Where I End

by Michelle Dare

  "Evie, please."

  "Give me the gun, Cy, and we'll leave. I'll take you from here. Just us. No one else."

  "Why are you doing this? After all I've done to you. Go. Get out of here. Let me stop the pain. Let me put an end to the nightmares. I can't do this anymore. Can't you see that? It hurts so fucking bad."

  I bring my free hand to his chest right above his heart. "This heart of yours, I can feel it beating. It's strong and full of life. A life not over. Don't end it all now. Not when you have so much ahead of you. Come with me, Cy. Let me show you what's out there. What life is like when you have someone who cares about you."

  "You're that person? You care about me? How could you when I spent every day making your life a living hell?"

  "Because your life is worth more than my hurt feelings. Because as much as you don't think so, you matter to me. Give me the gun, Cy." Every word I've spoken so far has been nothing but the truth. I might not have thought much of him before this, but I know how I feel when I'm in his presence. When his eyes hold mine and my body comes alive.

  "I don't know if I can. I've thought about doing this ever since he came into my room that first night. I thought about what it would be like to finally have some peace. To not have to worry about what tomorrow would bring. He might not be touching me anymore, but the threat is always there. Grant me that peace. Let me go." He closes his eyes again. Panic races through me. At any moment, he could pull the trigger and end his life.

  "Open your eyes! Look at me!" He does. "All you have to do is give me the gun, then we can grab my keys and get the fuck out of here."

  "You're going to take me to the hospital. I don't want to go there. I don't want to be drugged to the point I'm not even conscious. I don't want doctors hovering over me, asking me about my feelings and why I want to kill myself."

  "No, I won’t." I shake my head. "I promise." I should take him to the hospital. He needs more help than I can provide, but at this point, I'll settle for him releasing the gun and letting me get him away from his toxic family.

  "I can't come back here, Evie. Not while he lives here. Not while the memories assault me every time I enter my room."

  "You won't have to. It'll just be you and me."

  His eyes widen ever so slightly and the tiniest bit of hope is evident in them. He slowly brings the gun down, his hand trembling as he does so. I reach up and take it from him, the metal of the grip warm from being held by his large hand.

  "Thank you," I tell him. I remove the clip from the gun. I don't trust him enough not to try and take it again. Now that I got it away from him, I need to ensure he never gets it back.

  I stand and offer him my hand. My other hand holds the clip and the gun. He looks up at me, and for a moment, I don't think he's going to let me help him up. Yes, he can stand on his own, but me offering my hand is more than just a hand to help lift him. It's me asking him to trust me. His palm touches mine. Warmth spreads through my body at the contact. He stands and peers down at me. There's a good five-inch difference in our height and that's with me wearing three-inch heels.

  I lace my fingers with his. "Let's go." Before we walk into the house, I turn to a still sobbing Risa and say, "I quit. I'll leave my laptop here. The rest of my things, which you provided for me to use while working from home, will be sent back to you."

  "Wait," she cries. "Both of you. Don't do this."

  "There is no way I can stay working for you, knowing what you did, or in reality, didn't do. How could you? You're his mother.”

  Cy's hand grips mine hard. I turn from Risa. We go into the house, past the stairs, and into the office. I open the bottom left drawer of my desk, pull out my purse, and drop the gun and clip into my bag. My purse is the only thing of mine I have here that I want. The cell phone in it is mine, although Risa reimburses me monthly for the bill. I find my keys in my bag, and we are out the garage door in less than thirty seconds. Cy’s GMC pickup is sitting next to my red Jetta, but no way is he driving anywhere. He doesn't even ask.

  I open the passenger side door of my car for him. Watching him climb inside is interesting to say the least. He's too tall, but somehow, he fits with the seat all the way back. I get in and quickly put his home in my rearview mirror as I drive the hell away from the nightmare he's been living for far too long.

  We don't talk as I make the short drive across town. His phone chimes in his pocket, but he ignores it. I didn't even realize he had it on him, but then again, why wouldn't he? No one goes anywhere without their phone anymore. I chance a glance at him and notice he has his head tipped back on the seat, his eyes are closed, his mouth drawn down in a frown. I focus back on the road.

  I still can't believe he let me take the gun from him. The thought of him pulling the trigger, of ending his life right before me, causes bile to rise up my throat. What if I hadn't been there? What if I hadn't eavesdropped and inserted myself into their argument? I'd like to think he wouldn't have gone through with it, but deep down, I know he was ready to. There was nothing stopping him. Risa wouldn’t have been able to keep him from doing it; not when she had something to do with his reason behind it.

  It changes how I feel about him, about everything that happened between us in high school. Sure, he was awful to me. He had the entire school laughing at me daily, but what he endured at the hands of his stepfather was far worse than anything he dished out to me. Truth be told, all those days of being picked on by him made me strong. He helped make me into the woman I am today. The one who takes no one's shit. Without going through what I did, who knows how different I would be now.

  My hand is resting on the gearshift when I feel his fingers inch over mine. Looking at him again, I see his eyes are still closed. He lifts my hand and brings it to his chest to rest there beneath his palm. I don't want to pull away, so I don't. If he finds any comfort by me being with him, then I’ll gladly be here.

  There is no way I can begin to imagine what he's been through. So many years of abuse. Of no one coming to his rescue. My soul weeps for all he lost growing up: his innocence, the love and security of his family. I still can't fully wrap my head around everything.

  I concentrate on the road before me and try to drown out the sorrow, which is quickly filling me. I can't think about what's already happened to him. Right now, I have to focus on the man beside me and how I can help him heal, if that’s even possible after all this time.

  Three

  Cy

  When the car comes to a stop and the engine shuts off, I lift my head off the seat and open my eyes. No longer holding her hand since she had to use it to shift the car into park, I realize I miss her touch, her warmth. I can't look at her, not yet. I still can't believe she came outside, and that I told her things I have never spoken of to anyone but my mom. Yes, it was only a small piece but for it to have been her, there is no way she will ever look at me the same again.

  I sit in the car, lost in my thoughts, and don't notice Evie has left until she opens my door. I look up at her and blink a few times. With the sun at her back, her golden-brown hair hanging over her shoulders in soft waves, she looks like an angel. One I don't fucking deserve, and who I wish would have let me end it all. The pain crashes back into me with such force, it has me buckling over in the seat and pulling in deep breaths.

  Her hand rubs my back as her voice floats to me. "I'm here. Take your time. There's no rush."

  I'm so fucked up. How can she show me sympathy? I was the biggest dick to her in high school. Always doing things to draw attention to her, and not in a good way. Every day it was my mission to embarrass her, and yet here she is helping me as if none of that ever happened. How can she forget so easily? How can she want to be near me when I was so cruel to her?

  The pain subsides to the point I'm able to sit up and get out of the car. It's still there, waiting in the background to slam into me again. I don't meet her eyes when I get out. I'm not worthy of her or her kindness, yet I follow her like a lost puppy. I am lost. Completel
y fucking so far off the path lost. I merely exist at this point. Walking behind her is done with zero thought. My body wants to be near hers, and I let it. At least I'm not walking back into that house. The house I shared with the woman who raised me, then brushed me aside, as if nothing I said to her was worth her time. The woman who, no matter how many times I begged and pleaded with her to help me, turned her back on me. She believed him over me, even when I came to her bleeding from him being too rough. She told me I must have done that to myself and, how it wasn't nice to lie and make other people look bad when they've done nothing wrong. I still can’t comprehend how she thought I’d hurt myself like that. Or maybe she wasn’t paying attention to me at all. Brushing me off because she was busy working.

  For a while, I thought it was me. Maybe what he was doing was how things were supposed to be, but then he got rougher. He hurt me. God, he hurt me so fucking bad. And not just my body. He would say things to me; make me feel as if I was insignificant. That I was a spoiled little rich boy who didn't deserve anything I was given.

  No matter how many times I hid, or locked the door, he always got in and found me. He would drag me from whatever spot I hid in to try and escape him, and he would force himself on me, so he could “teach me a lesson”. I did nothing wrong in my eyes. I would come home from school and go right to my room. Out of fear of what he would do to me, I never talked back to him or showed him an ounce of disrespect. The only time I opened my mouth to him was when I would cry out in pain; pain he inflicted. But he had ways of silencing me. Ways he would say were used to get me to toughen up and deal with the punishments he was giving me. Was it really a punishment, though? Now, I know it wasn't. Back then I would search my mind trying to figure out what and when I did something wrong. I wanted to know, so I would never make the mistake again. I never came up with anything but in his eyes, I was a horrible, ungrateful child.

  "I'm on the second floor," Evie says, pulling me from my dark thoughts. She turns to me and I immediately drop my eyes, as if by her looking into them, she will know everything I'm thinking. Then her hand finds mine and she laces our fingers together. I try to swallow but can't. My throat is thick with emotion. She's showing me kindness I don't deserve, and I can't push her away.

  She leads me up a flight of outdoor stairs to the second level of her apartment building. We walk to a dull, blue door with the number seventy-eight on it, which looks like it has seen better days. She unlocks it and pulls me inside behind her.

  Releasing my hand, she closes the door and locks it. "It's not much, but it’s home," she says, smiling. "I'll be right back. Don't leave, okay?" I nod.

  Not moving from my spot in front of the door, I look around the room. The living room is simple with light beige carpeting, a deep mocha couch, and a television on a small stand. To the right is a small area with a sliding door, which leads out to a balcony. On my left is a kitchen with a tall counter you can sit at that separates the kitchen from the living room. There's a glass-top table with two chairs sitting in a tiny dining room. This is where Evie lives. All alone. At least, I think she lives alone. She could have a boyfriend for all I know, but I would have seen him around if she did. Wouldn't I?

  She emerges from what I can only assume is the bedroom on the other side of the living room wall. Her hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she changed from her skirt and blouse to a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She walks to me, watching me like I'm about to jump and run. I would, but where would I go? I have no car, and she took my gun. I want that back before I leave. I need to know I have a way of ending my misery that will be swift and over before I know it. I've thought about all the ways I could kill myself, but none were as quick as the gun would be.

  She stops when she's directly in front of me. I’m able to hold her gaze. "Do you want something to eat?" I shake my head. "Drink?" I shake it again. She reaches up to rub her hand over my cheek. Her kindness is too much. I turn my face away, even if all I want to do is get lost in it. "Let's get you to bed. Maybe some sleep will help." I know better. Nothing will help. Not sleep, nor alcohol, nor a wide variety of drugs. I've tried them all. Nothing numbs the pain. Nothing makes me forget. Not even the many women I've buried myself in, hoping to replace the horrible memories with better ones. Those women weren't better. I barely remember their names. Their faces all blur.

  She takes my hand in hers again and leads me to the bedroom. The second I'm in the room, her scent hits me. It's all over this room, reminding me of a fresh spring morning. One where I got to school and knew I'd see her, even if it was only to torment her. Her scent is sweet like a flower mixed with the crisp air of a new day. It fills my lungs and has me holding my breath, wanting to keep it inside me. Maybe if I can capture a part of her inside me, I'll always have her there. Always reminding me that somewhere in the world, there is some good.

  She walks me to her bed and pulls back the bedding. I stand there, unsure of what to do. I know I should sit, but I fear once I get into her bed I'm never going to leave.

  "Sit," she tells me. I do, autopilot kicking in again. She starts to bend down but stops. "You're not wearing any shoes." I didn't realize I didn't have them on when we left my house. She's on the floor in front of me, pulling off my socks and placing them on the floor. "Lie down. Rest. I'll be in the living room if you need me."

  She turns but my hand reaches out to grip hers. I can't let her leave. The last thing I want is to be alone. Alone is never good for me.

  "Stay," I whisper. She nods and climbs into bed beside me. We both lie on our sides, facing one another. Her deep blue eyes are holding mine.

  There has always been something special about Evie. Ever since the first time I saw her, freshman year of high school. She was different from all the other girls, although I think I was the only one who noticed. I saw her from the very start. My stupid ass didn't know how to treat her, however, and resorted to picking on her. It was a dumb move, although it ensured I would see her. Every day I made it my mission to lay my eyes on her at least once. It was enough to get me through. What I should never have done was hurt her. She could have been my friend. If I would have treated her decently from day one, who knows where we'd be right now? Maybe if I had her kindness all those years, I wouldn't have resorted to trying to end my life. I was hurting so bad, I took out my pain on her. Once I started, I couldn't stop. All my pain and inner turmoil were cast out onto her—someone completely innocent.

  Her mother started working for mine. I saw Evie at my house often. Each time, I looked at her with disdain.

  I was gaining in popularity with every quip I made at her. I had people following me around school, hanging on my every word. Once they found out I was wealthy, they never left. I could have had any girl in school, and I did have a lot of them. Being with every one of them was meaningless. Some tried to get attached, but I quickly put a stop to that.

  After high school was over, I'd bring them to the house and have them stay the night. He had stopped abusing me by then, but I couldn't let my guard down. He didn't come near me when someone was there. He didn't want anyone to know our little secret. God forbid they did and believed me over him. So the string of girls I had at the house was a defense mechanism, as well as someone to get lost in for a little bit. I hated that Evie saw them. I hated that when she was at my house, she saw me walk each one out.

  "They didn't mean anything," I say quietly. I’m not sure why I'm telling her. Maybe so she won't view me as such a dickhead if she knows. Maybe it's to lift a little of the weight off my chest, which has me feeling like I'm lying on the bottom of the ocean with a ten-ton boulder sitting on me.

  "Who didn't mean anything?"

  "The women. All of them."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "I thought you should know."

  "Okay."

  There's so much I want to tell her. So much I want to say, but what if she only looks at me with pity from then on? I wouldn't be able to stand her seeing me with sad eyes.<
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  A thought suddenly pops into my head. "Where's my gun?"

  "I put it away. You won't be able to get to it."

  "Dammit, Evie! What if I need it?"

  She sits up in bed, crossing her legs. "I'm not giving you the gun. No way. You're not ending your life as long as I can help it."

  "What if I told you I also used it as protection?"

  "If that were true, then why haven't you killed him already?" Of course, she knows where my mind went. "Why did you try to kill yourself and not him?"

  "Fine. So I had it to kill myself, but everything’s changed."

  She shakes her head. "Nothing has changed between an hour ago and right now. Not a damned thing."

  I suck at talking. I normally shut down and say nothing when I'm feeling something. Years of being told I was lying did that to me. Now, talking to Evie, how the hell do I tell her things? Sure, I said stuff when she was kneeling before me, but I don't know if I can say more. I need to at least tell her this, however.

  "Remember last night at dinner when I got in to it with Everett?" She nods. "Do you know why that started?" She shakes her head. "I caught him staring at you, more accurately, your chest. While you were eating, he was checking you out. I saw him lick his fucking lips." I roll over to my back and squeeze my eyes shut.

  "Maybe it was because he had food on them and was licking it off. He could have also been looking at my plate."

  I sit up and face her. My hands cradle her cheeks as I lock eyes with her. She's trying to say it was nothing. She wouldn't be the first person not to believe me, but it's different with her. I need to convince her.

  I don't waiver as I speak. "Every night when he came into my room, he would look me up and down, then lick his lips. It was only a matter of seconds before he was on me, pulling my clothes off, touching me, forcing himself…into me." Her eyes widen. "So when he looked at you in a way I was all too familiar with, I had to stop him. The image it put in my head of what he wanted to do to you, where he would put his hands on you, I saw red. He couldn't look at you that way. Not you, Evie. Never you."