8. Karla
KARLA
“Save your fucking breath!” I screamed, my voice raw and foreign even to my own ears.
I shot up from the bed, heart pounding so hard it rattled my ribs.
Adrenaline hit like fire in my veins as I dove into the closet, ripping James’s oversized suitcase from the shelf.
It slammed against the floor with a thud that echoed through the apartment.
Every drawer, every hanger became an outlet for fury. I grabbed shirts by the fistful, flinging them like accusations. “She can have you. You—you fucking fuck of a fuckhead!”
My words came out in bursts, too small for the betrayal burning through me. The air itself seemed charged, thick with disbelief. A framed photo fell facedown from the dresser—a picture from our first summer together, grinning in matching sunglasses. The crack of glass was almost satisfying.
“Babe, please.” James’s voice was pleading but slippery, the way it always got when he wanted to wriggle out of trouble. He reached for me from behind.
I spun, shoving him back with both hands. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me!”
His eyes flickered, guilt flashing into annoyance. “Karla, listen—”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass what you have to say!” My voice broke as the tears came. “You’re a cheat and a liar!”
The words seemed to flip a switch in him. His jaw clenched. “If you can just write me off that quick, then good-fucking-bye, bitch.”
That tone—flat, venomous—sent a chill through me. How fast he turned cruel. How easy it was for him.
He doesn’t get to be mad at me.
I’m the one who’s hurt.
I’m the one he broke.
Rage took the reins. Before I could think, my knee shot up, connecting with his groin.
Pow!
He folded with a strangled noise, clutching himself and staggering backward. The smallest, cruelest part of me felt vindicated—until his head snapped up again, eyes gone black.
“You goddamned cunt!”
He lunged. One second I was moving toward the bathroom; the next, his hand fisted in my hair, yanking me back so hard I saw white. Pain seared across my scalp, my breath choking in my throat.
“Let go of me!” The scream ripped out of me—high, desperate, feral.
Then—smack!
The world tilted sideways. My cheek exploded with heat; I could taste copper.
“You bastard!” I sobbed, hand clamped over my burning face. “How dare you cheat on me and then hit me!”
But he wasn’t hearing words anymore. His face was contorted, some twisted cocktail of shame and rage. He dragged me closer by my hair again, knuckles white around the strands. “You’re going to pay for what you did.” His voice dropped to a growl that didn’t sound human.
He flung me into the wall. The drywall caught me like concrete. My shoulder screamed. I crumpled, the room spinning, ears ringing.
He loomed over me, shadow slicing through the lamplight. “Where do you think you’re going?” His hands wrapped around my throat, lifting me. The pressure was immediate, unbearable. The edges of my vision dimmed. I could see the pulse beating in his temple, could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“James—please,” I gasped, the words barely audible. Spots bloomed before my eyes.
And then—Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Police! Open up!”
The sound shattered the moment like glass. He froze, grip loosening just enough for air to scrape back into my lungs.
“Keep your mouth shut or you’ll be sorry,” he jeered, voice low and venomous, before letting me drop.
My legs buckled. I hit the floor, coughing, gasping, watching through blurred vision as he smoothed his hair and straightened his shirt. Just like that—mask back on. The calm carpenter. The loving boyfriend.
He opened the door. “Evening, officers,” he said smoothly, as though we’d just been arguing about what to have for dinner.
Something inside me snapped. “Help! He’s trying to kill me!”
The words ripped from somewhere deeper than fear. I bolted past him, out into the hallway where two officers stood. The younger one caught me by the arm, gently pulling me behind him. His presence was a wall between me and the monster I’d been living with.
“Ma’am,” he said firmly, eyes steady on mine. “A neighbor called in a disturbance. Did he hit you?”
I couldn’t speak. My throat felt shredded, my body trembling so violently my teeth chattered.
“I’m Officer Whistler. You’re safe now. Can you tell me your name?”
I blinked, trying to push sound through the tears. Over the officer’s shoulder, I saw James beginning to unravel—his fake calm splintering.
“What the fuck?” he shouted. “I didn’t touch her!”
“Sir, I’m not going to ask you again to calm down.” The older officer pressed a hand to James’s chest, stopping him mid-stride.
“M-My name is Karla McAdams,” I finally managed. “And yes… he attacked me.”
Officer Whistler’s jaw tightened. “Cuff him.”
James’s expression went from fury to disbelief, and then to something darker. His fists clenched, and for one awful second, I thought he’d lunge again.
“Karla,” the officer said quietly, steering me toward the stairs, “why don’t I get you back inside your apartment?”
Nike and Thor were barking hysterically behind the door—their tiny bodies trying to defend me in ways I couldn’t defend myself. I grabbed them up, whispering nonsense to calm their shaking as James’s shouts echoed down the stairwell.
Through the peephole, I watched as Officer Whistler forced him to the ground, knee pressing into his back while the cuffs clicked shut. The sound was sharp and final, like a door slamming on the life I’d had five minutes ago.
When the officer knocked, I still jumped.
“Yes?” I croaked, opening the door.
He softened his tone. “Would you mind coming down to the station to fill out a report?”
I set the dogs down and grabbed my bag and keys from the counter—right next to the unopened bottle of Malbec I’d bought hours earlier when I still believed in us. “Sure.”
“I’ll see you down there.” He hesitated, glancing back as he started down the stairs. “Karla?”
“Yes?”
“You’re going to be all right. I promise.” He tipped his head once, firm and kind, before disappearing down the stairwell.
I stood there, shaking in the wreckage of my living room, knowing that nothing about my life—or my heart—would ever look the same again.