A Broken Fate

by Cat Mann

  ****

  I woke up with Ari every morning, made the bed, showered, got dressed, kissed him goodbye with a smile. As soon as the garage door creaked, I knew I was alone. Each morning I pulled back the covers on Ari’s side of the bed, fit myself into the indentation his body had made on the mattress, and soaked his pillow with tears. Ari called me at the same time each day. To keep from lying to him about what I was doing, I pulled myself out of bed just before his call and started some mundane chore like turning laundry over or putting a dish or two away from the dishwasher. I pretended to read every Jane Austen and Brontë novel ever written.

  In spite of my attempts to hide my distress from him, I could see the worry in Ari’s eyes when he looked at me. I could hear it in his voice. The crease in his forehead was ever present. I made sure to schedule my appointments with Dr. Phillips on days when Ari had class so he couldn’t come with me and hear me lie about being fine and feeling great. The truth was that I was far from fine. After successfully peeling every fingernail away to nothingness, I began to pull the skin away from my actual fingers. My scarred hand was especially raw. It was angry and scary looking.

  Ari was busy in the evenings with schoolwork, so fairly often I wandered out to the pool house to seek out August’s company. He had backed off pressing me for details about the days I had been missing and it was nice to pretend to be normal with him. I helped him grade papers and he told funny stories about the petty high school drama he suffered in dealing with his students. August’s date with Collin had gone really well and I began to see less and less of him. I had a hard time dealing with the isolation. My anxiety got worse day by day and my nightmares became next to unbearable. Many nights I sent Ari into a complete panic because he could not silence my screams and he couldn’t wake me up right away.

  I woke late one night, to wet, tear-filled eyes and cheeks. My throat was raw and scratchy. The bedside light was already on and I was already being cradled in Ari’s arms. My head was pressed up against his chest and I could hear the rapid beating of his heart. His white tee-shirt was soggy with my tears. He didn’t notice me wake up and he stared with unseeing eyes out the window. I shifted and scratched at the peeling skin on my sore, raw hand.

  Ari moved his gaze from the window to me and said nothing. He had dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes; a stack of papers sat piled up on the covers next to my open laptop. My nightmares had interrupted his late night cramming session. He grabbed onto my fingers and moved them away from my pink, peeling skin. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes.

  “You were talking in your sleep,” he whispered.

  My body stiffened; scared of what I may have revealed. “What did I say?”

  “My name.”

  I nodded. “What else?”

  He let out a puff of breath and shook his head.

  “You weren’t speaking English.”

  I relaxed and giggled a little and Ari gave me a small crooked smile.

  “You said my name with this cute little accent. I liked it.”

  “Arie.” I smiled.

  “Oui.” He laughed and then turned serious.

  “Tell me what happened to you, Ava.”

  “He did bad things, Ari. I’ve done bad things. You don’t need to see me in that light.”

  Ari sighed a heavy sigh. He took a tube of Neosporin off the bedside table and gently rubbed it into my peeling flesh.

  “Leave your hand alone, Ava. You’re turning into Freddie Kruger … it’s creepy,” he teased. And I laughed a tiny laugh.