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Of course, I had opinions about it. I'd been raised to see people who did that to be lazy because there was always something else that could be done.
Victoria urged me to fit in, to give it a try, and somehow, I got addicted to sitting quietly and watching these shows with them. It took months before it stopped feeling like I was breaking some sort of law. When I was angriest at Nathan and Xan after I'd get out of the shower, my skin still warm from the water, and have to put on a long-sleeved shirt to cover my scars, I'd watch until the early hours of the morning in an effort to disobey them.
Beck doesn't look my way when the sound of me picking up the packaged muffin is noisy in the silent room. He simply moves his pillows down to the foot of the bed and lies back, his arm lifting slightly with the remote in his hand.
The television comes on but there are setup prompts, and Beck has to sit up to grab his cell phone from the bedside table.
I turn my eyes away again, not needing the images of the way his t-shirt stretches across his muscular back stuck in my head.
He types out something on his phone and when it buzzes in his hand a minute later, he once again lifts the remote and keys in some information as prompted.
With a swiftness that makes my head hurt, he scrolls through the options. He doesn't ask me what I want to watch and probably assumes I won't answer him. Even though I watched movies with powerful women who stood their ground, with Beth, I'd never risk requesting the same with him.
He chooses a show that has nine seasons and selects the pilot episode.
I've never watched this series, but I won't argue. If anything, maybe the comedy of the folks working together in the office setting will lift the dark cloud that seems to stay right above me.
Curling up on my side, I watch as the story unfolds, catching myself smiling at the funny parts, not because of the acting but because Beck doesn't hold back.
His laugh is husky and deep, and I find it a little sad that laughter in general from a man isn't something I've ever been familiar with. His sound is carefree and light, not the sinister and dark noises Nathan would make when he was happy to be hurting me.
Instead of growing increasingly nervous as the day continues, one episode fading into the next, I notice how my pulse calms. My heart somehow knows that I'm not in danger even though there's still the whisper of fear in the back of my head.
The episodes don't last long, and after the first four, I close my eyes and just listen to the sounds, waiting for something humorous to happen so I can hear his laughter once again.
There were times when Nathan would hold back that evil side of him. He'd treat me like a daughter, like someone he cherished and loved, but it never lasted. After the things he'd done to me for years, there was no way I could let myself get lost in the lies he was portraying.
I'd still flinch every time he lifted his arm near me, terrified he was going to backhand me across the face.
My hands would tremble when he walked into the room or when I heard his car pull up outside the house.
He hated me, blamed me for that fear. It was a weakness, and the only way to get past it was to hurt me more until the pain became second nature. He wanted me to love it. He wanted me to beg him for more. I learned after many painful interactions that sounding genuine when asking him to hurt me more was the only thing that got him to stop. I also learned that I couldn't ask too soon because he'd know I was just trying to get it over with.
Needless to say, Nathan was never happy and the rules that he made up always changed. I was never in a position to predict what was going to happen from day to day, and the stress of living that way I'm certain has shaved years off my life.
This situation doesn't carry the same worry, but I know I can't trust that either.
Everyone has an agenda, and I can't let myself believe that Beck is any different.
Chapter 11
Newton
She doesn't make a sound while we watch television. She doesn't chuckle or groan when a joke is delivered in poor taste which this show is known for.
The morning is spent with the television on, and I do my best to pay attention. Thankfully, it's a guilty pleasure of mine. I've seen it so many times I know exactly when to laugh even though the majority of my attention is on her.
I'm not even looking in her direction, but my body is well aware that I'm not alone in the room.
Part of it feels like a thrill but there's also a part of me that is in survival mode at having my back, or the top of my head as it were, to someone I don't know that I can trust.
She doesn't have access to weapons. I know Em wouldn't have packed any if she'd found them hidden in her room. I guess it's possible she could've taken my razor apart, but I don't think she'd attack me unless she was provoked or thought I was going after her.
Staying in this room with me rather than going with Em when a bedroom at her house was offered speaks loudly of the fact that there's a part of her that feels as if she's safe here with me.
I shift my weight on the bed, moving to lift my arm to fold it behind my head. It activates my watch, telling me that we've been watching television for hours and it's well past lunchtime.
I sit up, grabbing the remote before climbing off the bed.
