to calm down and allowing myself to shower and dress as I was still in my swimming trunks.

My heart has not stopped hurting; there is a physical weight on my chest as I can't stop feeling somehow guilty for not investigating the weird behaviour that I have witnessed David do around Grace. The bruises of the belt buckle on her skin make me feel nauseous, and I do not know how she managed to survive for this long. I have never felt rage like that before; seeing the fear in her eyes made me want to kill him. I still do. I knock on the bedroom door, but no reply comes, so I knock again.

"Grace?" I call, panic wavering my voice.

"Grace, I'm coming in, okay?"

I push open the door; the room is silent and still. The clothes that I had ordered were folded neatly on the bed. I knock on the bathroom door, but silence. My heart drops to my stomach, and I sharply turn to rush out of the room, but a piece of paper with my name written in Grace's hand lays on the clothes and stops me in my tracks.

My hand gently trembles as I reach out for it, and my stomach wrenches. I already knew that Grace had left to go back to David. Tears burn into my eyes before racing down my cheeks as I open the folded paper. I blink, pushing the tears away so that I can read without blurring the words.

Nathan,

I am so sorry, but I had to leave. I had to leave without a goodbye because I couldn't bring myself to answer your question; I know that if I open that door, it leads to nothing but pain and years' worth of unanswered questions. I guess that I am too cowardly to find out the answer.

I apologise for any distress caused to you over this, and I hope you understand why I can never bear to see you again. So, I think that it would be better to forget me, please, it would make everything so much easier. With that being said, I need you to accept this as my letter of resignation.

I am losing control over my life and, more importantly, my feelings, especially when I am around you. If these walls break down, I am frightened of what will happen when they do.

Just know that I am grateful for everything you have given me in the months that I have known you. I will miss you, and I will never forget your kindness. I am forever thankful for giving me back that feeling of family, and I will keep the memories of you and your family with me forever.

Please forgive me and continue to be the warm, caring, happy man I know you to be.

Goodbye,

Grace

The paper crumples in my grip, and I sink to my knees. Grace has ripped a hole in my chest. She can't go back to him, not after everything, not after what she told me about David. Tears drip and smudge the ink on the paper, and I feel like someone has punched me in the gut.

Grace has left her mark on my heart, staining and ruining it for anyone else. But, it would always belong to her. I had no control, and even if I did, she was the perfect choice and the only one I would willingly trust to hold my heart forever. Why does she keep running? I can help her, but I guess that I can't help her until she wants it and is willing to help herself in return.

I knew something was going on with Grace and David. With the way, he would act around her as if he owned her. I mean, what kind of twenty-five-year-old man goes out with an underage seventeen-year-old? It's just sick.

"Come on, Grace, pick up," I say as I walk up and down the hall as I keep trying her phone, but it continues to go to voicemail.

"Grace, please answer."

"I took her to the airport; she is probably already on the plane," says Bradley, shutting the front door behind him.

I rush to him, grabbing his jacket and pushing him against the door. My anger and heartache are taking over me.

"You took her back to him. She's not safe," I tell him, angry tears running down my face.

Bradley doesn't anger or fight me off. Instead, he pats my back before removing my grip from him and wraps me in his arms.

"David isn't safe; Grace could be in danger,"

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Bradley comments, his arms gripping me tighter as I fight against him.

"We need to help her, damn her letter. We are not forgetting her," I tell Bradley, pushing him away and standing up.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

I feel the pull of the take-off pushing me back into my seat. My mind can focus on nothing but Grace; I am haunted by the look of fear housed within her eyes. I hated myself for not doing more, not noticing sooner, and not acting on the gut feeling that stabbed at me whenever I saw David interact with Grace. I wish that I hadn't written it off as jealousy.

"Here", Bradley's grave and rough voice cut through the haze.

I take the glass from him, and the familiar taste of whiskey touches my tongue. The burn is a comfort as it moves past my tongue and down my throat.

"She will be okay,"

I frown; even Bradley can't hide that he didn't quite believe the words he had just said, but I nod and choose to believe that untrue promise that Bradley had uttered.

My heart twists in my chest, it is beginning to beat just for her, and it doesn't belong to me anymore. I can no longer control it. I run a hand through my hair, trying to fight the tremble. Grace had pushed me away and told me to forget the kiss that had shattered and moved my world. I will not act on my feelings for her until she asks me to. I just want to help her; I will accept that painful truth if she does not feel for me like I feel for her.

≿————- ❈ ————-≾

My living room feels cold and dark. My hands play with the glass of whiskey that I am holding. I stare into the fire burning and flickering with the same fury that is swallowing me whole.

The front door closes, gaining my attention, and my eyes find Bradley standing at the bar cart, pouring himself a whiskey. I see the red eyes and the despair on his face. He, like me, is blaming himself.

"What should I do?"

Bradley throws himself down on the chair to my right and shrugs his shoulders. He swallows a mouthful of whiskey before looking at me, the fire highlighting the regret in his tear-stained eyes.

"I made her promise me that she would phone if there was any trouble, but she hasn't, so," Bradley says, taking a deep breath.

"So, I am taking that as a good sign,"

"I'll leave her until tomorrow, and then I am phoning for a wellness check. Then, if I have to go to her, I will," I tell him, my voice ragged and worn from my own grief.

My eyes burn, but I force myself to swallow the tears the rest of the whiskey before I look to see Bradley's thoughts on my plan. Bradley just nods, looking just as numb. He moves swiftly from the chair and out of the door.

I am left alone in the apartment with my own misery for company.