***Six Months Later***

Every day seemed to be the same thing. I would get up, go to work, come home, and sleep. Throw in some general things like housework and showering and that’s pretty much what my life has been for the past few months.

My friends would call me and ask if I wanted to hang out, but the truth was…I really didn’t, and I was annoyed at myself for that. I’ve been keeping myself busy daily with boring things but when the chance to do something fun comes along. I shut people out.

I couldn’t help it. I missed him. I missed them all.

I shook my head, refusing to let myself think about PTV, the club…or him. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about any of it for a while, but every now and then, a memory would sneak in, and I just wanted to go upstairs, get into bed, curl up in a ball and cry.

But I can’t. He would ask questions and I didn’t want to talk to him about them.

Today was one of my rare days where I had nothing to do. No work, no cleaning, nothing, and luckily Ryan was at work and would be all day. I could actually relax!

I stayed in bed for a little while longer before deciding that it was time to get up and get ready for the day. I went about picking up yesterday's clothes off my floor, stopping dead for a second when I saw a pair of Ryan’s boxer shorts. I swallowed the lump in my throat and picked them up too, before dumping all the dirty clothes into the hamper.

I went into the bathroom and grabbed a few more bits that needed to be washed and brought them back out. I had nothing else to do today. I might as well do some washing.

Picking up the hamper, I took it downstairs and loaded the washing machine and then went back up to have a shower. I was just trying to keep myself busy, but as I walked into the bedroom, I couldn’t help but look at the computer.

While I had tried not to think about California or my outlaw bikers who lived there, annoyingly, they were clearly thinking about me.

I had a bunch of unopened, unread emails sent from the garage’s email address. I don’t know who they were from, and I didn’t know why they were sending them. I knew Alex had tried contacting me a few times, but I didn’t respond.

I wasn’t trying to be a twat about it. I loved him. I really, really did, but the more I thought about him, the harder it was to move on. And my only option was to move on. What life could we have? I lived here; he lived there. It wouldn’t have worked.

I stared at the computer for an unhealthy amount of time, knowing I would probably have yet another new email to add to the pile. Finally, I sighed and headed to the bathroom to have my shower.

I climbed out of the shower earlier than I normally would. I just couldn’t turn my brain off. Wrapping a towel around myself, I went back to my bedroom and straight to my computer. Six months, six bloody months I had managed to avoid looking at these emails, but something inside me snapped, and now I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

I sat down, soaking my chair, but I didn’t care. I opened the laptop and went to my email. As predicted, there was a new email, but I decided to read the other ones first.

I went all the way back to the first email. It had been sent only a few days after I left PTV, and even though it was sent from the garage email, it was from Alexander. I took a deep breath in and out before I opened it.

Hey Harley, God, You haven’t even been gone a week and I miss you so fucking much. Can’t you just come back to me? Please? I know you have your own life there, a job, friends, but I can give you so much more here. We can be together, You’ll have your dad, you’ll have Jemma, the guys, we all care about you, and I love you so much!

Come back, Please! X

Reading the email completely crushed me. He was begging me to return to him. This was months ago, and I never replied. I felt so bloody guilty…but ignoring it and moving on was for the best. Though, I hadn’t exactly moved on. I’ve just been drifting day-to-day, trying not to think about it.

What happened in PTV really scared me. I was kidnapped, beaten, held at gunpoint, amongst other things, all because I was “associated” with the club and Ron and Alex. It was mental. If I had stayed.or returned, how safe would I be?

He said he could give me “so much more,” but could he help me sleep better at night? Could he take away the fear of being taken again? At least here in England, I knew what danger I was in. I lived with my abuser. There were no surprises. I knew what to expect from him. Reluctantly, not sure if I wanted to read any more of the emails, I went back and clicked on the next one, sent one week later.

Harl, I haven’t heard from you. I know you probably need space after what you went through but please let me know if you’re ok x Again, it was from the garage email, and it was from Alexander. I went to the next one, sent another 4 days later.

Harley, Seriously, please just let me know you’re safe.

After that one, there wasn’t another email for a few weeks and, well.That was the last email Alexander sent me. After that, there were a few from Ron, but the last couple were from Jemma. I could tell without opening them because they were from her garage email address. I decided I had enough guilt for one day and decided not to read them just yet. Maybe in a couple of days. Maybe a couple of weeks. I don’t know, but right now I needed to get dressed and get out of this damp towel.

He wanted to know I was safe, and I just ignored him. I felt bloody awful.