The Man I Need

by Williams, Shanora

  “He took Callie, you know,” Kyle mutters after taking a sip of water.

  I don’t respond.

  “I don’t believe a word you said about finding her now. He gave her to you, didn’t he? Why would he do that?” I lower my gaze to my spaghetti and Kyle slams a palm on the table, causing the silverware to rattle and the glasses of water to almost tip over.

  I gasp and flinch.

  “I’m asking you a fucking question, Gabby!”

  “I—I don’t know,” I murmur. “He found her, and she was hurt. I offered to keep her when he brought her with him one day. He said he wouldn’t have time to watch her and he didn’t want to put her in a shelter.”

  Kyle scoffs and rolls his eyes, picking up his fork again. He takes a bite of noodles then points his fork at me. “You were probably walking around in those dresses and shorts. You made him want you. Now he thinks what you did with him means something. Pathetic.”

  I don’t even say anything to that. Kyle has no idea that what Marcel and I have done does mean something—to both of us.

  “You know what? I’m curious how you did things with him,” he says, dropping his fork. “Did he fuck you? Or did you fuck him? After all, that makes a huge difference, doesn’t it?”

  I blink through my tears, staring at him. He stares right back, like he’s waiting for an answer. “Are you serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding? Answer it.”

  I work hard to swallow, but my throat is dry now. I pick up my water and take a small sip, but Kyle reaches forward rapidly and snatches the glass away from me, causing some of the water to spill on my lap.

  I drop my hands with another flinch, tucking them between my thighs.

  “Tell. Me.” He’s looking right into my eyes.

  “I—I don’t know, Kyle! Okay?” My voice breaks. “God, why are you doing this?”

  “You do know!” he barks back while pushing out of his chair. He steps beside me and grabs my arm, snatching me up to stand and bringing me around to his side of the table.

  He shoves the bowls of spaghetti and glasses of water away. The dishes crash to the floor, and I suck in a breath as he reaches for my shorts and shoves them and my panties down enough to reveal my ass.

  “Kyle! Stop it!” I scream as he grips the back of my neck, slamming my face on the table.

  “Oh, you want me to stop? Did you tell him to stop when he fucked you on my table?” I lift my arm, but he pins me down by the wrist, keeping both of my hands on the table.

  “Get off of me!” I scream but he doesn’t listen. I hear his belt buckle jingle as his grip tightens on my wrist, then he forces my hips up even more and shoves himself into me.

  The pain is excruciating.

  My body had no time to prepare for this, but he doesn’t stop. He acts as if he doesn’t even feel that I’m in pain. He grabs both of my hands, planting them on top of the table and slamming his hips forward.

  “You think he scares me?” he grumbles. He slams again, but the thrust is so dry, that my tears tip over and I cry out. “You let another man fuck what was mine. I told you that if you ever betrayed me, you would be punished!” Another dry thrust. “You better hope he doesn’t come around tomorrow, or I guarantee you, I’ll do this again. I’ll have the doors locked and the curtains drawn, so he can see what I’m doing to you and not be able to do a damn thing about it.”

  I cry louder as he shoves into me again. The legs of the table scrape the floor with every single one of his thrusts and he grunts as he pulls the hand that’s at my neck away and pushes hard on the back of my head, keeping me pressed to the table.

  I hate him.

  I really, really hate him.

  I have no love for Kyle anymore. The more damage he causes, and the more vicious he becomes, I know that I hate him with every fiber of my being.

  I let him finish, no longer putting up a fight. When he’s done, he makes sure to come inside me, groaning loudly as if he has an audience. Then he pulls back, running his fingers between my folds and sticking them inside my vagina.

  It’s only natural that I clench, and I’m pissed at my body for reacting to his touch. I hate that he knows just what to do to make me feel something.

  Hovering over me, he works his fingers in and out while I squirm.

  “Get off of me, Kyle!” I yell, trying to move my hips. He keeps my upper body pinned down.

  He doesn’t let up, and my body is only my body, not at all connected to the raging thoughts running through my mind.

  I hate that he knows what I like, because he’s using it all against me. He plays with me until I cry out in a mixed web of agony and disoriented pleasure, and I feel his hardness on the back of my thigh, anxious for more.

  He pulls away, and I’m relieved, thinking maybe he’s done. I wait for him to leave the kitchen before making a move, but he doesn’t leave.

  The legs of a chair scrapes across the floor and he grabs my waist hard, bringing me down and forcing my vagina around his penis.

  “How did you fuck him, Gabs? Hmm? Show me.”

  I don’t move.

  I’m absolutely still but he forces my hips forward and backward again.

  “Show me!” He shouts, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking on it, his face near the side of mine.

  I still don’t move.

  I don’t care what he does to me, he’s not getting me to ride him, and as if he knows it, he yanks again, this time causing some of the hair to rip at the scalp.

  “You’re a terrible fucking wife!” he yells when I shriek, then he releases my hair and shoves me off of him completely.

  He stands and then grabs me by the hair with one hand, gripping my face between his fingers with the other, and looking me in the eyes, his now a shade darker.

  “This,” he pants. “It’s not over. You better pray he doesn’t show up tomorrow, Gabs. And I mean it. Pray hard, otherwise you’ll get what you deserve.”

  He shoves my face away and I groan as I hit the ground. He then reaches down to pull his pants up before stalking out of the kitchen.

  “Clean that mess up!” he yells before he’s up the staircase.

  When I hear a door slam upstairs, I weakly push up to a stand. I sniffle loudly as I clean up the broken shards from the glass, careful not to cut myself with any of it. I wipe up the water and spaghetti next, leaving the stained red rag in the sink.

  Turning toward the double doors, I draw in a shaky breath and push them open. I walk out, crossing the patio to get to the gate that leads to the beach.

  I don’t know why, but I feel numb now. My mind is reeling, but my body moves, doing its own thing.

  Wrapping my arms around myself as soon as my feet hit the sand, I walk close to the shoreline and finally, my mind syncs with my body.

  I break down, knees hitting the gravelly sand as my face lands in my hands.

  I’m not sure how long I cry, sob after sob taking over me, but when I stop, the sunset that was just ahead of me is barely visible now.

  I have to get away from him. I don’t care if I have to drag other people into this anymore. I’m leaving.

  That monster in there isn’t the man I married. He’s doesn’t even come remotely close to the Kyle I thought I knew.

  He’s degrading and rude and abusive. He’s controlling and manipulative and fucking insane.

  I thought I could be strong enough to withstand him, but I thought wrong. Instead, I’ll be strong enough to fucking leave him. Forget his threats, or the fact that I will be living in fear and paranoia, at least I won’t be around him while it happens.

  “Gabby!” Kyle’s voice startles me, interrupting my thoughts.

  I shoot to a stand with a gasp and look back. Kyle is standing by the gate of our house with a frown on his face.

  “What the hell are you doing? Get back inside!”

  I turn quickly, going to the gate. He opens it, allowing me to walk past him.

  He watches me rinse my feet of
f at the small sprinkler by the gate, and I’m surprised he doesn’t hurt me when we’re back in the house again.

  Instead, after looking me up and down with disgust, he says, “Go take a shower. You smell like him.”

  I go, but only because I’d like to be anywhere that isn’t near him.

  As I walk up the stairs, I recall the times when I’ve heard stories about how women never leave their abusers until it’s too late. They either end up injured really badly, or worse, killed.

  Now, I understand why those women waited. You give the abuser many chances, hoping they’ll change, but instead they shatter your trust—not just once, but many, many times.

  You don’t want to give up on that person, whom you loved unconditionally, hoping there’s a chance to make things right again. But that’s the thing about abusers.

  They never change.

  They just space it out, waiting for the abused to forgive them, and for another opportunity to strike.

  Chapter Six

  Gabby

  Shortly after midnight, Kyle has fallen asleep. He made me lay in the bed with him after my shower, though I really didn’t want to.

  I cringed when he wrapped an arm over my midsection, a stray tear sliding over the bridge of my nose when I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for him to drift off and for this nightmare to end.

  Now, I’m struggling to peel his arm away. I do so carefully, though, while inching my body sideways to get off the bed.

  When I’ve successfully removed his arm from around me and am standing, I place it down on the bed as gently as possible. He stirs a bit and I freeze, but then he rolls over with his back to me.

  I rush out of the bedroom when he starts up a light snore, making sure to keep my steps light. I don’t bother packing any clothes because the suitcase I’d packed earlier, when Marcel was here, is still downstairs in the living room.

  After snatching off the stupid engagement ring and tossing it on the floor, the silver metal lightly clinking behind me, I grab the suitcase by the handle and pick it up, then hurry to the double doors in the kitchen.

  Those doors are the quietest, and closest to the alarm system. I plug the code in, thankful that he hasn’t gone so far as to change it. I’m sure he would have gotten to that eventually.

  I leave the house in a frenzy, rushing past the hot tub and patio furniture, toward the path that leads to the cobblestone driveway. I’m surprised I don’t trip over anything.

  Warily, I peer over my shoulder, hoping none of the lights turn on, or that the door doesn’t open. Maybe some other alarm will go off for him, and he’ll know I’m trying to get away. Sounds crazy, but I wouldn’t put an idea like that past someone like him.

  I’m sure he thinks that I’ll stick around because I have to—because, at the moment, I need him—so he isn’t taking action to keep me locked in.

  He’s wrong this time.

  When I’ve made it far enough and don’t see any signs that he may be awake, I jog across the street with my suitcase lifted in the air, going straight to Meredith’s house.

  I jam a thumb into her doorbell, peering over my shoulder every other second, anxious for her to answer.

  There isn’t a response for a while, so I ring it again.

  I spot a light turn on from the window and then I hear footsteps. The lock clinks, the door cracks open, and Meredith is looking through it with bleary, tired eyes.

  “Gabby?” Her voice is thick with sleep. “What’s going on? Are you—oh my goodness!” she shrieks, her eyes widening. She opens the door completely, then flips on the porch light. “What happened to you?” she screeches, and tears instantly pool in my eyes.

  “It’s a long story. I’m so sorry for interrupting your night, but can I come in, please?”

  Her eyes drop to my suitcase and then back up to my eyes. As if she can sense all that I’ve been through within the last seventy-two hours, she immediately nods and lets me into her home.

  I expected to feel fully relieved when I had planned to come here, but being across the street from Kyle is just as terrifying. He knows I’m friends with Meredith, and that I can’t be too far away this late at night. He’d probably check here first before going to find Marcel.

  The stairs creak, and I look up, spotting Bill walking down. He has on a white T-shirt and blue pajama pants. He looks at me with sleepy, confused eyes as Meredith stands in the middle of the living room.

  “Sit, sweetie,” Meredith insists, focused on me. “Tell me what happened.”

  I place my suitcase in the corner and take a seat on the sofa.

  “Is everything all right?” Bill asks, concern laced in his voice, and I don’t know what it is about his voice, but it guts me. Perhaps because they care to ask? Immediately, I start to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” I sob, embarrassment and shame taking hold of me.

  “No, don’t be sorry. It’s okay, sweetie,” Meredith coos, and I feel her hand on the middle of my back, rubbing in full, gentle circles.

  “Do I need to call the cops?” Bill asks.

  I shake my head, brushing off the emotion and swiping the tears away. “No, it’s okay. I, um…I’m so sorry for interrupting your night like this. I just…I didn’t know where else to go this late. I don’t have many friends in Hilton.”

  “Stop it, Gabby. You are more than welcome here at any time,” Meredith assures me, still rubbing my back.

  “That’s right.” Bill sits in the recliner to my right.

  “But I need to know what you’re running away from.” My eyes connect with Meredith’s. “You can tell me.”

  “It’s Kyle,” I say blatantly. I don’t even care that they know it. I’m no longer making him out as the good, dutiful husband they once thought he was.

  Through my peripheral I can see Meredith and Bill looking at each other before focusing on me again.

  “Kyle?” Meredith asks, confused.

  “Yes. He’s…not as nice as he seems. He found out some things about me and he hurt me for it.”

  Meredith gasps.

  Bill clears his throat, and then says, “I really think we should call the police.”

  “The police won’t help. He has a lot of money. He wouldn’t spend more than one night in jail—if that. The charges would most likely get swept under the rug.”

  “He left this bruise on your face?” Meredith asks, still stunned.

  I nod.

  “Wow.” Her head moves from side to side, and I spot tears lining the rims of her eyes. She pulls her hand away from me, staring at the floor. “I didn’t take him as that kind of person. It’s always the people we least expect.”

  Her statement confuses me. I glance at Bill, who presses his lips and focuses on his wife.

  “You won’t be going back to that house,” Meredith announces, standing. “I’m going to make you some tea, and you’re going to stay here until you can make arrangements to get as far away from him as you possibly can. We’ll get you a restraining order first thing in the morning and—”

  “No—Meredith, really. I don’t want to intrude like this. I came here because you’re my friend, yes, but I also just want to use your phone, give someone a quick call. I can’t stay here for long. He’ll know where I am.”

  “I’ll be damned if he sets foot in my house,” Bill objects, then he grunts as he pushes to a stand. “Meredith is right. If you need to stay, you can. You’ll be safe here. My brother is a certified bodyguard. I can have him watch the house, keep an eye on things if you’d like.”

  “Oh, God, no, Bill.” I wave my hands. “It’s okay. I don’t want to drag more people into my mess.”

  Meredith sighs and walks to the short table in the corner. She picks up her cellphone and hands it to me. “Make your calls, sweetheart. Do what you need to do. But I’m not kidding about staying far away from him.” I’ve never seen Meredith so serious, or her eyes so intense. I almost start to ask her what’s wrong, but she walks away after I accept the phone and trots
into the kitchen.

  Bill follows after her, so I stand, walking to the patio door and stepping on the cool stones.

  I’m glad that I’ve memorized Marcel’s number. After I took a shower, Kyle took one, and while he did, I quickly went to his office, logged onto his laptop, and found the emails he’d sent to Marcel weeks ago, when we first hired him.

  Marcel always left his number beneath the signature in his emails. I repeated his number in my head until it was seared in my brained.

  I type his number into the keypad of the phone then press it to my ear, impatiently waiting for the ringing to stop.

  Then he answers. “Yeah?” His voice is gruff. It sounds like he just woke up.

  “Marcel?” I breathe a sigh of relief.

  I hear rustling on his end and then he says, “Gabby?”

  “Yes, yes, it’s me.” I close my eyes, fighting the sudden burn I feel in them. I can’t believe I’m so happy to hear his voice.

  “Where you callin’ from?” he asks.

  “It’s Meredith’s phone. My neighbor.”

  I hear him breathe a sigh of relief into the phone. “You’re with the neighbors. Good. What’s goin’ on? You need me?”

  “Well, I thought about everything, and I’d really like it if you could come and get me.”

  “Say no more. I’m on my way—”

  “Not right now,” I tell him, though I’m glad to hear he’d drop everything to come to me. “Meredith has questions, I’m sure. I don’t want to be rude and just leave after interrupting their night.”

  “Are you sure? I’m positive she’d understand.”

  “She will, but I’d like to talk to her for just a moment. I’m sure you’re tired anyway. I can wait a few more hours. I just wanted to call and let you know that I’m not in that house anymore, in case you were worried.”

  “Has he hurt you again?”

  I breathe in through my nostrils, and this time my throat feels raw. I recall the pain of his thrusts on the table, his angry words.

  “I’m okay,” I whisper, my eyes sealing.

  “You don’t sound okay. I’d rather come get you now, Gabby. You’re right across the street from that bastard.”