She's Not Gone

by Sarah Northwood

  Remaining silent, I don’t speak for fear of saying the wrong thing. Instead I nod.

  “No, please, come in. That looks painful. How on earth did you do that?” he exclaims. “I promise you, I don’t bite…please, come in.”

  He takes a hold of my arm, and I flinch as he shepherds me into the room. I hear the gentle click as the door closes behind me and seals my fate.

  “So Katie, do you want to tell me how you did that?” Doctor Greg Peters takes a seat in front of me, a look of concern etched on his face as he points to my cheekbone.

  I wonder if he’s seen this before, women like me. Will he guess what has happened? A part of me wants him to know, wants to tell him. Instead, my lips stay closed. I urge my eyes to talk to him instead, sensing them burning into his face as he struggles to keep his eyes on mine under the weight of my stare. I yearn for the cathartic release that will come from spilling my soul. But my mouth remains stitched closed, my throat dry as a desert and my tongue nailed to the roof of my mouth. Then I remember, and thank God for the blessing of my silence. This is Daryl’s friend, what the hell am I thinking? That I could tell him? Perhaps it is the other part of me talking, the part that wants to die. Surely that’s what will come of telling Greg the truth. That's a suicidal wave to ride.

  “I fell and caught my face on the door handle, I’m worried it might be broken.”

  He raises his eyebrows as if to question the validity of my response. I place my hands in my lap and slouch lower in the chair. If he is like Daryl, which of course he must be, then I need to make myself small. Submit to his presence in the room.

  “Wow, that must have been some fall! How on earth did you manage to fall onto the door handle like that, Katie? Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” His voice goes softer as he reaches his hands towards mine before thinking better of it. “If you were attacked by someone, you can tell me. That’s my job, you know, to help. I promise everything you tell me here is confidential. Nothing happens without your say so.” His voice is so sincere, his eyes kind beneath the blonde streaks of hair that flop gently over his eyes. I'm hesitant to trust him, but he seems so utterly different from Daryl. His soft shoulders and unimposing stance tells me to believe him.

  As if he finally begins to understand my silent language, he looks up, his eyes now bright and shining. Either he has remembered something important or he’s finally come to understand, when he says, “Was it Daryl? Did Daryl do this to you?”

  I want to answer. I'm sure my eyes are silently burrowing into him. I lift them to reach his gaze once more and try desperately to unstick my tongue.

  He runs his fingers through his hair, sweeping back the loose strands, and I notice how his perfectly manicured fingers are somewhat at odds with his slightly haphazard appearance. Then his face begins to crumble as a look of horror flashes across it.

  Has he understood me?

  “Oh my God Katie, I’m so sorry. What was I thinking? Bloody hell. Please don’t tell Daryl I suggested that. The guy couldn’t hurt a fly, especially you… I mean, god, how long have I known him?”

  “Erm...?” I reply.

  “We’ve known each since we were five!” he exclaims. “We were only talking about you the other night at the pub. I probably shouldn’t mention that but I know how much he loves you! God, he’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.” He shakes his head as if getting rid of the memories. “Please can you forgive me, Katie?”

  So that’s how it is. To the outside world, to everyone but me, Daryl is a sweet, gentle guy. What’s so wrong with me that he treats me this way? Why does everyone else get the best of him? For a moment, I feel something like jealousy.

  “You’ve known each other that long? I didn’t realise…”

  “Yeah, we went to school together, Katie. I thought he might have told you. Silly of me to think that. When my folks had to move, we lost touch until recently, but you know, he’s not changed a bit. Well, ok maybe a little, he was a bit of dick back then but weren’t we all? We were just kids. That’s part of the job description, right?” he questions.

  Nodding, I agree with him, and say, “But don’t be silly, there’s nothing to forgive and I’m fine, really. Just clumsy.”

  “You know, I really think we should get you in for some x- rays.” I shake my head as vigorously as I can, given the circumstances. “Not a fan of that idea? OK, well let’s look at this face and see what we can do, then.”

  With that, the conversation is done. Greg simply cannot conceive that Daryl could do something like this, and so it is over. If that is how the outside world sees him, what chance do I have?

  By the time I finish with Doctor Peters, I’m not just late for work, half the day is gone. I could call Jeannie and tell her I’m too sick to go in. I certainly feel I would be justified in doing so, given my injuries and the morning I’ve had. However, if I know her at all, and I like to think I do, she won’t just leave it at that. She’ll come around to check up on me and make everything even worse. If she gets involved, things will be even scarier, impossible as that seems. I think about her and the danger I could put her in, and realise I can’t do it. So, I take my rust bucket of a car and make my way to the shop.

  Briefly, I wonder what Daryl will think when he sees the extra mileage my detour has added. I laugh manically at myself that this should be something for me to care about. As I pull out and onto the back streets, I see the launderette, pass by the hairdressers and see a family on the way to the local park. The same streets, the same people but today their happiness stings at my skin with a fresh pain, it feels like acid rain is pouring over my skin. With deep breaths, I prepare myself before entering the shop as best I can. Relief washes over me when I notice how empty the place is. Not great for business but good for me.

  “Oh my god Katie, what in the bloody hell has happened to you?” Jeannie examines my face closely. The worry etched between her eyes accentuates the white curls on top of her head. She reaches up to touch my face and a look of sadness flits across her eyes.

  Flinching from her touch, I shout, “Jeannie!” surprised at her for swearing. She never swears, never. Thankfully the shop is empty, our regular customers would not have appreciated this new aspect to her personality.

  “Sit down, Katie. Here.” Her voice commands rather than asks as she pulls up a stool for me. I sit down gratefully.

  I thought I’d done a pretty good job of covering myself up but clearly I was wrong. Rather than take a stool herself she kneels in front of me and takes my hands in hers. Looking up, I can see her sadness.

  “Look, enough is enough, Katie. You’ve got to tell me what’s going on. It’s Daryl, isn’t it? He’s the one who did this to you! It’s no good sweetheart, please?” I can hear the desperation in her voice. My heart is being crushed inside my chest. I didn’t know that it could ache more than it already does. My eyes trail the floor, looking at anything but her. How can I answer?

  “Take the scarf off, Katie, let me have a look. Please?” she asks gently.

  I slide the silk slowly from my neck and reveal the marks. “Oh darling” Jeannie begins to cry.

  She gets up quietly and walks over to lock the doors so we won’t be interrupted. “I understand if you can’t tell me everything yet, but I want to you nod if Daryl did this.”

  I try to tell my brain to move my lips, I tell it to, I will it to move with every fibre of my being. I want to tell her everything but all I can see is Daryl looming over me. Next time he’ll kill me. Nothing but a gargle will come out of my throat but my head moves robotically of its own accord as I nod yes.

  “You’ve got to leave him Katie. You can’t go on like this, love,” she urges. “Oh, and I think you’d better stay in the back today, sweetheart. You know what this place is like for gossip.”

  So that’s how Jeannie came to know, to be the only person I’ve confided in. In truth, the only person left for me to talk to. Daryl has made sure of that. But choosing her as my
confidant is less of a conscious choice and more a case of her discovering what I’ve tried so hard to cover up. She noticed when I became quieter and withdrawn. She noticed I always wore long sleeves and trousers to cover the bruises Daryl had given me. It’s only now, when things have escalated, when Daryl can no longer quite control where he puts those bruises, that she has come to realise the full truth of what is happening. I am faced with only one real option. One choice. To tell her. Still, even now, I hesitate. I have fought to protect him but now the shackles are beginning to loosen because I have someone who cares about me. Jeannie. I’m not ready to admit out loud that I am terrified. I’m not ready to risk my life and hers by leaving. Yet now I'm no longer alone and yes, the shackles are loosening, but their chains are made from an emotional rope as heavy as concrete. They are twisted with fear and guilt and feelings of worthlessness, and are almost unbreakable. I am still trapped inside my head, between his fists and the life I've made. I know of no way out, I know of no escape. Only now, the stakes are even higher.

  Chapter Eight

  My heart sinks at the sight of his car, which tells me he is back from work already. It’s way too early for him to be home. My stomach lurches, something has to be wrong. I open the door to the flat and go inside hesitantly. With unsteady legs, I step into the entrance way and immediately notice how the brown carpet, which had looked so inviting when we first moved in, now looks threaded with dirt and despair. The off-white painted walls that once gave the place an inviting feel, only serve to make the entrance feel cold and stark. My home has morphed into a visual display of the feelings I walk around with every day. I'm as numb and empty as the shell of its cold walls.

  “Daryl?” I shout to let him know I’m home. I also want to know where he is. The idea of him jumping out on me is not a pleasant one. If I can see his face, I’ll be in a better position to judge his mood, and I hope like hell that what I see will show me he’s sorry. If he is the man I think he is, he’ll be in pieces about what happened. Trudging onwards, I move cautiously forward.

  I’ve thought about reporting him to the police, but I'm afraid of what will happen when he gets out. Will he be sorry or will he seek me out? Besides this is Daryl, I love him, and he once loved me.

  Turning at the sound of clunking coming from the direction of the kitchen, I guess Daryl is in there, although why he hasn’t replied to my calls I don’t know. I try to think it isn’t a bad sign, maybe he just hasn’t heard me. I try to think that way but I can’t. Gingerly taking off my coat, I slip the scarf off tentatively. Unable to resist, I glance in the mirror in the hall. The sight of my face and neck make me gasp all over again.

  Is that me? I wonder bizarrely as I catch sight of my own reflection.

  My earlier attempts to mask the damage have proved futile and the trip to see Doctor Peters seems only to have inflamed the injury. Aside from some painkillers and cream, there was little he could offer me. The only blessing that has come from the encounter is the relief that he didn’t believe any bones have been broken. There are some small miracles left in the world.

  The colourful bruising has now turned my face into a work of art, but you should think less Da Vinci and more Picasso. Momentarily I let my fingers trace over my skin as if confirming it really is me beneath the mountain of swellings and dried blood, but I don’t linger for long. It won’t change things and the longer I stand here, the worse I feel. I won’t give in to self-pity. Besides, Daryl isn’t going anywhere and I have to face him. Better it be on my terms than finding myself caught by his claws once again.

  I continue, taking the next few steps to the kitchen, and announce myself again. “Hun? It’s me, it’s Katie. I got off early. Hey, you in here?”

  “Katie!” Turning around to me, his large frame fills the doorway and blocks my path. At the sight of me, he swings his arms around dramatically. His unkempt brown hair and the crazed ferocious look in his eyes make him seem feral and unknown to me. I wonder if he has gone mad. His wrinkled shirt is half untucked and he’s removed his tie. I fear that the monster inside him that makes him act this way has now consumed him.

  “Look, I’ve been shopping.” He moves to one side and points to the bags triumphantly. He knows full well I can’t do the shopping, I have no money, and there hasn’t been any food in the house. He always insists on taking my money the very moment Jeannie pays me. I think if he could, he would have her give it to him directly and cut out the middle man or, in my case, middle woman. I see there are several filled carrier bags on the kitchen counter. Perhaps this is a good sign? Upon closer inspection, I can see very little in the way of food. Four large bottles of what I presume are alcohol poke out from a half-open bag. From this distance, it is hard to determine what kind but I don't dare step any closer, that will bring me side by side with him. If I have to hazard a guess, I think it likely they are bottles of whisky. Contrary to my first thought, this is as far from a good sign as it can get. What are we going to eat?

  “Wait a minute. What are you doing home so early?” he suddenly asks.

  “I, my face…Jeannie let me go home.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with your face, apart from the obvious? You’re not exactly a supermodel, are you?” Looking at the ground, I wonder if he even remembers what he did to me. His voice has a sharp edge that makes the Daryl I love seem to be nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

  “Well, never mind why you’re home. You’re here now Katie, why don’t we have a party?”

  He reaches out for me and pulls me towards him, tucking his arms around my slim waist, grabbing my hands as if to make me his dance partner. I push him away in a blind panic.

  “Oh Katie, Katie, you’re no fun, why don’t you want to play with me? Wanna have a drink instead?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  Instead of reaching for the whisky, he pulls out a carton of milk from the fridge. Taking off the lid, he holds it out provocatively at arm’s length.

  “Here, have a drink!”

  He takes the lid off and tips the bottle up and into his throat, then rocks it in his hands, gesturing for me to take it from him. As I reach out he throws it wildly to the floor. The white liquid drips from the bottle, mocking me as it pools out far and wide.

  “Ah, look what you made me do now, Katie. All of this, it’s all your fault. If you weren’t such a needy bitch, then none of this would have happened. Maybe I ought to get you to lick it up. Maybe then you’d learn your lesson!”

  I stand there, unable to say anything. What could I say?

  “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

  Trying desperately to distract him, I change the subject. “Why are you home early Daryl?” I ask gently.

  “Why am I home? Why am I home? I’ll tell you why. I’ve lost my job because of you. You see the mess you make, Katie. Do you see the damage you do?”

  “I’m sorry, Daryl. Really I am. What happened?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “I’m sure we can sort it out. Maybe you can go in tomorrow and apologise for whatever it was? They can’t let you go for just one thing surely,” I say.

  I try to get through to him but instead of answering me, he roars with anger and snatches a bottle of whisky out of a bag. As he comes towards me my body betrays me and I plead with him for mercy. Trembling uncontrollably, I cower in the corner, afraid of what he could do.

  “Well, you can clean up this mess, while I go out and have some fun,” he laughs maniacally.

  On his way past me, he knocks into my shoulder, barging into me to get to his coat. I wince as an arrow of pain passes through my body. As his footsteps recede, I hear the thump of the front door closing and feel a familiar sensation as the world starts spinning and my legs give out from underneath me.

  Daryl’s lost his job? What the hell are we going to do now? We’ll never survive on just my wages.

  Putting my face in my hands, for the first time, I let myself grieve. I don’t know when things
had gone from bad to awful, but somewhere along the line everything got lost. Me, Daryl, life, it’s all gone and I don’t think there’s a way back. I grieve for the foolish child I’ve been to end up here. For the life I’ve dreamed of, and now will never have. I can see no escape, for either of us. I grieve for Daryl and who he has become and I wonder if there's such a thing as being damned. Only thing is, I’m not sure which one of us is the damned one.

  Realising that someone has to clean the place up, I let my head go someplace else while my body gets on with the tasks ahead. Cleaning and crying, I cleanse myself as well as the floor. Later, as I sit with the third cup of tea I’ve let go cold, I decide that I can’t stand another minute without some painkillers. The throb in my head has turned into an angry beating drum and I feel like someone is playing a particularly hard and rip-roaring heavy metal tune.

  I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting at the window daydreaming, but I’ve been watching the clouds move across the sky, hypnotised. Transfixed with the knowledge that Daryl is lost to me. I still have faith that I might be able to soothe him when he returns and sort this whole mess out. If it hadn’t been for the girl who screwed him up before I came along, then everything would be alright. There must be a way back, some way to prove that I’m not like her and that whatever has happened at work can be sorted. The Daryl I love can fix anything. Well, apart from her.

  I’ve never known her name, he won’t give her the satisfaction of saying it aloud ever again. She found someone else and left him. I guess that’s why he has to feel like a man now. Why the monster inside him behaves the way it does—to give him a sense of control. I can’t imagine what it must be like to love someone and have them do that to you. It drives his jealousy, his anger, everything. I wonder what he would have been like if he’d never met her, if she had never existed. The pounding in my head gets stronger and for a second I think I hear snatched whispers bouncing around the room.