by R. R. Banks
I’m blow-drying my hair and considering dyeing it like I used to when I hear someone knocking on the door. I pause, turning off the hair dryer so I can listen and make sure. A few seconds later, I hear the sound again. This time I'm sure someone is there. Wishing I had the foresight to put up the do not disturb sign, I walk over to the door.
"Thanks, but I don't need any housekeeping," I call toward the shut door. "I'm good on towels and everything."
"I'm not here to bring you towels."
The voice through the door makes my heart feel like it’s stopped. It's Trevor. My body begins to shake, and I look around the room for anything I can use to smash the window. Being on the third-floor means using it would not be an easy means of escape, but at this moment I would prefer to take my chances on the fall than inside another closed room with him.
"What are you doing here, Trevor?" I ask.
"I just want to talk to you.”
I don't hear any of the rage and fury from yesterday, but that doesn't put me at ease. He can switch moods and emotions in a matter of seconds. His entire demeanor can change so fast that it’s dizzying.
"How did you find me?"
"I've been looking for you all night," he says. "I didn't know where you went, and I was worried about you."
I find it extremely hard to believe he was searching that hard considering how long it took him to find me here, but that only makes me more unsure of his intentions. Either he wasn't actually searching for me until this morning and thought to look behind the building for my car, or he knew I was here for hours and just now decided to come and talk to me. The latter option sends a chill through me.
What could he have been doing during that time?
His attempt to drag me down into the basement yesterday had been spur-of-the-moment, without any planning or preparation, and it nearly worked. The possibility of him spending the entire night thinking through another attempt and putting plans in place makes my stomach turn.
"I came here because I didn't want to be near you. I told you Trevor, I'm done."
"I know," Trevor says. "I know what you said. I just want to talk to you. Just for a minute."
I want to go back into the bathroom, close the door, and wait for him to leave. At the same time, doing that would only give him even more power over me. I got out of that house on my own, and I refuse to show him any more fear. Still trembling slightly, I walk up to the door and release the series of locks, leaving the chain lock in place. I place myself behind the door and open it as far as it will go – only a few inches. Trevor stands outside, looking mournfully at me.
"What do you have to say?" I ask.
"You're not going to let me in?" he asks.
"No," I say.
"Then, come out here. I don't want to have this conversation through a door."
I sigh, unlock the chain, and step out into the hallway. The keycard for the room is in my back pocket, and it gives me a sense of confidence.
"Here I am," I say. "What did you want to talk about?"
"I want you to come home," he says.
"I'm not coming back, Trevor," I say. "That's not my home anymore."
"Of course, it is."
"Not after last night," I say. "That can't ever be my home again. I don't want to be with you. I don't want to live like that anymore."
"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday. It was a stupid thing to do, and I shouldn't have done it. I was just out of my mind. I'm so worried I'm going to lose you to another guy."
Coming at any other time, in any other situation, that might have been a sweet sentiment, but not now. I don't believe a single word coming out of his mouth. I've let Trevor talk himself out of countless situations before, but this time it's too much. I can't let him get away with how far he's pushed me, and how much he took over my life. I'm finally distanced enough from him that I can feel myself shaking free of Trevor's intense control, and I won't let myself lose that.
"That's not enough," I say. "You can't just pretend that none of that happened. You can't pretend you haven't been isolating me, following me, or that you didn't try to shove me down in the basement."
"I said I'm sorry," he says. "I've just been so worried about you. It makes me sick to think about what I did to you, and I can't stand what I did. I've been looking for you and calling around trying to find you since you left. You have no idea how relieved I was when I saw your car here."
His voice is shaky and filled with sadness, but the emotion doesn't extend to his eyes.
"How did you find out what room I'm in?"
"I asked at the front desk," he says. "I told the woman there that my wife checked in last night."
He smiles, and I know he expects me to melt. This is the moment he expects me to throw my arms around his neck, forgive him, and beg him to bring me home. Instead, I feel even angrier. I see the manipulation now. I can feel how he’s trying to lure me back into him.
"Trevor, I don't appreciate you doing that."
"Why not? Isn't that what you want? I even paid the bill. Now you don’t have to worry about it, since I know you don't have the money for it, unless you've been keeping it from me."
Even in his attempt to make amends and get me back, his need for control isn’t far from his mind.
"Like I said, I came here because I wanted to be away from you. I wanted to be alone for a while."
"Really? Then why would you book three nights?" There's a sliminess to his voice now that he thinks is sexy. "It seems to me like you had a plan in mind. I must admit, it is tempting to have a little vacation. It would have been better if you had told me you wanted to do it, so I could plan it, but your spontaneity sure is cute."
He takes another step toward me, lifting one hand to stroke my face. I step away from him in the direction of my room.
"No, Trevor," I say. "This isn't a spontaneous vacation. This isn't some twisted roleplay I'm trying. I left you. I need you to understand that. I'm not coming back. It’s over."
His face darkens, and in an instant, my back is pressed to the wall, and his hand is in the center of my chest, crushing me against it. I feel like my rib cage is cracking, and I can't draw in enough breath through the pain to scream.
"Listen to me," he growls, his eyes narrowed and piercing into mine. "You are not going to leave me. No one leaves me. I get to decide how long you’re in my life."
The statement is ominous, and I latch onto his arm to pull it away.
"Trevor," I manage to gasp. "Stop."
He only pushes harder, and I wince. Digging my fingernails into his arm, I kick forward. The instant my foot makes contact with his shin, Trevor stumbles back, and I duck out of the way of his reaching hands. He lets out an animal-like sound, and I finally scream, launching myself down the hallway. The keycard in my pocket is useless. I won't be able to get myself into the room and close the door before Trevor gets in with me. It would be just as dangerous to use the stairwell. The only option I have is to make it to the elevator before he does.
Still screaming, I push toward the elevator, hearing Trevor running behind me. Just as I reach for the button, the door opens, and I feel someone grab me. I try to battle whoever is holding me, but the hands push me toward the elevator, and I'm able to get ahold of myself enough to see that I'm now standing behind a security guard.
"Is something wrong here?" he asks.
"No," Trevor says. "Everything's fine."
"The front desk received a complaint that a couple was screaming and arguing in this hallway. I came up to check on everyone."
He's speaking slowly and evenly, almost like he's reading a script, but it seems to have stopped Trevor's approach. For now.
"Like I said, everything's fine," Trevor says. "My wife and I were just having a little disagreement. It's a personal matter."
"I'm not his wife," I say quickly.
The security guard glances over his shoulder at me. I know he can see how scared I am, and I hope with everything in me he doesn’t decide to leave us alone.
"She says she's not your wife," he says, turning back to Trevor. "So, you want to tell me again what's going on here, sir?"
Some of the measured calm has left the guard's voice, and I notice he's now standing stiffly in front of me.
"She may as well be my wife," Trevor says. "We've been together for six years and living together for four. She's just acting like a little bitch because she's angry at me."
"Sir, do you have a reservation here?"
"No," I speak up.
"He was talking to me," Trevor says, his voice tense and angry.
"You need to calm down," the guard orders.
"He doesn't have a reservation," I say. "I do. The room is in my name."
"I paid for it," Trevor snaps.
"But you aren't a registered guest, so as of right now, you're trespassing. I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."
"I'm not going anywhere," Trevor sneers. "I paid for that room, and I have the right to be in it."
"Not if you're not a registered guest of the property," the security guard says. "And especially not if you're going to disrupt other guests with this type of behavior."
"I don't care if I'm disrupting anybody. It's the middle of the fucking day. I have the right to talk to my woman however I want to. You certainly have no authority to stop me."
"Yes, I do," the security guard responds in a deep, gravelly voice I can only imagine came from several decades of smoking cigars. "And I'd prefer if you'd leave calmly and voluntarily so I don't have to use any force that would require a call to the police."
That seems to do it. Trevor turns and walks down the hall and slams his hands against the door to the stairwell. As soon as the explosive sound of the door slamming quiets in my ears, I let out a breath.
"Thank you," I say.
The security guard turns to look at me. The smile on his aging face is comforting, and I feel reassured by the kindness in his soft brown eyes.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
I nod.
"I think so. He just scared me." I let out a breath. "I really need to get out of here."
"Do you feel comfortable driving?"
I shake my head.
"No. He lives close to here."
"Do you have someone you can call?"
"Yes."
"I'll stay with you until you're ready to leave," he offers.
I nod.
"Thank you."
I walk back toward my room on weak and shaky legs. Drawing the keycard out of my back pocket, I debate who to call. There are only two names that come to mind. Lilith and Evan. I'm not sure which one of them I should reach out to in this situation. Evan is more familiar with it. He's known Trevor for much longer, though I wouldn't necessarily say he knows him well. But I don't want to face him, or what he's going to say about the situation. Lilith, on the other hand, knows much less about Trevor. I did my best to avoid talking about our relationship and the difficulties we've been facing whenever I saw her. This way, she could be an escape of sorts. Rather than only being someone to talk to about what was going on, or a person to pity me, Lilith was someone I could relax with and pretend nothing was wrong.
I still haven’t made up my mind by the time I get into the room, and cross to the phone sitting on the small table between two beds. I pick it up and let my finger dial the first number that comes to mind. It's Lilith's voice that greets me.
"Hey, Lilith."
"Abigail? Is that you?"
"Yeah."
"What number are you calling from?"
"A hotel," I say. "Listen, I need a favor."
"Sure. What are you doing at a hotel? Did you know your boyfriend's looking for you?"
My heart feels lodged in my throat.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"I got a call from a guy named Trevor last night. That's your boyfriend, right?"
"Trevor called you? How did he even get your number?"
"I don't know," she admits. "I just assumed you gave it to him."
"No," I say. "I didn't. What did he say?"
"He just said he was looking for you and asked if you were at my house. He said he could be by in a few minutes to pick you up if you were. I told him you weren't, and that I hadn't heard from you since we went shopping the other day. He seemed really upset, and said you left the house after an argument, but he didn't know where you went."
I feel sick. I never gave Trevor her phone number. If he was able to find it, that means he’s going to be able to find out anything about her. There’s no way I can go and stay with Lilith now. I don't want to put her at risk because of this.
"Thanks for letting me know," I say. "If he calls again, don't talk to him. We are not together anymore."
"I'm so sorry to hear that," she says.
"It's fine, really. I’ll tell you all about it next time I see you. Just make sure you don't tell him you heard from me, and don't let him know how to get anywhere near you, OK?"
"Is something wrong, Abigail? Did something happen?"
"It's going to be fine, I promise. I'll give you a call as soon as I can. Thanks, again."
"Wait," she says. "You wanted me to do a favor for you?"
"Don't worry about it," I say. "I'll figure it out. Talk to you soon. Bye."
I end the call before she can say anything else. I drop the phone back on to the cradle and sit down hard on the bed.
"Is something wrong?" the security guard asks.
I reach for the phone again.
"I have to make one more call," I say.
I pick up the phone again and call Evan. His voice sounds almost as confused as Lilith's when he realizes I’m on the other end of the line.
"Evan, I need your help," I say.
"Where are you?"
I give him the name of the hotel and the address from a pad of paper on the nightstand that’s so yellow, it looks like it's been there for years.
"Can you come now?" I ask.
"I'll be there as fast as I can."
I hang up and look at the security guard.
"He's on his way. It might be a little while."
"That's fine," the guard says. "If you feel safe enough, I can go back to the lobby and keep an eye out for the guy who just left. I'll let you know as soon as your ride gets here. What's his name?"
"Evan Dixon," I say.
"What does he look like?"
I let out a little breath.
"A lot like me, only a few years older and a guy," I say. "He's my brother."
********
Three hours later…
"I can't believe you don't have a cell phone."
It's the fourth time my brother has mumbled this since he got to the hotel. Even in the tight hug he gave me, I could feel a hint of protective anger. It's an anger he hasn't let go of since he found out I left home to move in with Trevor.
"I used to," I say. "I've told you that."
"I know," he says. "And I've told you it is absolutely ridiculous you let a man tell you whether or not you could have a phone. Why would you let somebody dictate when and how you could get in touch with people?"
"I didn't really have many people to stay in touch with at that point," I explain. "Look, I've had a really hard last couple of days, and I really appreciate you coming to help me, but I really don't have it in me to listen to this lecture right now."
Evan nods.
"Fine," he says. "I'm sorry. I'm just really angry right now, and I want to make sure you're alright."
"Right now? No, I'm not alright. I'm scared out of my mind by what I went through, and now I’m worried about Lilith. I'm not sure what I should do next."
"You don't have to do anything," Evan tells me. "You don't have to do anything right now. You just sit down and relax. I'll get your bags out of the car."
"OK," I say.
I know he can hear my voice tremble, and he pauses his progress to the front door.
"It's going to be fine," he says. "You're safe here."
/>
"Am I?" I ask. "He found me because he prowled around buildings until he found my car sitting behind the hotel. You followed me here from there. My car is sitting in front of your house. It's right there, for all the world to see."
"If they can find the house to begin with," Evan says. "Trevor might have been able to get your friend's phone number, but he's not going to find this place. I live too far away from him, and he's never been here. Even if he ever had bothered to get to know me and came to visit, I've moved twice in the last couple of years. He wouldn't be able to find me now. The house isn't even in my name. He's not going to find you."
"The house isn't in your name?"
"That's really all you took away from that?"
He scoffs and walks out of the house toward my car, leaving me with a distinct feeling he purposely avoided that question.
The house becomes completely still once he goes outside. It's a different kind of quiet than at the house Trevor and I shared. During those times I was alone, the quiet seemed to spark with energy as if something was always waiting to happen. Here it’s still and easy. My body still tingles with the adrenaline of my confrontation with Trevor, but it's starting to loosen its grip on me, leaving me exhausted. By the time Evan comes back in carrying my bags and a handful of mail he must have walked down to the street to collect, I'm lying on my side, curled up on the sofa. My eyes are heavy, and as soon as Evan comes in, I stop fighting sleep and allow them to close. Now that he’s in the house with me, I know I’m safe.
********
The next morning…
"Abigail, wake up."
The sound of Evan's voice comes to me through a fog. I'm not even entirely sure if I'm actually hearing him or not. But then he calls my name and gives me a gentle shake. As I open my eyes, I realize I'm still on the couch in his living room, but at some point, was covered with a blanket I remember belonging to our Grandmother before she passed.
"What time is it?" I ask.
"Almost ten," he says.
I can't remember sleeping this late since I was a teenager. I sit up sharply, feeling panic flutter in my chest, but stop after realizing there's nothing for me to do. I'm not at Trevor's house. He's not waiting for his breakfast or expecting lunch. Instead, I'm standing on the shaggy carpet of Evan's living room, smelling the last lingering wisps of smoke from the bacon he burned. This isn't a surprise. He's never been a great chef or anything. He's barely a competent cook.