Beyond His Control (Dark Romance Suspense) (His Duet Book 2)
Beyond His Control: Chapter 3

Standing in front of my apartment building is empowering.

I never thought I’d be back here.

Everything feels familiar but also completely new, as though the world is covered in a veneer that I can’t quite peel off. Everything’s the same, yet nothing is … because I’ve changed. Every step I take toward my old life only reminds me more of the fact that I’m no longer the girl I used to be when I still lived here.

Sighing, I enter the elevator and push the button. Emmy anxiously hops across the metallic lining and glances around as though she’s looking for a door.

“What is this … thing? This box?” she asks.

“An elevator,” I say, giggling. “It’ll take us up.”

When it starts to move, she grabs both walls and squeals. “Natalie! What’s happening? It’s moving!”

I giggle again. “That’s normal. It’s just a trolley pulling us up.”

“A what?”

“Like a bucket being pulled out of a well,” I explain.

It’s as if the light switches on in her brain. “Oh. Well … that makes sense.” She immediately stops clambering for the walls and stands up straight, and it only makes me want to giggle more.

“Stop it,” she says.

“Is this how you felt when you saw me stumble in the community?” I ask, raising a brow.

The doors open, and I walk out, but she shoves me a little. “Still sassy as ever.”

I throw her a cheeky smile before walking through the hallway and knocking on a door I’ve not knocked on in a very long time. When the door opens, a very mystified apartment building owner stares at me.

“Wilbur … Hi,” I say, waving when there’s no response. “I’m back.”

“Natalie?” he mumbles. “I thought you’d moved out of the country?”

I don’t know how to answer that one. It’s a lie Noah told him, but I’m not ready yet to tell anyone what really happened to me, let alone the man I rented an apartment from.

“I … did, and now I moved back,” I say with a stupid laugh. “I was wondering if you still kept my apartment intact, like I left it?”

“Ah … yeah. No one seemed interested in the apartment. They all said it was too much work,” he says, opening the door a little farther.

“Could I possibly rent it from you again?” When his brows furrow, I add, “I promise, I’ll pay back whatever I still had due with you. I’m a little tight on cash right now, but I’m working on it, and I’ll get it to you as quickly as I can.”

He raises his hand. “It’s fine. Some guy already paid it off for you.”

I frown. Could it have been Noah?

“But I do want an advance for next month in case you bail on me again,” he says. “I’ll give you three weeks.”

“Got it,” I say. “I’ll do my best.”

He throws us a mistrustful glare before turning away and fiddling in a closet somewhere next to the door. He fishes out a key. “Here you go.”

I snatch the key, saying, “Thank you!”

Then I spin on my heels and walk in the opposite direction up a flight of stairs while Emmy quickly follows.

There’s my door, my apartment, straight ahead.

I blow out a breath and march toward it with the key in my hand. But the closer I get, the more my hand begins to shake. With every step comes more tremors until my entire body shivers too. Even though I’m right in front of my door, I can’t bring myself to stick the key into the lock.

All I can do is stare at the wood and imagine the world of pain that lies beyond.

I can’t face it all alone.

It’s as if I’ve been holding my breath all this time, walking this way in a trance, as though something otherworldly pulled me back to my old life. But standing here now makes me question my sanity, my reality … my life.

I place a hand on the wall and lean into it as the tears begin to fall. They pour out of me as my face scrunches into an impossible, visceral emotion.

I’ve come all this way … only to break down right in front of the goal.

The cry that emanates from my body isn’t one I recognize, but I feel it in my bones. It’s a cry of suffering, a cry of immense injustice, and a cry for the person I once was … who is now gone forever.

Trauma does something to the mind. It changes people from within. It molds us to become a newer version of ourselves, so like a lizard shedding its tail, I’ve been reborn. But not in a way I ever expected, and it terrifies me to the point of being frozen to the ground.

Suddenly, two warm hands wrap around my waist, covering me with love and acceptance.

Frizzled hair tickles my skin, and lips draw closer to my ear. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. I’m here.”

Emmy.

I forgot she was here.

She’s kneeled on the floor right beside me, and she pulls me into her embrace and places my head against her chest while softly shushing me as I cry out all the tears I need to shed.

“You’re not alone. You’re going to be fine,” she whispers, patting my back. “You can handle this. You’ve been through much worse. You’re a warrior Natalie.”

She’s more than I thought she could be.

I lift my head and wipe away the tears. “See? You can do it.”

I nod and brush aside what’s left of my agony, letting it slide off my shoulders.

It feels good to know someone’s here, and that I’m not alone in this, even if it is … Emmy. Maybe we don’t choose who we need the most. They just happen to be there when the time is right.

Sighing, I lean back, and say, “I’m okay, I think.”

“You sure?” She raises a brow.

“Yeah,” I say. “I have to be.” I get up and pat myself down. “I can’t waste time on falling apart.”

After taking a long, deep breath, I stuff the key into the lock and open the door to my home.

It’s dry and dusty inside, but everything’s still the same as the way I left it, even my furniture and stuff.

“Wow …” Emmy mutters, walking around. “Is this … your house?”

“Yup,” I reply. “Before I was taken.”

She gives me an awkward smile. “It’s lovely.” She looks at the television and cocks her head. “What’s that?”

I grab the remote and turn it on. She immediately jumps back. “Natalie! There are moving people inside that thing!” She grabs the television and starts inspecting it up close, checking the back to see where the little people are.

I laugh. “No, they’re not really here. It’s a transmission.”

“A what?” she asks.

“They send signals from far away to this box, and then I get this image,” I say. “It’s called a television. It has shows and news and stuff like that.”

“So there are no people stuck inside?”

“No,” I say, covering my mouth to stop more laughter from spilling out. “It’s not a tiny suffering hut.”

“Oh …” She breathes a sigh of relief. “Good. I was starting to worry.”

“Did they ever put you in there?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “A friend of mine did, though. She got kissed by a boy who wasn’t her husband. She said they slapped her with a stick, and it was the worst experience ever.”

I nod. “Sounds about what I experienced.”

“I’m sorry they put you through that,” Emmy says, clearing her throat.

I lick my lips, and say, “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was,” she says, approaching me. “They put you there because I pushed you to your limit and made you hit me. It’s not fair.” She grabs my arm. “I wish I’d understood it back then. That I knew about this place. This … vast world.” Her eyes sparkle with joy.

It’s hard not to smile. “Now you know,” I say. “And there’s so much more for you to see.”

She smiles from ear to ear now. “I want to see it all.” She walks to the window and slides the curtains aside. “It’s so beautiful here, and there are so many lights everywhere.”

She continues staring out the window while I grab a glass from the cupboard and pour myself some water. After coming all this way, I’m thirsty as hell, and I’m pretty sure whatever’s still in the fridge has wasted away.

Maybe I’ll do some shopping with Emmy tomorrow. She might enjoy that.

We only have a few more bucks left, though, so I have to be careful not to spend it all. I should go search for a job so I can support us. Maybe she’d be able to work too, though I’d probably have to help her understand how things work.

So many things to do, and I’ve only just gotten back.

I shake my head and go toward the bathroom to freshen up. However, I stop in my tracks the moment I come face to face with the door again. That same door that used to bother me so much.

My hand hovers over the door handle; my heartbeat steady as I stare at the wood. I’ve already been through so much … I can do this too.

With swiftness, I push it down and open the door.

There it is … the room that was once my personal nightmare.

On the walls hang several pictures of colorful butterflies and twinkling stars with a matching closet in the back of the room. To the right is a changing station and to the left, a crib.

I sigh and stare at the abandoned room that’s been untouched for so long I don’t even remember when I last set foot in here. All I know is that it was before … before Noah took me to the community … before Steve left me … before my baby died.

I walk into the room and close my eyes, saying a prayer to myself.

This is where I left all my hopes and dreams. Where my heart shriveled and dried up. Where all my wishes turned into dust.

My hand instinctively reaches for my scar, and I rub my belly. It was too hard to face the truth, so I opted for ignoring it altogether. If I just didn’t go in here, it wouldn’t be real. If I didn’t see this room, things would still be okay. I would be okay. My baby would be okay.

It was a lie I told myself to survive each day.

“Is this … from your previous baby?” Emmy mutters, sneaking up behind me.

I glance at her over my shoulder. “Was.” I pluck one of the ultrasounds from the wall and gaze at his tiny little feet. “My son … died shortly after birth.”

“Oh … I’m sorry,” she says, clutching her arms.

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago,” I say, rubbing my scar again. “He’ll always have a piece of my heart.”

“You were brave to go through all that pain,” she says, and she places her hands on my shoulders. “That scar you carry is proof of your courage.”

I grab her hand. “Thanks. But I’m not. Not really, anyway. This is the first time I’ve been able to step into this room since.”

“You’ve overcome so much already,” she says. “You can handle this too.”

I nod. Why is she so wise for her age? It’s almost as if she’s seeing things in a totally different light than she was when she was still at the community.

Suddenly, I feel nauseous, and I cover my mouth with my hand and run for the bathroom. I puke in the toilet and quickly flush it before Emmy walks in too.

“Whoa. That was … sudden,” she says while I close the lid. “Are you okay?”

I wipe my face with a paper towel and throw it away. “Yeah … I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” she says.

I sit down on the toilet and rub my belly again as it’s cramping a little.

Her eyes narrow as she gazes at me, and then they suddenly widen. “Are you … pregnant?”

My lips part, but I’m at a loss of words.

I hadn’t thought about it since I last held that stick in my hand.

I nod slowly, completely taken aback by my own ability to ban things to the back of my head just so I don’t have to deal with them anymore.

But it’s real, and it’s here.

A baby is coming.

And Noah has probably found the stick by now.