Genre: horror, romance, short story
Author's Note: CW: discussions of domestic abuse, semi-graphic death, derogatory language, toxic relationships.
The taste of salt and iron sour my tastebuds. With a sniffle, I reach out and grab two more tissues, one to hold against my bleeding lip and the other to dab at my eyes. The man sitting across the table looks at me with a sad and pitying gaze. I find annoyance seeping into my bones; I know exactly how he sees me. A small, weak, incapable damsel in distress who needs someone to come and save her.
“I’m so sorry to do this, but could you explain the whole story in chronological detail so we can get your statement and stop making you re-confront this?” I don’t want to tell this story for what feels like the fifth time but if it will get him to leave me alone then I will. With a slight nod and a deep but shaky breath, I begin.
“It all started because I became friends with his girlfriend, Gabriella, one night in a bar. She came up to me after a few drinks, complimented my outfit, and asked me for my number. I think she was trying to get an excuse to leave her boyfriend—I’m not really sure—but he was with her that night. When he overheard what she said he got angry, really angry, and accused her of trying to cheat on him. She screamed back, so he grabbed her arm and took her out of the bar. I thought that would be the only time I ever met them.”
My eyes are clenched shut as my hands tremble slightly on the table. The detective reaches for them and pats me gently a few times, so I give a feeble smile in return. I wish that it was Gabriella’s hands that were covering mine instead of his. The warmth of her palms invading my system and calming my racing pulse. I long for her touch and the light scent of geranium that drifts through the air whenever she’s around.
“But you saw them again? After they left the bar that night?”
I swallow and nod. I actually have her number but since the two of us didn’t text in between the night at the bar and the night of the accident, I didn’t feel it was necessary to bring it up with the police. If there are no relevant messages, then there’s no point in me discussing it with this sweaty man who thinks he knows what’s best for me, thinks he knows how to be a hero, thinks he can just swoop in and solve all of my problems. I know for a fact that isn’t true, and part of me wishes he would just realize that already and stop pushing so hard.
“Yes. A couple of days later, while I was getting coffee, I ran into Gabriella again. She apologized for getting me involved that night in the bar. I told her that it was okay and that I totally forgave her, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking the question that had been bugging me since the night I met them. I asked if she was okay and if he was mistreating her. She said she was fine, it was just an argument, and he wasn’t usually like that, but I could see in her eyes that that wasn’t the case. I asked again and that’s when she broke into tears. She told me about how he started out so nice, she didn’t even realize how bad he’d been treating her until recently. She had tried to leave, and he refused to let her, so she asked for my number in an attempt to get him to break up with her, but it backfired. He hurt her that night.”
I look toward the ceiling, seemingly trying to stop the tears from falling but failing, and my voice starts to crack. This part wasn’t hard. It was so awful to think about, much less talk about, that I struggled with it every time. I simply cannot understand why on Earth he would want to hurt her when she’s so perfect, so precious, so… pristine. I’m filled with the urge to protect her and keep her safe and I wish he had felt the same way. However, a part of me, a small and dark part, is glad she’s single and glad he’s out of the picture.
“I felt so bad for her, and I really didn’t want her to get hurt again so I spent hours sitting there with her, talking about safe methods for her to get help and escape without him finding out. I guess—I guess he was watching us from somewhere, listening. I guess I wasn’t careful enough because later that night I was home alone and—”
The tears fall thick and fast down my face, and I break into sobs. The detective grabs me a cup of water, and I gratefully drink from it. I finish it quickly and timidly ask him for a refill. His response is a sickly-sweet smile that gives me chills up and down my spine. What’s the point in one asshole being gone if another sits right in front of me, ready to take that prime spot?
“It’s okay; take as much time as you need.” I nod again, avoiding eye contact this time, and crumple the tissue into a tight little ball inside my fist. I look at my hands and watch as my knuckles start to turn white from pressure. The two of us sit in silence for a couple moments as he waits for me to continue. My heart screams at me to stop here. To refuse to keep going and let this detective think it’s because I can’t relive it again. But I choose to ignore it, take a deep breath, and begin again.
“I think it was around 11:30 at night because I had changed into my pajamas and started my routine to go to bed. There was a sudden pounding on the door. I went to look through the peephole and saw that it was him, so I ensured the door was locked and started to walk away because I wasn’t about to let him in. I thought the locks were strong enough, but they weren’t because he managed to bust down my door. He stormed in screaming about how I was a whore for trying to turn his girlfriend into a lesbian and that it was all my fault that they were having relationship issues.”
That part still makes me chuckle a bit, despite it all, it’s crazy that he didn’t already know that she also liked women. It seemed like the exact thing he would fetishize. I visualize the next part of the story, steeling myself for it. I feel a dark shudder go down my spine as the images fill my mind.
“He picked up my small little statue head and rushed at me. I’ve taken some self-defense classes in the past and they tell you how scary it is and that you have to just try and do anything because otherwise most people just freeze up, but I didn’t think I would be one of those people. Then I was. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t feel. All I could see was him charging at me with this little stone bust. He reared back and swung it at my head. It was all I could do to stop him from hitting me. It was all kind of a blur. I was straining to keep him pushed away from me but then my strength started to wane. I think he thought he had me because he relaxed the tiniest bit and that gave me a surge of adrenaline to push him off of me. I don’t really know what happened, but he fell and… I don’t know if he somehow hit himself in the head with the statue, or if he hit the coffee table, or what. I was still frozen and then I realized I wasn’t being attacked anymore. But then I looked up and—oh god—he was just lying there, so still.”
I’m fully sobbing into my hands as I try and continue. I already knew from having to repeat my tale over and over that this is the worst part to relive. The fear that I felt at being caught off guard. The realization that I couldn’t enact my plans in controlled conditions. The cold shiver down my spine as I took what felt like a split second too long to decide whether or not I wanted to help him or leave him to his fate. The clamminess in my hands as I realized that if I left him he would be getting what he deserved, but that would count against me in trying to be cleared as innocent.
“I rushed to his side and tried to stop the bleeding but there was so much blood. He still had a slight pulse, so I called 911 but by the time they arrived he was dead. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt him! I was just trying to keep myself from getting killed!!”
I burst into wails and the detective winces at the abrupt noise. My hands cover my eyes, but I can’t help but sneak a small peek at him through the gaps between my fingers. He looks sad for me, exactly as I suspected, and a little bit annoyed by how much I am crying. I think that part is unfair. Shouldn’t he be used to dealing with crying people given how much he probably must deliver bad news?
“It’s going to be all right. Thank you for your statement, it massively helps our investigation.” He begins to stand and leave, but I cry out before he can and grab his hands that are still sitting on the table.
“Am I going to go to jail?!” The detective reaches placating hands toward where my hands are clutching his. He gives me another awkward pat and then tries to extricate himself from my grip.
“No, you’re going to be all right. It was self-defense, and your life was in immediate danger. Now come on, let’s get your hands washed off.”
I look down at my hands. Throughout the whole tale, I had forgotten they were still streaked with his blood. I wonder how long it will take to get all of the red stains off of my hands and think about how the pajama set is done for and should probably just be thrown away. I let out another wail, along with a small nod, and follow him out of the interrogation room.
After I sign some paperwork, I’m free to go. So, I walk out of the police station still sniffling and rubbing the snot dripping from my nose. It’s a relatively short drive back to my house and I don’t want to be seen in such a messy state. I start wiping the tears from my eyes as well as fanning my face and dabbing at it with a paper towel. Anything that might help to get rid of the evidence that I’ve been sobbing for the past couple of hours. I drive in a kind of daze and before I know it, the ten minutes between the police station and home are up. I pull into my garage and let the door slowly rumble shut behind me. Rubbing my fingers against my temples, I let out a harsh sigh. That was exhausting. I grab my bag and get out of the car, letting the door slam shut behind me. As I head towards my front door, a grin starts to form on my face and when I walk in, the smell of pasta fills the air.
“Babe, that smells amazing! What’s for dinner?” I call out. Gabriella rounds the corner in one of my aprons and grins. Her smile seems to light up the whole room and the reassuring smell of geraniums fills my nose, and I feel my whole body start to relax. I made it through. I’m back home and she’s safe. Not much else matters.
“Lasagna. How was your time at the station?” She walks closer to me and traces the tear tracks left on my face. I swear internally. I thought I had been successful in getting rid of those; I didn’t want her to worry needlessly. “Aww… were you crying?” She gives me an exaggerated pouty look, but I can see that there is a real pain and worry in her dark brown eyes.
“Of course I was. Talking about how he hurt you and then came and attacked me was really horrifying.” My eyes start to scrunch up and fill with tears, but she just hits me on the nose with her spatula, leaving a tiny bit of tomato sauce behind.
“Oh, stop it. It’s not like there are any cameras in the house. You can drop the act.” The tears, along with the face of suffering, melt away and I roll my eyes a tiny bit. I find it slightly insulting that she didn’t believe me for even a second. I let out a small groan.
“You’re no fun.” She walks away from me and back into the kitchen, so I stick my tongue out at her receding form before wiping the sauce from my face. She simply wags her finger at me as if she somehow saw the face I made.
“I’m plenty fun; I just want to make sure you aren’t going to be sent to prison.” I follow her into the other room and wrap my arms around her waist from behind. I lean into the warmth of her body heat and sigh pleasantly. This is what I missed. This is what I was craving earlier.
“Wow, I’m insulted that you think so little of me.” She finishes smoothing the last bits of the sauce across the top of the lasagna before she turns in my hold. She leans back a tiny bit, putting the slightest amount of distance between the two of us and a small amount of pressure on my interlocked fingers.
“I don’t think little of you. It’s just the first time either of us has been involved in the investigation. Usually, you’re much more hands-off.” I reach up and pat her cheek. I totally understand that she’s worried. While the two of us have been friends for years and she’s watched me do this from the sidelines, this is the first time she’s been actively involved. She isn’t just worried about me but herself as well.
“I told you. There are reports of domestic abuse that you made against him in the system, recent ones too. Either way, you would have been involved in the investigation and I had to protect my best friend, especially now that you’re no longer blind and can see who’s right in front of you.” She lets out a little giggle but bites her lip. A long-running joke between the two of us had always been how I said I would drop everything and date her the second she asked.
Originally both of us found it funny, but as I aged and it became the truth, it was more painful to joke about.
“Still, are you sure this was the best way to do this?” She looks up and into my eyes nervously. I match her gaze with a strong, steady, and sure one. I refuse to waver lest she is even more concerned about the idea that I’m losing my touch.
“Of course I’m sure. If he had just disappeared, you would have been a suspect. Much better if he attacks someone that you just met, who’s totally unrelated to the case, and tries to murder her. Then all that has to happen is a fall where his head, unfortunately, makes impact with the coffee table on the way down and poof… all taken care of. Besides, I’m great at crying.” As annoying as it was to deal with that policeman all day, I also knew that I did such a good job of playing up my role as a victim that he would probably declare this a closed case tonight. I lean in for a kiss, hoping to celebrate, but she dodges, and I let out a little groan.
“Thank you. Seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” I smile at her sincerely. Her presence lights up my life and I don’t know what I would do without her around. So, when he started to dim her personality, I knew something was up and that it was time for her to break up with him. When she came to me and told me that he had started out emotionally abusive and had recently moved to physically abusive my heart sang. Part of it was sad and felt awful for her, but part of it knew exactly what came next and I could barely contain my excitement over my next project.
“I’m happy to. Especially when my reward is not only to get rid of another scumbag, but to gain his amazing girlfriend and her amazing lasagna.” She laughs whole-heartedly, beaming at me. I beam back and lean down once more. She seems like she’s done talking so maybe she’ll let me this time. She does and I give her a short but sweet kiss before continuing. “Besides, it’s what I’m best at.”
About the Author: Abby is a second-year student majoring in English and creative writing. When not working on schoolwork, she can usually be found annoying her cat into loving her, playing cozy video games, or probably sleeping. She doesn’t have much preference in the genre when writing, but her favorite genre to read is fantasy (although she’s also a sucker for a sappy romance novel).
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