Chapter 56 Now
Now
“How exactly does this end, Natalie?” James asks.
We’re frozen, two cowboys in a Western, waiting for the other to draw first. But I’m the only one with a loaded gun this time; I have the advantage.
Perhaps James knows this, because suddenly, there are tears in his eyes. “I can’t let people think…I’ve not…I’m just trying to do my best, Nat. Everything just keeps getting fucked.”
Outside, I can hear the slow grumble of cars ebbing and flowing. Life is just going on. I want to rejoin it, escape this dead zone.
“James, you’ve made your bed. I’m afraid you’ve got to lie in it.”
And I’ve got to lie in mine, too. The memories of my exes, what I thought I’d done, have haunted me for years. I can grow. I can change. I’ve only just gotten the ghosts of Marc, of Luca, of George, off my conscience. Do I want James’s haunting me for the rest of my life?
And then he lunges, grabbing the wrist of the hand that holds the knife.
I’m thrown backward, back cracking against the foot of the bed. James now has one hand on my throat while the other thumps my wrist against the bed, trying to get me to relinquish my weapon.
Furious, I bring my knee up into his groin as hard as I can. He roars, collapses to the floor.
“Fucking bitch.”
I’m up, racing to the bedroom door.
And then I’m falling. A hand is around my ankle and I’m diving face first to the floor.
I manage to turn my body to protect my face from the blow, but my shoulder hits the wood, hard. My hand hits the floor at full impact, too, and the knife clatters free.
A huge weight is suddenly upon me, pushing breath out of my lungs. I realize James is scrabbling over me, trying to get to the knife.
The handle is just within reach. I punch it, hard, and it skids farther along the wood, falls over the lip of the stairs. We hear it clatter down.
But his weight is still pinning me down. I try to crawl out from under him. I’m not getting far. Then I think maybe if I can scratch at his eyes, he’ll back off. And I manage to turn onto my back, reach up for his face. A nail, a few nails, find purchase, scrape.
He curses even though I don’t manage to draw blood, lurches forward so that his wide shoulders push between my arms. And then his hands are on my throat, eyes wide, frightened.
I can’t breathe, find myself slapping at his arms. He doesn’t budge, eyes filling with tears.
Like it’s him who’s having the life choked out of him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you were different. I really did want a family with you.”
My hands flail, nails trying to find purchase in his skin again, clawing anywhere I can reach. But the silly little manicures I can now afford have taken the sharp edge off, tips softened by pretty pink gel. It’s not enough to deter him.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. A tear splashes into the silent scream of my mouth.
My vision is blurring; I know I’m in trouble.
I don’t want this to be the last thing I see.
His face, self-pitying. Him winning. Because then, what was it all for?
What has it all been for? One sister in the grave, another I’ll never get to know.
A future I’ll never get to have. Just another Black woman whose murder won’t even make the news. Another name forgotten.
A crack splits the air. I feel his fingers come loose and air rush in. His body collapses, the deadweight suffocating me for a moment more before I manage to roll him off.
I look up. Dimple. A lamp in her hand, arm still raised.
“Now, let’s get the fuck out of here,” she says.