While They Watch

by Khloe Summers

  “I’m sorry about today. I’m just a live wire, I guess. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Everything I said, screamed insecure and I hated it.

  He laughed under his breath, then took my hand to help me off the boat. “You’re keeping things interesting. I like it. You be safe, I’ll check on you later.”

  I nodded, and jumped into the SUV, immediately pulling out my phone to tell Daniel I was on my way home. Instead, I was met with a text.

  Daniel: Don’t bother coming home. You're a fucking liar.

  Chapter Four

  He said he wasn’t yelling, but his voice turned my stomach, his aggression like a hawk landing on its prey.

  Holding back tears, I made my way to the bedroom, desperately trying to avoid conflict. “I was stuck. I’m sorry, Daniel. Nothing happened!”

  Once I’d reached the door, a pressure pulled me from behind. He’d latched onto my hair, slamming me against the wall, choking me with his careless hand. “You’re a fucking liar and you’ve been drinking. I smell it on your breath!” He closed his fist and reached back, letting his fist fly into the side of my face with a weight that knocked me over. “You’re a fucking liar, and we both know it. Look at you in that slutty fucking dress. Telling me, it’s a business meeting!”

  A hush of dizziness gathered itself between my eyes, keeping me grounded. He was pacing, still bloated with rage. His motions, erratic as he dragged his fist along the wall, swinging it through the air while he mumbled incoherently. The narrow hallway offered little room for me to escape. Sliding backward, I ducked into the bathroom in one single motion, closing the door quickly and locking it. I knew he could unlock it if he wanted, but I needed an escape.

  He came to the door, turning the knob, banging. “You fucking bitch, why don’t you call your boyfriend… why do you do this shit?” For a minute, he pushed at the locked door as I rode the wave of cheap wood--then gave up. Soon, I heard ESPN turn on in the living room. He was obviously content to know I’d have to come out at some point.

  Blood pooled and throbbed in my face, dripping down as I tried to blot blindly with a washcloth I found under the sink. His rage seemed more frequent lately, morphing and changing with each encounter. I felt sick. Nothing about this was right, nothing. Fury filled my shaking body. I wanted out. I needed out. I glanced down at my buzzing phone — a text.

  Matteo: I hope your emergency got sorted out. You okay?

  His message reminded me of Lyla. I reached down, texting her the one and only SOS I’d ever sent.

  Me: Hey Ly, sorry to bother you. Would you mind coming to get me? Daniel and I got into a huge fight. I don’t have my car.

  Hours went by as I sat bleeding on the bathroom floor, waiting for Lyla to get back to me, thinking about how my life had dissolved and disappeared, wondering how I’d become an actual prisoner in my own home. Still scared to leave the bathroom, I thought of what Matteo had said earlier, about letting go of hope. He was right. I could spend the rest of my life hoping Daniel will change. Or, I could do something about it. Pain pulsated on my face, my skin pulling tight as I felt the swelling mount. I looked down at my phone, checking for Lyla’s return. Still nothing. Springs from Daniels recliner creaked as he got up from his recliner, I followed the sound of his footsteps as he moved to the kitchen. He could have been getting food, though he could have also been getting a knife. I no longer had any clue how far he was willing to go.

  I picked up my phone, hesitating. I didn’t know who to call and the cops seemed dramatic. So out of desperation for human contact and understanding, I text the only other person I knew — the only other person who seemed to care how I was doing. I texted a stranger.

  Me: You’re right… hope isn’t enough.

  Matteo: Everything ok?

  Me: Not really.

  Matteo: You want to talk?

  Me: He hit me.

  Matteo: I’m on my way.

  Me: You don’t know where I live.

  Matteo: My driver dropped you off earlier, I’m coming to get you.

  Me: I’m locked in a bathroom.

  Matteo: Stay there.

  Tangled emotions filled my aching heart. Was I that desperate for affection? Frantic enough for human connection that I’d text some guy I’d spent only one afternoon with? Then again, he had texted back immediately.

  Nothing felt real. It was as if I was dreaming and would soon wake up with a clear face and the marriage I’d wanted. Leaning up against the bathroom door, I watched the minutes on my phone tick away. My heart, pounding with anxiety as I wondered how Daniel would react. I had zoned out, focused on the chipped paint at the bottom of the cabinet when I heard the doorbell — a ring that went through my heart like a shard of glass, gushing panic, and relief all at once. I unlocked the door and stepped out, sliding against the wall slowly as I listened to the exchange.

  “Is Hannah home?”

  “You’re that rich guy. Get the fuck out of here!”

  Wanting to avoid conflict, I ran to the bedroom, pushed out the screen, and climbed out, running around to the front door.

  “I’m right here,” I whispered from behind a shadowed bush.

  Matteo looked at me, then back at Daniel, “What the fuck is wrong with you! You piece of fucking shit. You do this to a woman?”

  I hurried to the door and grabbed his arm, pulling him back, desperate for escape. “Please, let’s go!”

  Matteo pulled away, pushing into the house, edging Daniel against the wall with his size, his forearm sharp against his neck.

  “Please, let’s just go!” I begged, catching tears with my lips. It was the first time I’d ever seen Daniel speechless, reduced and meek, knowing that Matteo could have hurt him. Matteo paused as Daniel’s face turned dark red against his arm, then released, following me out the front door.

  Fault filled my heart as we stepped away from the dimly lit house, Matteo’s hand guiding me through the dark by the small of my back. A small, red sports car sat parked on the street. He lifted the door and helped me in. I looked back at the gray shaker box and knew it was over. I could never go back to that again.

  “What hospital should we go to?” Matteo asked, pulling out into the street.

  “No, I’m good. I just want to relax.”

  “Yeah, but you should file a police report.”

  I turned and leaned my head against the cool window, letting tears accumulate on my cheek. “I don’t know what I want to do, can you drop me off at a motel in Reno. I’ll figure things out from there. Thank you for coming.”

  Without hesitation, he reached over, gently cradling my hand in his warmth. “I’m not leaving you at a motel. You can stay with me.”

  I was desperate for a emotion in a way I couldn’t explain, and I knew deep down that being alone tonight was a bad idea. “Are you sure? I mean… I feel weird… I didn’t call so you could… I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

  He squeezed my hand, “I’m glad you text me. Just promise you won’t go back.”

  “I don’t want to go back; I hate that he’s done this. I just don’t understand why.” Tears fell heavier from my face, creating an ugly swollen reflection in the glass.

  “There is no reason. It’s him. None of this is about you.”

  Uncontrollable emotion poured helplessly as my core shook. Everything I’d ever believed in was gone.

  Matteo pulled the car to the side of the road and got out without saying a word, circling to my side, reaching his hand towards me. I was an ugly, disgusting, swollen mess, and I didn’t want him to see me, so I resisted.

  “What’s wrong? Why are we stopped?” I asked, looking down and away.

  He stayed outstretched towards me in the darkness, “Trust me.”

  I reached out my hand, letting him guide me from the car, keeping my head down and out of his vision. Putting both hands on the sides of my bare arms, he pulled me in closer. Holding me against his firm, strength
as I continued to cry. Gently, he swayed back and forth with one hand on the back of my head, the other on my back. My diaphragm relaxed, my breath now steady with his.

  He shifted, lifting his body away from mine slightly, though I kept my head turned. Putting his hand on my chin, he guided my eyes towards his. “You are so strong. So many people stay, but you left.”

  My face was throbbing and the taste of metal swirled in my mouth as I swallowed back more emotion. “I needed that, a hug… thank you.”

  He pulled me in one last time, wrapping me in his warmth. “You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

  It was 9 PM before we pulled onto the pier. The rockslide still blocked the main road. Matteo helped me out of the car and into the speedboat, sitting me carefully next to him, wrapping me in a soft flannel blanket he had stored under the seat. I was in a fog, away in a distant land I’d never been. Minutes passed like hours as we found our way through the darkened waters back to his house.

  “Do you have a shower I can use?” I asked, ready to scrub the day away.

  He looked back at me with a coy smile. “I think I have a few you can use.”

  I followed him upstairs and into the master bathroom, still hiding my face from his view. I knew he’d caught a glimpse, but he was yet to see the whole mess. “I hate to ask for more, but do you have a t-shirt or anything I can throw on? I’m sorry, I didn’t grab anything before I left. I’m sorry!”

  “Stop apologizing! Of course, I’ll grab something quick.” He disappeared into the room and returned seconds later with a large red rugby tee. “There are towels and gels in that cabinet, use whatever you’d like.” Still turned away, I nodded as he closed the door.

  I let my head fall and relax in the hot steam of the shower. Willing my heart not to attack as I refocused on the bottles of imported soaps that smelled of linen and citrus. A shaving mirror in the corner allowed me a glimpse of my face. Clotting blood marked my bruised chin and cracked swollen lips. Purple and red now blotching the lines of Daniel’s work, looking made me ill. I pulled away from the mirror and rinsed my body, then reached for the soft, plush towel that hung beside the shower — carefully tying my hair into the bath sheet before throwing the rugby t-shirt over my moist body.

  I opened the bathroom door to see Matteo waiting on the edge of the bed, filing through his phone. I wasn’t expecting him, and my face was center stage. Quickly, I pulled my hands up, covering the trauma. My view had gone dark, but I could sense him moving to my side.

  He pulled my hands from my face, gently revealing the bruises that lay beneath. “You don’t have to hide. I know you’re beautiful.”

  I studied his expression, noting the soft wrinkle carved beside his nose as blood shifted in my veins. “I like the way you look at me,” I said, feeling a churn in my stomach as I spoke. I hadn’t expected today to go at all as it had, and I was emotionally raw.

  He paused, suddenly at a loss for words. I could sense his wheels turning as he lifted his hand to the side of my face. “That’s good, because I like looking at you.”

  For a moment, there was silence. An emotion hanging in the air neither of us seemed ready for.

  “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. We should eat,” he said, brushing my shoulder as he unlocked his gaze.

  “Starved!” I followed him to the expansive chef’s kitchen tucked in the far corner of the house. Marble countertops, custom cabinets, and restaurant-grade appliances filled the warm space.

  “I can cook something more, but late-night pancakes are a favorite, especially with this homemade, citrus butter whip. The limon and oranges I have shipped from the ranch in Italy. My mom used to make it when I was young.”

  “Do you have siblings?” I asked, taking the ibuprofen he’d set out.

  He whisked the batter in a ceramic bowl, “Nope. Only child. What about you? Your family?”

  “I lost my parents when I was eighteen — car accident. I was about to go off to college. We did everything together. And, strawberries and Elton John remind me of them.”

  “Why strawberries and Elton John?” he asked, flipping the pancakes onto a plate.

  “We grew wild strawberries in the back yard. Mom would make everything with them. Pies, muffins, cakes, fudge, anything. All while she listened to Elton John. I haven’t thought about that in ages.”

  A warm, half-smile grazed his face as he placed the fluffy stack of warm, golden cakes onto a plate with the special butter.

  “So, you made this?” I asked, slathering on a heap.

  He nodded, “Every week. It’s my stress reliever.”

  We finished up our late-night snack, and he led me to a spare suite on the opposite side of the house. A king-sized bed, with a forest animal quilt sat in front of a picture window, reflecting us against the night.

  “Stay here as long as you need,” he whispered, wrapping me softly with his strength. His warm sweet breath tickled my ear as our bodies pushed together. “I mean it!”

  “You have been so nice, why?”

  He paused, thinking carefully how he wanted to answer. Leaning down he kissed my forehead gently. “You’re easy to be nice too. Sweet dreams.”

  It wasn’t long before my aching body was flat, cradled in countless threads of Egyptian cotton. I looked down at my phone for the first time in hours, numerous texts from Daniel.

  Daniel: Why did you leave with him?

  Daniel: He’s using you.

  Daniel: How could you do this to us?

  Daniel: I’m sorry, I need you, babe.

  Daniel: Please come home.

  He filled the spaces with heart emojis as though that would somehow make up for the pain he’d caused. I didn’t answer. Instead, I laid in a stranger’s bed, thinking about how nice it was to have someone look at me when I talked. So much so, it was almost alarming. Something so simple. So simple, yet so imperative to human connection. Unassuming, primal, eye contact. It made me feel appreciated, listened too, important. So many things I hadn’t felt in ages. Then, in a moment I don’t well remember, I slid off into the darkness, hoping to forget this whole miserable mess.

  Chapter Five

  “What the fuck happened to your face? And what are you wearing?” Lyla gasped, as she walked into the center.

  “I text you!”

  “You did?” she asked, pulling her phone out to check. “You did—sorry! I was talking to my mom until late, then went right to bed. She wanted to know every detail of my date with Matteo.”

  “Your date?” I asked, tying the oversized t-shirt up so I could work.

  “Yeah, we had dinner and talked. He said he had an early morning. But I’m sure he’s going to call to set something up. He seemed really interested. So, what happened to you?”

  I walked towards the kitchen, gathering the feed bowls for the animals. “Things haven’t been good for a while, with Daniel. He came after me. I had to leave the house last night.” Not wanting to upset her, I left out the part about Matteo rescuing me.

  “So, Daniel did this to you? I had no idea you two were having trouble. That fucking asshole! I hope you called the cops!”

  “I’ve got it handled,” I replied, avoiding details. I half expected her to offer me a place to stay, but she didn’t. “Did you figure out the money stuff yesterday?”

  “I did—two million dollars! I figure we can finally afford that new x-ray machine. Maybe even some new enclosures and rehab materials. We’ll save every bear in the forest!”

  The day went by like any other. Routine meds, therapy, and observations. No intakes and not many calls. For once, I welcomed the monotony. I hadn’t yet figured out how I would get my things from the house, though I did think about answering Daniel’s text. Instead, a text from Matteo distracted me.

  Matteo: How are you feeling? I’m surprised you’re working.

  Me: I’m okay, better than yesterday. The day is slow, so that’s been good.

  Matteo: You want
to go shopping later? New wardrobe on me?

  Me: You have already been helpful enough, I couldn’t. Thank you though!

  Matteo: I insist. It’ll cheer you up. I can send Erik to your place for a few things too.

  Me: Thanks, but shopping with this face will not cheer me up.

  Matteo: Shopping with your face will cheer me up…. so, do it for me.

  The subtle kindness in his comment caused me to pause. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was flirting.

  Matteo: You still there? We could make dinner too. I’ll make another recipe from some other dead relatives.

  Me: Ha! Sounds fun!

  The rest of the day continued uneventfully. Aside from Lyla’s constant talk of Matteo and his accent. Or Matteo and the way he eats spaghetti. Or Matteo and how much he’s going to love her mom. She was enamored with him, so enchanted that I felt I should let her know where I was staying.

  “So, just letting you know. Matteo sent me a text last night and ended up picking me up. I’m staying with him for a few days until I get a place.”

  Lyla stopped raking out the fox den and shifted her body towards me, “What? You’re living with him?”

  “No, just staying there until—"

  “You don’t have anywhere else? I could make room for you.” she offered in desperation as though I were stealing her man. She was always so cheerful. In fact, we hadn’t had a memorable altercation in thirteen years—though now, there was an obvious shift in her tone.

  “Thanks! I’m hoping this is the last night. Then, I’ll find something else.” I knew tonight I had plans I didn’t want to miss.

  “Okay, yeah. Well, let me know!”

  Soon the day was over, and I was on the road again, back to Matteo’s. His house was much closer than mine, taking less than fifteen minutes door to door. When I arrived, a few boxes of my things were waiting in the spare suite—along with a pink summer dress, gold-lined sandals, and a note. All neatly placed at the end of the bed.