Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

  “Yeah, it was good, babe. Lots of deals in the pipeline. The next one is going to be a killer.” He was sitting up straighter, his hand more firm around his bottle.

  “Really?” Desirée prompted. “That’s great news. What are you planning?” She knew it wouldn’t take much to get Jules discussing his next big venture. He could talk about his business for hours. There’d been a time when she’d found it endearing. Until she learned that it would always be his primary topic of discussion. That he’d happily explain, repeat, discuss and divulge his latest and greatest big moneymaking deal in exhausting detail for hour upon hour upon hour.

  As his fiancée, she’d defended his tendency to do this among their circle of friends. People had complained about his single-minded determination to tell everybody within listening distance about how successful he was about to become.

  Other friends had discreetly asked Desirée if he had ever taken the time to ask what she was doing with her time. If he even knew what she did from one day to the next. She would shrug and smile. Jules paid most of the bills. It was his right to have the limelight.

  Sure, she might have a challenging job, but she couldn’t deny that she could never afford the lifestyle that he gave them. She had to show her gratitude somehow. It was what a good partner did. How could she expect to deserve more when he was the one who paid for everything?

  She listened now, nodding in all the right places, getting up and fetching another beer when asked for one, picking up his shoes where he dropped them at the end of the couch and taking them back to their room.

  “Are you hungry?” she asked after he’d been home for a while. He nodded, then rose to his feet.

  “I’ll get supper on the go,” he said. Jules hated Desirée’s cooking. Too much raw food and not enough starch, he always said. She gave him a quick smile and filled her wineglass, turning to the sink where dishes had piled since the day before. She set about cleaning crockery and pots while he chopped onions and dropped them into a pan to fry. Before long, he’d piled a pair of plates with a combination of fried potatoes and chargrilled steaks.

  They sat at the small kitchen island, Jules enthusiastically carving up and devouring sections of his steak.

  “I had a good day, too,” Desirée smiled, trying to break the silence.

  “Yeah?” grunted Jules.

  “Yip!” she said. “Mr. Brixton and I went through the school archives looking for potential investors. You won’t believe—”

  “Oh, cool,” interrupted Jules. “I had a project like that a couple of weeks back. You gotta know your own ropes, you know what I mean? You gotta pull ‘em in, and…” he began to explain how Desirée could handle her project more efficiently, and she gave a little smile and nodded.

  The dishes in the kitchen remained in the corner of her eye, and she eventually swung her feet from the small kitchen chair at the counter and moved to the basin to run hot water into the sink.

  “So, what’s that about?” Jules snapped.

  “Sorry?” Desirée asked in confusion as she turned to look at him.

  “The huffing and puffing and scrubbing at those pots like you’re doing me a favor. Am I in some kind of trouble?” he snapped again. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong, but it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m always in some kind of trouble.” Desirée simply shook her head.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Jules, I’m just washing up.”

  “Oh, sure. And next, I’m going to hear about how you’re doing all the housework, and I don’t pull my weight,” he snarled at her. She stood, speechless. “Well, I pay for all of this,” he pointed at the room and beyond with the top of his beer bottle. “Without me, you’d be…well, not living like this. When you start paying some bills, you can think about telling me how I should be spending my time.” He got so abruptly his chair fell over backward. He didn’t stop to pick it up.

  Desirée stood, watching him storm back to the sitting room. There was a time when she would have run after him to try to calm him. Tonight was not one of those times.

  ◆◆◆

  Axel had tried to listen calmly as the couple had their conversation, but he couldn’t. Perhaps it was the way the tall man was talking to the young woman who stood staring up at him. Perhaps it was the nagging guilt that he’d once been that arrogant. Whatever it was, Axel was left with a simmering sense of injustice.

  What the fuck was this guy’s deal? He’d come home, his chick had greeted him with happiness, waited on him hand and foot…and now he was ripping into her. Axel watched the exchange, slowly beginning to understand the subtle power exchange.

  With each harsh word, Desirée’s head dropped lower, her shoulders drooped. The timbre of her voice had switched from hesitantly encouraging, to irrationally apologetic. As she grew smaller, the man before her became bigger, stronger, more certain of his power and masculinity. Axel’s eyes narrowed.

  This was all wrong.

  This was not love.

  This was…

  This was abuse.

  He shifted his presence to intrude between the couple in the small apartment. Eased his thoughts into her mind.

  ‘You’re tired,’ he breathed, ‘so tired. You need to rest. You need to rest now.’

  Desirée shook her head as if shaking off the effects of a drug. She blinked hard, set down her glass. Like a sleepwalker, she began to move toward the bedroom. Jules grabbed her upper arm harshly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. She stared down at his hand as if trying to make sense of it, then looked back up into his face.

  “I’m tired,” she said, “so tired. I need to rest. I need to rest now.” And she pulled her arm from his grasp and left the room, walking towards the bed, sitting down on the edge and kicking off her shoes. Then, without a word, she sank sideways, burrowed her face into her pillow, and closed her eyes.

  Axel hovered beside the tall man who was staring at the fragile woman as if she carried a disease. For a moment, a part of him wanted to hurt this man. This cruel, bullying, weak man.

  But there was no point in that.

  He moved across to where Desirée lay, inhaled the soft scent of her skin, and sank himself into her subconscious. To where her dreams had tangled and twisted into a confused mess of images and emotions. He was going to take those nightmares and turn them into moments of sheer joy. There was too little of it in this household. If he could make her happy in those hours of sleep, then he would do it.

  In the background, he heard a clatter as Jules dropped an empty beer bottle onto a table, then the fridge opened as he reached for another. He knew the man was on his phone. Knew it wouldn’t be long before he’d flipped open a chat string to some woman. Axel would have snorted in disgust if he’d thought it was worth his effort. But he had better things to do.

  In her sleep, Desirée tucked her hand beneath her cheek, lips curling into a smile as the incubus slid into her dreams and held her.

  Chapter 4

  “Where you going, babe?” asked Jules the next evening as Desirée headed to the door and reached for her purse. He was stretched on the couch in his underwear, flicking through channels on the television. It was as if the argument the night before had never happened. Desirée had remained silent about it, not wanting to rock the boat. In a way, she guessed she could have handled the whole thing differently anyway.

  “Just running out to see mom for a couple of hours. Do you want to come with?” she replied. It was early Friday night, and she knew the answer before she even asked the question.

  “Oh, hell no!” he replied. “I’d rather stick needles in my eyes. You go do what you gotta do.”

  Desirée nodded, not bothering to reply, then stopped short as he called out.

  “Oh, babe! Get me a case of beer while you’re out? The guys are coming over to watch the match later and we’re running low.”

  She nodded again. “Sure,” she muttered. “Whatever you want.” Her thoughts turned dark. No doubt he’d expect her to spend th
e evening serving snacks and clearing the rubble of their drunken gathering. She made a rapid change of plans.

  “Actually, why don’t I pop out and get your beer now?” she said. “I’ll go to mom afterward, and that way, I’ll be out of your hair while you watch the game.” Jules waved a hand distractedly.

  “Yeah, good thinking, babe. Maybe grab some crisps and jerky too,” he added, not looking up from the screen.

  “No problem,” Desirée answered. “Bye.”

  Jules grunted in response.

  Desirée made the short trip to the store, still consumed by her irritation. Jules’s get-togethers were fairly frequent and generally alcohol-fueled. Although today’s plans were a surprise to her, this wasn’t unusual. Part of her was relieved he’d be at home this time, rather than at one of his local haunts. At least she knew where he was. And who he was with. She’d spent too many nights alone at home, with just a wine bottle for company.

  “Oh, stop it!” she chastised herself. “You worry too much.” But in the back of her mind, a little voice told her that she worried just the right amount. When he’d come home from his regular ‘Night Out with the Boys’ this week, she’d been sure there was something ‘off’ about him. He was drunk, as usual, but this time he’d had a cocky swagger. An attitude tinted with aggression that somehow seemed to be aimed at her. And beyond the smell of alcohol was something else. Perfume? Pheromones? She didn’t press for details because when she asked where he’d been, he’d grabbed her arm and pulled her against his chest roughly.

  “I’ve. Been. Out!” he’d said through gritted teeth. “Do you want to make something of it? Frigid little bitch.”

  She’d bitten her lip and said nothing. His eyes had burned into hers for a second before he’d shoved her away.

  “Fuck off and leave me alone,” he muttered before swaying towards the bathroom.

  Desirée backed away, making a turn past the refrigerator and pouring herself another glass of wine. It was her fifth that night, but who was counting?

  She’d passed the door an hour later, worried he’d fallen asleep in there. He’d been hunched over his phone, the light shining onto his face. Fingers working quickly across the screen. She left silently and went to bed.

  It had been hours later, as he snored in a drunken slumber, that she’d cautiously reached for his phone and thumbed through the messages.

  ‘I’ve always had the hots for you,’ his message read.

  Desirée’s heart went cold.

  ‘Oh, really?’ was the response.

  ‘Yeah, for sure,’ Jules had texted back.

  ‘Tell me more…’ the texter sent back.

  Desirée had dropped the phone, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle the gasp of pain. Silently, she’d replaced his phone and settled back into bed, turning onto her side away from him. His rattling snores continued, and she put her hands over her ears, hot tears sliding down her face. Eventually, sleep had descended like a numbing blanket.

  ◆◆◆

  “Miss?” A voice yanked her out of her reverie. “Excuse me, miss? Can I help you?” A kid stood in front of her where she had come to a halt in the check-out queue. A woman behind her cleared her throat impatiently.

  “Oh! Sorry, I…” Desirée shook her head and stepped up the check-out counter, quickly unpacking her trolley. “Sorry…I was…” she stumbled over an explanation, although it was unlikely it mattered what she said. Just another crazy lady at the grocery store. She paid for her goods, loaded her trolley, and left the store. As she packed her bags into the trunk of her little green Hyundai, her mood began to evolve. No longer dark and gloomy, it became something bolder, more fiery.

  “Fuck him!” she snapped sharply. “Fuck him and her, whoever she is. Fuck them all!” She slammed the trunk door shut. A startled middle-aged woman veered away from her abruptly as she passed by, averting her eyes and staring studiously at the cars on the other lane of the parking lot.

  “Jeez,” Desirée mumbled and rubbed her face before fumbling with her car door and flopping into the driver’s seat. “Oh, jeez, what am I going to do?” She draped her forearms over the steering wheel and dropped her forehead down to rest on her arms. Tears threatened, and she fought them back angrily.

  “Fuck him!” she said again. “If he can do it, so can I!” She sat up, straightened her shoulders, and set her jaw, then reached for her phone.

  “Hi, Di!” she greeted cheerily when a voice rang out from the line. Her tone gave no indication of the expression on her face.

  “Desi-RAY!” the voice responded. Diana Bailey had been Desirée’s best friend since college. The light to Desirée’s dark, she was a bubbling blonde ball of fun.

  “So…Whatcha doin’?” Desirée asked. The question had been a favorite since their first days together and was recognized as code for ‘Let’s have a party’.

  “Waitin’ for you to get here, gorgeous!” Di bubbled back. “It’s been a lifetime! Hurry up!”

  Desirée laughed, instantly feeling her mood lift.

  “Ok, I’ve got a stop to make, and then I’m heading over. Give me 30.”

  “Sure thing, dollface!” Di replied and abruptly ended the call. She’d never been one for wasting time on unnecessary niceties.

  Desirée turned the key in the ignition, reversed out of the bay, and headed for home. Jules was dozing on the couch when she arrived and set his beer and snacks in the kitchen. He’d changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, probably in anticipation of the arrival of his mates for the game.

  ‘Thank god,’ she thought and silently breathed a sigh of relief as she tiptoed past him to the bedroom. She grabbed a large overnight bag and quickly packed her favorite little party dress and a pair of heels before tucking her makeup bag and perfume on top. Almost out the door, she paused, then nipped into the bathroom, grabbing her toothbrush and slipping it into her bag.

  “Fuck it!” she said for the umpteenth time.

  ◆◆◆

  “DesiRAAAYY!” Di yelled as she opened the door, arms outstretched.

  “Diiiiii!” Desirée called back as she found herself engulfed in her friend’s warm embrace.

  “Where the hell have you been, girlfriend? It’s been months!” Di’s words were softened by the concern on her face. Since moving in with Jules, Desirée had gradually lost touch with most of her old friends. Di stepped back and took in the dark circles beneath her friend’s blue eyes. The gaunt lines of her face. She opened her mouth as if to say something and then closed it again. She stepped back in for another hug, tightening her arms and holding her friend close.

  There was nothing in the world as wonderful as Di’s hugs. She would pull you to her heart, and for an instant, you’d be surrounded by love and acceptance. It was a gesture that went beyond mere words, and Desirée sank into the sensation for a moment. Then extracted herself gently before the tears could spill over and reveal her heartache.

  “Been busy, my Di,” she smiled. Diana took a firm grip on her hand and led her into the small apartment. Every inch of space was taken up by souvenirs of her friend’s many trips. Di was an avid traveler and had eked a living as a travel blogger to feed her addiction for adventure. Right now, she was sporting an unseasonal tan, and blonde streaks lit her tawny mane of toffee-colored hair.

  “Well, that’s just not good enough, hon! We have SO much catching up to do. I’m going to make you dinner…and then I think you’re overdue for a bit of razzling.” Diana was already skipping towards the tiny kitchen, where an ice-bucket dominated the small workspace.

  “Oh, boy!” Desirée grinned, feeling the weight on her shoulders beginning to lift. Diana reached into the bucket and pulled out a bottle of sparkling wine. “What have you been up to now?”

  “Well, for starters,” replied Di, expertly removing the foil from the top of the bottle, “I just finished a trip to South Africa! Toured the coastline, stopped in Cape Town and I found this stuff…it’s fabulous!”

  “South A
frica? Are you crazy? You could get ebola, or shot, or…something!” Desirée looked horrified for a second and then jumped as the cork popped out of the bottle. Diana laughed with delight as she poured fizzy fluid into a pair of waiting flutes.

  “Don’t be a dork! You don’t get ebola in Cape Town. It’s actually really civilized. And the wine estates. Holy crap! I could have spent a week there and never see it all.” She stopped talking to slurp foam from the top of her overflowing glass. “To us!” she toasted abruptly, clinking her glass against Desirée’s, and slurping again. “To hell with being ladylike!”

  “To us!” Desirée responded, caught up in Di’s contagious high spirits. “Mmm, this is really good!” She smiled as the fizz of the bubbles filled her mouth.

  “I know,” Di responded. “It’s called Graham Beck. It’s cheap as chips…like under ten dollars, but as yummy as anything I ever tasted in Paris. I ordered a case!”

  “Oh, wow, I hope you don’t expect to finish it all tonight!” giggled Desirée, slowly beginning to feel like a young girl again. She and Di had studied together, and their partying had been legendary.

  “Well, of course not, silly! We’re not kids anymore! Besides, I want you strong enough to handle some serious partying later. It’s Retro Night at The Gallery, and I’m in the mood for some dancing.”

  Desirée smiled and nodded as she leaned against the counter, watching her friend bustling around the small space.

  “Cheesy snack platter okay?” Di asked, reaching into the refrigerator and extracting a selection of cheese and dips. “I picked up the most amazing French loaf today, and I still have some olives and hummus I found at the new deli near my gym.”

  She continued to chatter as she set out a couple of boards of exotic foods – meals with Di were always a United Nations of flavors. Desirée quickly found herself chatting back. As they settled in Di’s small sitting room, picking and nibbling at the spicy snacks, she found herself unloading the anxieties of the previous weeks.