DaySleeper

Kane and I spent the next few days together, nonstop. It was better than ever, just like he promised. Finally, after the scratches were all healed up, he went back to work. That’s when it got a little worse.

I guess being back with all those people who stress him out made him angry.

I don’t know.

I mention the locks.

“I just… I was hoping those would go when I got back. So I could have a little freedom?”

“If I get around to it, maybe, but not when you’re bitching about it like a little fucking girl.” He snaps.

I shrink back, and decide not to mention it again, ever.

~~
Not even a full week later, Kane arrives home very late, very drunk. I lock myself in the bathroom and hide in the linen closet while he screams. I can hear him, perfectly clear, yelling at me for being a disgusting whore who left him, and I can hear him, perfectly, as he cracks the door frame. The door swings inwardly and slams roughly into the wall. He keeps screaming while he looks for me. I pull towels over top of me, desperate and terrified. This time he really will do it. He really will kill me. I will never get to apologize to Maggie or Alice. I will never get to fall in love, for real. I will never get to do anything with my life.

The shower curtain collapses in a rush of metal clanging. The cabinet doors under the sink crunch as the wood breaks open. I can imagine the cracks, jagged and deep. I imagine them on me. I hear Kane stop moving, stop screaming, and a part of me jumps, thinks he’s remembered and that he regrets this. He’ll open the door gently, and pull me into his arms. He’ll say he’s sorry. I’ll forgive him because he stopped. Because he means it. I have a sudden rush of hope course through my body and then the door is ripped open, and light blinds me. I grab desperately at the hand clutching my shirt, and I feel the cool lines down my face where my tears are cooling, and then more follow, and I wonder how I am thinking so slowly. I think that maybe God is letting me live in slow motion to savor my last few moments of life. That must be it, despite how cruel it is.

Time speeds up again and I give up trying to claw his hands off of me. I grab the shelving of the closet, and then the door frame and he still pulls me off.

I am slammed into the cabinets. I think I must have screamed, because Kane screams into my face to shut the fuck up—or else. I don’t think I understand this, because I keep on making noises. And he hits harder.

“You—You promised!” I rasp out, my lungs burning. He doesn’t say anything to this. “Hate you,” I murmur as he picks me up, only to let me fall again after a well placed punch to the face. I grasp at my eye and nose and gasp for air.

It’s not supposed to be like this. It never was. I black out.

~~
I am not taken to the hospital. I don’t feel too injured, though the bruise that spreads over both of my eyes and the bridge of my nose screams of something unjust. The deep purple surrounding my eyes makes them seem even greener than ever, in some kind of sick complimentary contrast. The bruising travels up to my forehead in small bursts of dark color, while the entire right side of my chest and stomach is black and blue. I have never seen myself so severely bruised. My left side has been spared. I am guessing I was on that side while he kicked me. I don’t remember. My back is yet another blanket, growing up and down my spine like splotches of blue ink. Everything hurts.

Kane has gone to work.

I stumble down the stairs and into the basement after I pick the lock. I rifle through the dusty clutter until I find the metal shears. I take them to the kitchen door and wedge them in to where the lock is. I push together as hard as I can, and the metal gives. I stare in fascination as the metal juncture separates from itself. I pull at the door, but no such luck. It’s just wedged shut now. I take the metal shears to the lock, pressing the cutting edge into the points where the metal and wood meet, and break it open. I reach in and pull the pieces apart until the door swings open. I hobble up the stairs, back to my room, where I pack my things. I put all my clothes into a book bag I have from when I first left home. I take my photo of Warner and I, a small statue my grandmother gave me, and a candle with the Virgin Mary on it. I don’t consider myself a great Christian, but she makes me feel safe. I’ve always had something of her around. This will be no exception. I take my blanket and wrap them all up safely inside before putting it in a sleeping bag case. I pull the drawstring, and consider writing Kane a note. I decide against it. I’ll send him a letter when I want.

I go out the open front door, and leave it that way. I hope someone robs him.