DaySleeper

All day, and all night, I sit in this house. I stare out the windows, the view of the streets ruined by the bars that cross them. Even the ugly, naked trees are ruined more by the slashing black. Kane comes home, I wait for it all day, and he’s grown angrier and angrier. I don’t dare ask why. I don’t want to know. It will be my fault if I know.

Despite this, I find out. Kane tells me.

“My promotion’s been taken away,” he says angrily. My jaw drops.

“Why?” I ask incredulously.

“I'm not focused,” he bites out, drunk, “My work lately has been terrible. I can’t focus.”

“Kane—”

“It’s your fault!” he roars. I flinch violently. “All I can think about is how you’re sneaking out. Somehow, you’re doing it! Why can’t I trust you?”

“You can!” I assure him, pleadingly. He lunges towards me, and knocks me off the bed. My head hits the wooden side table first, and then my tailbone slams into the floor, the hardwood floor. I am left, reeling, and I feel my body caving in on itself, curling in from the shock.

My body is limp as Kane lifts me up. Everything he does seems effortless, while my body is struggling every time he touches me to take some control of itself, either to escape or desperately try to please him.

How long has it been like this? Warner died in November. It started shortly after that, didn’t it?

My thoughts are slammed from my head as I hit the wall. The window rattles. Kane is screaming, but I can’t hear him. Or I can. I don’t know. My knees give out almost instantly and I sink down to the floor, my shirt riding up on the wall and my back scraping painfully down it.

Kane keeps screaming, and I reach up. My hands are shaking, moving in slow motion as I touch my forehead. The pounding in my head is killing me and I drop my chin to my chest, pressing my palm to the spot where my head connected with the table. I pull my hand away from my skull and lift my head, staring at the blood dripping down my fingers, pooling in my palms, and trickling down my wrist. I stare at it, my mouth wide open for a moment.

I look up at Kane in exhausted shock. He’s staring at me, still screaming, and I catch a bit of it. He wants me to listen to him. I open my mouth to say that I can’t even hear him, so how am I supposed to listen, but the thought forms too slowly and I am gasping too hard to speak.

He grabs me again and throws me forcefully into the bed frame. My back arches in pain and my limbs freeze in place as I sink again. I don’t feel myself making any noise, but I hear it for a moment before ringing takes over. Only now do I recognize it as ringing. My mouth is dry as I slouch so fully to the floor that I am lying there, writhing as the radiating pain from my back shakes me fully. Kane is still screaming, seeming angrier now as he straddles me, taking me by the shoulders and shaking me so hard that my head connects with the floor a few more times.

My mind fogs up further and I feel tears leaking from my eyes. Am I upset? I don’t think I could comprehend that it if I was, but the pain must be making me cry. Kane orders me to stop crying, at least I think he does, and with whatever self control I have, I try to reach up and wipe them from my face. I move too slowly, not that it feels like that to me, but Kane’s fist connects with my face, and I hear my nose crunch, feel it reverberate to the back of my skull where it shakes me.

I want to think. I want to fight back. I want to do something. But my brain is being smashed against my skull and thoughts are impossible. I want to die.

Kane keeps attacking me. He never seems to tire. I fall in and out of consciousness twice before he’s gone.

I moan in pain and roll over, just as more pain radiates through my chest. My ribs—I realize, and touch them where it hurts. I cry out. I moan again, a sob escaping my throat and the rest of my body cries out. I lift my arms and I stare in horror at my left wrist, which has bent at such an angle that the sight, not the pain (which I don’t feel) makes me begin to cry again. I whimper pathetically and curl in on myself, ignoring the pain and hope that he never comes back. That even if he does, that I will not be here when he does. I try to sit up and the blood rushes from my head. I black out again.

~~
When I wake up once more, Kane is there, sitting in a chair from the kitchen. He stares down at me, where I lay on the floor. He doesn’t say anything. We’re silent for a few long minutes.

I open my mouth and gasp deeply.

“H-hospital,” I whimper. He raises an eyebrow. “P-please.”

His face twists, and I catch a glimpse of his guilt.

“What?” he asks. The back of my eyes burn.

“Hospital,” I say a bit louder, my chest burning.

“Are you sure you need it? I mean... I don't think they'd understand. I don't think I deserve to get in trouble over this," he says.

“P-please,” I beg. He seems affected by this.

He bites his lip, stands, and scoops me up.

“The house was broken into.” He says, “I forgot to lock the gates after we sat on the roof yesterday.”

I nod.

“Say you promise,” he orders.

“I promise,” I say. He nods and calls 911.

“I love you,” I say. I know he loves me too. He doesn’t need to say it. His crying proves it.

~~
I must have blacked out again before the ambulance arrived, because I wake up in the hospital. My wrist is set and a cast is around it, all the way up to my elbow. It’s bright pink. I glare down at it.

“Babe?” Kane asks. I look up at him and smile.

“Hi,” I say, my throat scratchy.

“You okay?” he asks, taking my hand.

I nod.

“I don’t feel much,” I say.

“Good,” he says, “That’s good.”

I relax into the pillows.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask him.

“A couple hours. They’re keeping you here a few days for observation. They’re worried about your brain, I guess,” he says, biting his lip. Guilt flashes across his face. I lay back down. “Anyways,” he says, “I have to go home now. I am working in the morning.”

He kisses me on the forehead and I flinch away. His eyes turn a bit glassy.

~~
Not an hour later, a nurse peeks in.

“Did he leave?” she asks. I nod. She motions out in the hallway and another nurse joins her.

“Cadence, right?” the other asks. I nod again. They close the door and pull up seats next to me.

“Okay, we’re here to talk to you about some options.” The first says, revealing a folder. I stare at it.

“Who are you?” I ask.

“I'm Maggie,” the first says, “And this is Lauren.”

I stare at both of them.

“Now,” says Lauren, “we’re not saying anything, really. We’re presenting ideas for what may or may not have happened to you.”

I don’t speak.

“Just—just take the folder,” Maggie says, shoving it into my hands, “If you find it useful, great. Otherwise, we’re sorry to have wasted time.”

I look up at them and nod. I open the front, and apparently that’s their cue to leave. They push the chairs back and leave before I even take in the first few words.

Domestic Abuse Shelter

My stomach tightens. I look up, worried that Kane might be coming back. When I remember he’s gone for quite awhile, I continue reading.

~~
I lie awake in bed, mulling over the option. Could I really leave Kane? I shiver and stare at the ceiling. The lights are off, and this is not fun. I don’t like the hospital. My nose is throbbing.

I’d end up back here, wouldn’t I? I mean, it’s not like Kane really felt bad. It’s not like he will not do it again. He could kill me.

Then again, Kane is all I have. My mom hates me and Warner’s dead. Everyone else, I was never close with. He’s my entire life. I roll over, trying to get comfortable. My cast gets in the way. I scowl.

I love him.

What happened to me? I left home at 16 because a man hit me. Now I am considering staying in my prison with a man who hits me. What am I thinking?

I used to call the shots. Not that that was right either, but neither of us was really unhappy.

Is Kane even happy? I can’t tell. He seems to hate me, our relationship, his life with me in it.

As for me? I am not happy.