Chapter 14 #3
I glance up, and Arthur is meeting my gaze, and his eyes are very, very dark. Black. Suddenly, the blood is roaring past my ears, and all I can see is those black eyes because fuck, that’s what Dad looked like.
I run. Pure primal instinct is screaming through my body, and I don’t even feel my legs moving, but suddenly I’m in the hallway. The first door is the bathroom, and as if in a dream, I’m there.
Then, I’m yanked backward.
I fight, my heart thumping, run, run, run. I watch my fingers grab the doorway and yank myself inside. There’s a huge weight pulling me down, and I’m slammed to the ground. I turn, but it’s hard. Like I’m stuck in a sleeping bag that’s too tight, and I can’t move.
When I do get turned, Arthur is looming over me, face tight, neck muscles and cartilage in stark relief against his neck.
That’s when I realize there’s pressure around my neck.
His hands are around my neck, and he’s squeezing.
Squeezing and I think yelling. His mouth is moving, and spit is flying down on me, but I can’t hear it.
Why can’t I hear it? All I hear is whooshing, like maybe the floor broke open and a broken pipe is rushing right by my ear. When did the floor break open?
That primal terror is circling my head in a defeated circle. Get away! Can’t get away. If you don’t get away, bad things will happen.
I scramble, but I can’t… It’s like a wall is pressing down on me. I squeeze my eyes shut, and Dad’s face is there. Dad’s face–angry and screaming. I thought I got away from him?
Thump, thump, thump. The thud of my heartbeat slowly gets louder. Then I hear something else, something sharp and rhythmic. Barking?
I suck in a deep breath and realize that I can. The barking is getting louder.
“–little prick.”
Something slams against my feet. I blink, looking down. It’s the door. My feet are halfway out the doorway.
I stare at the dirty grout of the bathroom floor. He left me. He left.
I suck in breath after breath. It’s hard. My throat feels tight.
Why did he leave? Did I fight him off?
I feel numb. I know I’m still conscious, but I can’t feel much other than my tight throat.
And then I hear voices. Strange voices, followed by Arthur’s familiar one. “Thank god you’re here. He has low blood sugar, and sometimes he passes out. I couldn’t get him to come to.”
Footsteps grow closer, and the rushing starts again.
Run, run, run.
Only, I can barely scramble to my knees before the door is swinging open and I’m staring at Arthur and two…cops?
Suddenly, I feel out of place. On the floor isn’t the right place to greet them.
“Hey, Mads, you’re up. You feeling okay? The cops are here. Guess the neighbors heard you fall when you passed out.” Arthur has his nurse voice on, and immediately, I straighten and stand up.
And so I do. When I stand, the bathroom tilts.
Arthur has that concerned look, and his eyes aren’t black anymore.
I blink.
“Hey, can we talk separately for a moment?” the cop asks.
“Really, it’ll be fine; this happens all the time. Blood sugar.” Arthur laughs like they’re friends. Like he used to laugh with me.
Against my will, tears start forming in my eyes. Because what changed?
One cop pulls Arthur back, and another steps into the bathroom with me.
I end up pressing charges on Arthur. Mostly because that’s what the cop said I should do, and partially because I’m mad. Mad that he’s giving the nice version of Arthur to someone else and not me. Me. His only till death do us part lover.
Although I guess the marks he made on my neck were pretty bad–a lesson Arthur learned not to do later.
But they take him to jail, and I’m left alone in the apartment that I can’t afford.
I’m reminded of him every day. Every day, that burning hatred cools, and in its place sits a cold shame.
I should have told Jared I’d take Arthur anywhere I went.
Arthur shouldn’t have put his hands on me, but I could have explained the situation before it got to that point. I know how Arthur is.
A few weeks later, charges are dropped on a technicality–one of the cops forgot to read Arthur his Miranda Rights. Arthur doesn’t lose his job because the charges were dropped.
Arthur comes back to the apartment mad as all hell. He kicks my ass, and I curl up in a ball on the floor, some fucked up part of me thinking I deserve it. Because I do. I started it, and I could fight back.
Then Arthur curls up on the floor next to me, sobbing and begging me for forgiveness.
Saying he was scared he’d lose everything and was just angry.
He promises me we can get through anything.
Through it all, I just place my head on the cool floor and listen to the neighbor's dog bark. Bark and bark and bark. Arthur’s yelling must have scared him again.
I feel bad. The poor dog.
That night, I make a plan to get away. At the very least to give the dog some relief.
I’m going to start letting some bills go so I can save enough money to get out of here and go somewhere else.
I call my siblings and ask if they can send birthday gifts early, just a few things like gift cards for groceries.
Arthur says he’s going to change. He signs up for therapy and starts going weekly.
He starts buying me little gifts, and they just collect dust on the kitchen counter.
I desperately want each gift, but I’m afraid that if I touch them, I’ll break out of whatever numb state I’ve found myself in.
So the flowers die, and the chocolates stand unopened.
I busy myself with work and a family of pigeons that made its nest on our outside patio, giving them scraps from my meals and making sure they have water.
Then, one evening, Arthur comes home from the bar saying something happened with his friends.
He starts crying, saying no one loves him, and asks why I can’t love him the way I used to.
His voice starts rising, like it does before he gets mad, and I freeze, everything in me telling me that if I just lie low, he’ll calm down.
Then the neighbor’s dog starts barking.
The barking breaks me out of my frozen state. If the dog is scared, I should be too. Walking as calmly as I can to the bedroom, I grab a go bag I made. Arthur follows me, but stops to puke in the hallway. I step around him, hands shaking, grab my keys, and slip out of the apartment.
I run the rest of the way to my car, terrified he’s going to chase me.
He never does.