Every Breath You Take

by Bianca Sloane

  “You bitch,” he whispered. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  She looked over to see the phone on the bathroom counter and reached over to snatch it. He shot one hand out and grabbed her wrist, twisting it again. She fell to the floor as he leveraged her weight to raise himself up, grabbing the phone as he let her sink back down. He stooped over and backed out of the bathroom, keeping his eyes trained on her.

  “I hope it was worth it, Nat,” he said as he edged out of the bedroom. “I hope it was worth it.”

  Chapter 55

  SHE

  She stroked the door.

  How many days had it been?

  “Joey, please, please, I’m so hungry, please, I’m sorry, I said I was sorry,” she whispered, her throat raw from screaming for him to come in and feed her, her hands and arms burning from pounding on the door. “I didn’t mean it, please, please. . .” Natalie’s eyes drooped into drowsy slits as she laid her head against the door. She’d been crouched on the floor, cradling the door for so long, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to move when he did come back.

  If he did.

  The nights of freedom from his constant assaults had been little-enjoyed due to the unbearable hunger. She tried sleeping to trick her body into ignoring the angry, insistent rumbles, but it only worked for a few hours. She paced, but that, too, was only useful for so long. She tried screaming for Joey, though she knew the room was soundproof. Still, she had to do something to at least feel as though she was taking action, even if it was futile.

  Natalie held her stomach, trying to not think about her baby suffering inside of her. Because of her. So much was going wrong right now. She shouldn’t have bit him. She had a baby to take care of. That had to trump her rage at Joey. She had to be smarter than this.

  She had to protect her baby.

  Natalie resumed stroking the door and closed her eyes. “Do whatever you want to me, but save my baby. Please. She’s all I have left of Jason. She’s everything. I won’t do anything else to make him mad, I swear. Whatever sick, disgusting, perverted things he wants to do to me, I’ll do them. Just save my baby, please. Save her.”

  She waited for some sign, for Joey to come bursting through the door bearing a bowl of slimy oatmeal or crinkly, burnt bacon or bitter cranberry juice.

  She kept waiting.

  Chapter 56

  HE

  Joey sucked in his breath as he peeled back the damp gauze to examine the puncture wounds sunk deep into his skin. He shook his head before taking a deep inhale and dumping the remaining half of the peroxide bottle over the gaping, purple holes, screaming and writhing as he did so. He squirmed as he waited for the bubbling and tingling to stop. He gingerly patted the gashes with cotton balls, whimpering as he wound a clean sheet of gauze around the injury, securing it with a thick band of surgical tape.

  He was, as his daddy used to say, thinking with the wrong damned head. He didn’t think for a second she’d bite down on him like that. Everything had been going so well these past few weeks. He loved feeding her, loved talking to her, loved their quiet time watching movies together. And so did she—he knew in his heart she did. She loved spending time with him. He knew she did. After all, she smiled all the time. Heaped praise on him for everything he’d done for her. She was happy. He could see it in her eyes—he made her happy.

  Why was she back to fighting him? What the hell was wrong with her? Damn crazy, that’s what. And he was the one they locked up for seven years.

  He’d been hobbling around for the past few days, unable to do much but change the dressing and huddle on the bed, subsisting on toast and orange juice. He knew she was hungry, but right now, he didn’t care. Good. Good that she was in there suffering. He was suffering, too. He’d leave her in there for another day, maybe two. Then she’d start acting right.

  And if she still hadn’t learned . . . well, he had all kinds of lessons to teach her.

  Chapter 57

  SHE

  Natalie gasped from the corner when she heard the beeping of the door and saw Joey’s face. She looked down hoping to see a tray of food, but his hands were empty. He limped in without looking at her, reaching underneath the bed to uncoil the hefty silver chain.

  “No, please, don’t—”

  He clamped the shackle around her wrist and made a beeline for the dresser where she kept the pictures and mementos from her parents he’d given her. He scooped them up and turned to hobble back out of the room. Natalie leapt toward him, the bulky links snapping her back, already digging into her wrist bones.

  “No, Joey, please, please, don’t take them. Please.”

  He stared down at her, his eyes flat and cold. “What’s it worth to you, Nat?”

  “I’ll . . . I’ll do anything you want, anything at all. Just please, please let me eat, please let me. . .” she swallowed. “Please let me keep my parents’ things. I swear, I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll wear what you want, I’ll do anything, just please, I’m so hungry. So hungry. . .”

  He kept looking at her while she peered up at him, trying to show she was as sincere and, frankly, desperate as she felt. He finally flicked one aged photo in her direction. It floated just out of her reach, the pointy corner she couldn’t quite grasp mocking her fingertip.

  “Well, you can look at it anyway,” he laughed, his shoulders shaking.

  “It’s okay, Joey, it’s okay. I can look at it. Thank you. Thank you for this.”

  “You want the rest, you’ll have to earn them back.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand. I know, I have to earn your trust.”

  “Hmm,” he nodded in agreement. “Yes, you will. You sure will.”

  “I’m sorry, Joey, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please, please forgive me, please let me eat. Please.”

  “So you’re hungry, huh?”

  “Oh, yes, Joey, I am. I’m so hungry. I’ll eat anything.”

  He nodded again, this time slower, as though her revelation that she was starving was some new nugget of information he hadn’t previously considered. “Okay,” he said, suddenly brightening. “I’ll bring you some food. What would you like?”

  “Whatever you want, Joey. Anything at all.”

  “As long as there’s no peanuts in it, right?” he said before bursting into laughter. He wiped a tear from his eyes. “Oh man, that was a bad joke. Sorry. Sorry. See, Nat? I can make jokes.”

  She looked at him uncertainly before offering her own nervous chuckle. “Yes, Joey, you’re so funny. You’ve always made me laugh.”

  “Uh huh. Okay, I’m gonna go and get you some food. Don’t go anywhere,” he laughed again as he ducked out of the room. He came back in balancing a tray of chicken, salad, and a piece of what looked to be blueberry pie. She strained against the chain, wishing she could wrest the precious food away from him. She forced herself to sit obediently on the floor while he made a big show of sawing the dry strands of chicken into tiny pieces with the plastic fork and knife and tossing the limp leaves of lettuce in the plastic bowl. He looked at her for a few moments before pelting her with a grape tomato, nicking her in the eye. She yelped as he began to hurl leaves of lettuce, cucumber triangles, chicken skin, and crumbles of pie crust at her. Food rained down on her like a storm, his laughter thundering above Natalie as she tried to shelter herself, trapped by the hulking chain.

  He finished and threw the plastic plate and tray at her. She ducked to the side to avoid being struck in the face. Pie crust crumbs dotted her shirt and chicken bones had found their way into her bra. Lettuce leaves hung from her hair like Christmas tree ornaments.

  “Have a nice lunch,” he said as he wiped his hands and strolled out of the room.

  “Laughing. Crying. Screaming. Raging.”

  It was the sound of breaking glass that woke her up.

  The tinkling of the glass as it shattered sounded like the frothy plinking of piano keys. At first, of course, as she hovered in that gauzy neverland between sleep and reality, sh
e thought she must have been dreaming. There wouldn’t be any reason to break into this derelict off-campus apartment with the milk crates for tables and chairs and the scratchy orange and brown plaid couch rescued from the dumpster. The only thing a thief might possibly derive any sort of satisfaction from were the innumerable boxes of Cap’n Crunch cereal.

  She shook it off, letting herself be lulled once more into the blitheness of her dreams as she rolled over into Dennis’ back. She was drifting back into dreamland when she heard it once more. The unmistakable chimes of splintering glass.

  And then she shot straight up in bed, realizing too late she’d let her guard down.

  The heavy, wheezing echo of his breath sauntered into the room before he did. He stood at the foot of the bed, the spare tire of fat around his midsection jiggling like Jell-O, the hefty turkey legs of his thighs pressing awkwardly against each other, the sloped curve of his shoulders bunching toward his chest. He was shaking. And crying.

  And bleeding.

  The long trails of blood glistened against his skin in the sliver of moonlight streaming through the cheap plastic blinds hanging across the dirty windows. Had he put his fist through the living room window?

  Dennis didn’t understand what was happening; he instinctively threw his arm across her and told Joey to take his wallet out of his jeans crumpled in the corner. They didn’t want any trouble.

  Joey. Laughing. Crying. Screaming. Raging. Vines of angry spit soaring out of his mouth as he slashed the darkness with a long, thick knife. Dennis. Nervous and confused by this stranger’s maniacal ranting, the slow realization that she’d kept this part of her life a well-guarded secret. Natalie. Trembling and terrified out of her mind, wondering if this unlikeliest of trios would make it to the fragile light of day.

  Joey. Begging her one more time to come home with him where she belonged.

  Natalie. Shaking her head and pleading with him to leave them alone, promising this would stay a secret.

  Joey. Claiming there was no choice, pushing the sharp, shiny tip of the knife into his jowly flesh, a thread of blood trickling down his neck. Natalie and Dennis both reaching for him as he drew a smiley face across the ridges of his neck, droplets of blood sliding into the neck of his t-shirt. Whispering she could make this stop. Angered by her inertia, leveling the blade against the lacy blue-green veins of his wrist, pushing the point inside, forcing a spurt of shiny crimson to jump into the air.

  Dennis. Feeling brave enough to make a move, lunged for Joey.

  Which was exactly what Joey wanted.

  Joey and Dennis writhing around on the floor. Dennis’ wiriness ultimately no match for Joey’s heft as the knife grabbed hold of Dennis’ flesh and took a long, jagged jog down the length of his thigh.

  Natalie. Trying to leap out of bed to help Dennis but being stopped by Joey, who locked his arms around her waist and dragged her to the front door, ignoring the blows of her feet against his shins, blocking out her piercing screams.

  Dennis. Rocking himself to his feet and limping behind them, a long trail of blood arcing across the faded blue jogging pants. Tackling Joey from behind and locking his arms around his neck.

  Joey. Stunned. Dropping Natalie as he writhed around trying to free himself from Dennis’ grasp.

  Natalie. Running for the phone on top of the rickety card table, gasping as she realized it was dead, knowing Joey must have cut the wires. Realizing the only way to save them was to leave, to try and get to a neighbor for help. She ran for the door, halted by the grisly pas de deux unfolding in front of her.

  Joey and Dennis. One thrusting forward, one dipping back.

  Joey. Getting the upper hand.

  Dennis. Screaming.

  Chapter 58

  SHE

  “Nat, you ain’t been having your monthly, have you?”

  She froze as he hovered above her, momentarily forgetting the cold that had been creeping up on her the past few days. She tried to think of something, anything to say as he stared at her, poised to test out whether he’d sufficiently rebounded from his injury. The past few weeks had been tranquil, providing her mind and body with a much-needed respite from the relentless pounding, the grunting, his sweat sliding across her cheekbones, pooling in her collarbone.

  He’d announced that morning it was time to resume their normal “lovemaking.” She’d wanted to choke on the biscuit he was feeding her, wanted to hurl a blob of that wet, pasty flour out of her mouth and straight onto his face. Instead, she’d simply nodded and murmured “okay,” bracing herself for the tears. None came. Perhaps she had no more tears to give.

  The befuddled look on his face as he stared down at her sent her into a panic. It was true she was steadily gaining weight, which didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Shirt buttons strained across her engorged breasts, the snaps of her pants dug into the fleshy part of her stomach. Joey was priding himself on “fattening her up,” and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up this charade. What would he do if he found out she was pregnant? Lately she’d begun to hope if she could at least get far enough along, she could avoid his trying to force a miscarriage; she certainly didn’t see him carting her to the doctor’s office for prenatal care.

  “What do you mean?” Play dumb.

  He rolled away from her, temporarily distracted. “It’s just that all these times we been together, you ain’t had your monthly. How come?”

  “Yes, I have,” she said quickly. “Why would you think I haven’t?”

  He rubbed his bottom lip, his eyes narrow. “You sure?”

  “Oh, I may have missed a period or two, it happens when you’re stress—” she stopped herself.

  “What you been stressed about?”

  “I was just talking about the days when you were sick, that’s all. I was worried about you.”

  He smiled and latched on to her once again. “Missed me, huh? Missed me making love to you like a real man. Not like those pretty boy bastards.”

  “Yes, Joey. That’s right.”

  She winced as he nudged his scaly lips against her neck and pinched her nipples, praying the white liquid she’d been seeing the past few days wouldn’t come squirting out. They behaved and he pushed into her with wary precision, seemingly satisfied with her explanation. She slid out of her body and huddled in the corner.

  She wouldn’t be able to keep him in the dark much longer.

  Chapter 59

  HE

  She was sleeping.

  He stared down at her for a few minutes, listening to the soft flutters of her breath. He caressed her cheek for a few minutes, but she never stirred, drowning in a deep sleep.

  He walked into her bathroom and flung the cabinets open, his eyes immediately falling to the box of tampons and pads he’d put in almost as an afterthought when he was setting up the house. You didn’t grow up with two older sisters and not hear the hushed, embarrassed giggles about “cycles” and “cramps” and “bloated” once a month.

  He ran his finger across the top.

  The seal was unbroken.

  She hadn’t been missing any periods. She hadn’t been having any periods. Why wouldn’t she tell him? Why would she keep something like this from him?

  He wandered into the bedroom and stared down at her sleeping form curled beneath the beige doo-vay, as he heard her call it once. She’d always been skinny like a toothpick, his mama used to always say. Daddy said not to worry; once she started having babies, she’d fatten up.

  Babies.

  Could she be. . .?

  He was about to flip the covers back to check for himself when her eyes popped open. She shrank away from him, her eyes wild for a second, before slipping into blankness.

  “Joey. What are you doing?”

  He crossed his arms and started to pace, never taking his eyes off her.

  “Joey?”

  “You pregnant, Nat?”

  “What? No, I’m not pregnant. Why would you think that?”

  �
�You ain’t been having no monthly. I checked, Nat. I checked the boxes. Those boxes ain’t been used since you got here.”

  “Joey, I—”

  “Why you lying, Nat, huh? Why?”

  “Joey, please—”

  He lunged for her but for the first time, she was able to outrun him, flinging herself into the bathroom and locking the door.

  “You can’t hide from me, Nat. I know you’re pregnant.”

  “Go away!” she screamed from behind the door, her voice muffled. “Leave me alone.”

  He raised his hand to pound the door once more when he stopped and stepped back, his palms facing away from him. He knocked against the door with his knuckle.

  “All right, Nat. All right. That’s how you want to play this, then okay. That’s how we’ll play this.”

  Chapter 60

  SHE

  It was quiet.

  Growing up in Zach and Cheryl’s house, she craved quiet. The clatter of smashed bottles, drunken ramblings, and strings of incoherent expletives would play on a broken loop from morning to night, all day, every day. An uninterrupted thought was a luxury. The chirp of a bird outside your window was a foreign, though lovely, sound. Living alone, she got the peace and quiet she’d so desperately desired.

  This was a different kind of quiet. This was creepy, maddening quiet. An uncertain kind of quiet that kept her locked in the bathroom for who knew how many hours now, afraid of what she might find on the other side of the door. Would he be standing there, ready to dig his fingers into her windpipe? Would he lunge for her, a sharp, shiny knife glued to his hand, ready to plunge it into her baby?

  Natalie shuddered and continued to rock back and forth on the cold tile, her knees crammed into the crooks of her elbows. How long could she wait him out?