five
1423 Words
Leah did not call for three days after Sunday. That was not unusual for us, but it still made me restless. We did not text every day. We did not do goodnight messages or morning check-ins. Most of our time happened in person. When the routine broke, I felt it.
On Wednesday evening she finally texted.
He is coming tomorrow.
I stared at the message before replying.
Do you want me around?
She took longer than usual.
Yes. But not inside.
Okay. What time?
Two.
I will be close.
She reacted with a simple thumbs up.
The next day I cleared my schedule. I told myself I was just being supportive, but I knew I was nervous. I had never met her father. I did not know what kind of man he was. I only knew Leah did not want him there.
At one-thirty I was outside her building. I did not go in. I stood near the entrance where I could see the stairs and the parking area. I tried to look normal, like I was waiting for someone, not guarding a situation that did not belong to me.
At one-fifty-five Leah called.
“Are you there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Good,” she said. “Do not come up unless I call you.”
“Okay.”
She hung up.
At two o’clock a car pulled in. A man stepped out. He was tall, older, dressed neatly. He moved with confidence and irritation at the same time, like he expected things to go his way. He looked at the building for a moment, then walked inside.
I waited.
Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen.
My phone buzzed.
He is loud.
I replied.
Do you want me to come up?
A minute later.
Not yet. Stay.
So I stayed. I kept my eyes on the entrance. I tried not to imagine what was happening upstairs, but I could not stop myself. I kept thinking about Leah having to stand there and hear him speak like he had a right to her space.
At around thirty minutes she called again. Her voice was quiet.
“Can you come up,” she asked.
“Okay,” I replied, and went inside.
I took the stairs quickly. When I reached her door, I knocked once. She opened immediately. Her face was controlled, but her eyes looked tired.
“Come in,” she said.
I stepped inside.
Her father was in the living room near the bookshelf. He had picked up one of her books and was holding it like it offended him. He looked at me as if I had walked into the wrong place.
Leah spoke first. “This is my friend.”
Her father looked at her. “Friend,” he repeated, like he did not respect the word.
“Yes,” Leah said.
He put the book down and looked at me again. “What is your name.”
I gave him my name. He nodded once.
“What do you do,” he asked.
I answered simply. Student, and part time work when I could.
He looked at Leah. “This is the kind of company you keep.”
Leah’s jaw tightened. “Do not start.”
“I am not starting,” he said. “I am observing.”
I glanced at Leah. She gave me a brief look that told me to stay calm.
Her father walked toward the kitchen area, then turned back. “You did not answer my calls.”
“I saw them,” Leah said.
“So why did you not answer.”
“Because I did not want to,” she replied.
He laughed once. “You think you can act like this and still expect support.”
“I did not ask you for anything,” Leah said.
“You always ask,” he replied. “Even when you do not speak.”
Leah stood still. “That is not true.”
He looked at me. “You are here to protect her.”
“I am here because she asked me to be nearby,” I said.
He turned back to Leah. “So you can call a man, but you cannot answer your father.”
Leah’s voice tightened. “Do not talk about him like that.”
Her father waved it off. “I came to talk. I came to be normal.”
Leah let out a short laugh. “Normal.”
“Yes,” he said. “You are grown now. Whatever you think happened, it is time to move on.”
Leah stared at him. “Whatever I think happened.”
He sighed. “Leah, you were always sensitive.”
“You do not get to call it that,” she said.
He took a breath and said, too quickly, “Fine. I am sorry.”
Leah did not react.
He added, “I am sorry you are still holding on to this.”
Leah’s expression changed. Her control slipped. Not fully, but enough.
“Get out,” she said.
He blinked. “Excuse me.”
“Get out,” she repeated. “Leave.”
He stared at her, then looked at me as if he expected me to calm her down. I did not move.
He stepped toward Leah. “Do not speak to me like that.”
“Leave my house,” Leah said.
“Your house,” he repeated. “Everything you have came from me.”
Leah’s voice rose. “You do not own me because you paid for things.”
His face tightened. “You think this boy will save you.”
Leah snapped, “Do not talk about him. This is between us.”
He laughed louder. “You make everything dramatic.”
Leah’s hands were shaking. She tried to hide it.
“Leave,” she said again, and her voice broke on the word.
Her father stared at her for a long moment. Then he picked up his keys.
“Fine,” he said. “When you need help, do not come running.”
Leah said nothing.
He walked to the door. As he passed me, he paused and spoke quietly, like he wanted to plant something ugly in my head.
“You should be careful,” he said. “Girls like her ruin men.”
Leah heard it. She lifted her head fast. “Get out,” she said.
He left.
The door closed.
For a moment, Leah did not move. She stared at the door, breathing hard, like she was waiting for him to come back. Then she turned away and leaned on the counter.
“I hate him,” she said.
I nodded. “I know.”
“I hate that he can still do that,” she added.
“Do what,” I asked.
“Come in here and act like he is normal,” she said. “Act like I am the problem.”
“You are not the problem,” I said.
Leah let out a sharp laugh. “He always makes me feel crazy.”
“You are not crazy,” I said.
She looked at me. “I should not have asked you to come up.”
“It is okay,” I replied.
“It is not,” she said. “Now you saw it.”
“I am glad I came,” I said. “You did not have to do it alone.”
She stared at me for a moment, then looked away.
“I need to be alone,” she said.
My stomach dropped, but I kept my voice calm. “Okay.”
I moved toward the door. I did not argue. I did not try to stay.
Just before I left, she spoke again.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Anytime,” I replied.
She did not look at me. She stood there with her arms folded, holding herself together.
I left.
Outside, the day was still bright and normal. People moved around as if nothing had happened. It felt wrong that the world kept going.
That night Leah did not text. She did not call. I gave her space.
The next day she sent one message.
Do not come to the library for a while.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I replied.
Okay.
And that was the first time I understood that being close to Leah also meant learning how to step back when she asked, even when it hurt.
- Writer
