All the Different Ways

by R. J. Lee

  “What the hell, Violet? Were you attacked? I’ll fucking rage if he put his hands on you,” Renee promises.

  I feel my face start to heat. This is why she can’t know what happened.

  “No, no, no, it’s nothing. Looks worse than it is. The bandage is just a little cut, no biggie and the bruise is because Anden tried to keep me from falling on the porch again. I was clumsy yesterday from being so tired; he just grabbed my arm a little too hard. It’s fine.” My stomach twists with the lies. I want to throw up, but I swallow it down. Get a grip, I think. You promised to protect yourself. That’s what you’re doing.

  Renee snorts, “You mean the useless a-hole actually tried to be helpful?”

  “Yeah, I know, right?” I try to snicker through the acid erosion in my throat.

  We reach the stairs that lead up to my classroom; hers is in the Language Arts wing, which is on the main floor, so this is where we part.

  “Alright, girlfriend, I’ll see ya later,” she gives me a quick squeeze. “Have fun with your biology shit!”

  “Make those kids talk good!” I laugh as she walks away and I attempt to take the first step up. I love my best friend, but damn if I don’t hate these stairs.

  “You’ve got thirty minutes to make it up this flight,” a deep voice says from behind me. “Think you can do it?”

  I huff out a breath and turn around to come face to face with Cullen. Being up one stair has its benefits; we’re locked brown eyes to brown eyes and I don’t have to crane my neck to make it happen.

  “I’m taking my time on purpose, Cullen.” I sweep my hand out to the side. “I’m enjoying the view.”

  “Of what? The stairwell? Looking at anything in particular?” He waggles his eyebrows, then looks down. “Hey, what happened to your arm?”

  I tuck it back behind me and look off to the side of Cullen, past him into the hallway. “Nothing, I’m fine. I tripped on our stupid stair again and Anden tried to catch me. He gripped too hard and I bruised, no biggie. The bandage is just a little cut.”

  “Violet.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Violet, look at me.”

  I shift my feet around which causes me to wince before I can stop myself. My shit still burns and keeping it hot in these pants, hotter with Cullen staring at me, isn’t helping.

  I meet Cullen’s eyes again, but not before I do a quick sweep of his body. He has on a crisp white button up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, tucked into a pair of charcoal dress pants. The top three buttons are undone and by a small amount of grace, I can see the smooth tan skin of his chest. Technically, I’m looking at his eyes now like he asked, but my peripheral vision is still reveling in the view.

  “You just winced. Do your knees still hurt from falling Wednesday?”

  “My knees?”

  Cullen smiles, “Your knees.”

  “Oh! Yeah, my knees. Sorry, I haven’t really been sleeping well. Can’t get comfortable, you know,” I’m rambling. We’ve been friends for two years and I’m still acting like an idiot.

  “Take the elevator.”

  “No, I hate the elevator. It’s a death trap, no thank you.” I attempt another stair.

  “For shit’s sake, Violet, it’s an elevator. Come on, I’ll go with you. That way if you die, you won’t be alone!”

  He reaches his giant arm out, wraps it around my lower back, and sweeps me down to the main floor as if I weigh nothing. I land in front of him with my hands on his biceps for support. I can’t even get my fingers to span halfway around his arms. Fortunately, my bag slips down off my shoulder to jolt me out of my trance before I can give his arms a squeeze to test them out.

  “Great, thanks, that’s so reassuring,” I say as I right my bag and head towards the elevator. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go test our human limits.”

  I’m pretty sure mine is a tiny, enclosed space with this hot offensive coordinator, but I pretend my throat’s not closing by taking slow, deep inhales of his musky soap and thinking about nuzzling behind his ear.

  Cullen is quiet, watching me grip the shit out of the strap on my bag when the door closes. “You ok over there?”

  “This is the slowest elevator ever. Tiny spaces and I don’t really get along…” And I’m trying not to throw myself at you.

  I let out a breath when the door opens and glance Cullen’s way. He puts his hand in the opening so I can get out.

  “And here I thought I was helping,” he mumbles as I hurry into the freedom of the hallway.

  I wait for him to exit the elevator, watching how he moves. He’s stealthy, smooth, I might even say graceful in how he gets from one place to another. Sometimes I don’t even know that he’s moved—he’s just here.

  “You are helping, Cullen, I feel better already,” I try to keep it light to hide how overwhelmed I’m getting. With sleep deprivation, the “incident” last night, and now this kind of care and thoughtfulness, I have to take a deep breath.

  “Don’t tease me now, 2 Color,” Cullen plays back.

  “Whatever, Metz, I would never,” I smile and he rolls his eyes. I tell him thanks and that I’ll see him later so I can get to my room and regroup for the day. There’s so much going on in my head, but I have to focus on my classes right now. Everything else gets buried as soon as I open my door.

  ***

  I sit on the porch swing at home staring at nothing. The events of the last few days are taking their toll; I’m having trouble focusing and I’m forgetting simple things. I’m not my best at work, and that’s the most frustrating part. In my Bio2 class this morning, I was talking about cellular respiration in animal cells and couldn’t remember the organelle mitochondria. Then, in AP Bio, during individual presentations on prenatal genetic testing, I ended up questioning our valedictorian, Marcus, on his position because I thought he had brought up stem cells instead.

  Mrs. B., do you want me to jump to stem cells, cuz I got opinions on that, too…

  No, Marcus, stay on genetic testing. My fault. I’m sorry.

  Ok, I gotcha.

  A few of my girls had exchanged some looks, but Myah had smiled at me and just nodded before going back to listening to Marcus. I did my best to hear everything that students discussed after that but was happy to rush out as fast as my achy body would let me at 3:30.

  So, here I am, feeling empty inside and pissed about my loss of control. It’s like I’m stuck in hardening cement and there’s only so much time left to escape.

  These are my thoughts as I gently rock back and forth in the swing. Soon, Anden comes home and approaches the porch. I keep up my rhythm—back and forth—looking right past him, watching tiny insects zip around in the evening air.

  “I brought Chinese home, you know, for dinner?” he says it like a question.

  “Mmm hmm,” is my flat response. Back and forth. He comes on the porch and stands in front of me. His position stops my movement. I’m still watching the bugs. He squats down by my knees and now my motion is just to breathe, in and out, like the swing.

  “I know you’re mad at me but you just made me so frustrated that I had to get your attention, that’s all. And when you say ‘maybe this weekend’ I don’t believe you because sometimes you make excuses and don’t please me. I didn’t want to wait.”

  He’s talking to me in an almost childlike manner with round, gray eyes and a little smile on his face.

  I frown. Get my attention? It’s my fault? He didn’t want to wait? I didn’t even get an apology, not that it would matter. I feel sick—gut wrenching, blood acidifying—sick.

  My eyes shift to Anden’s face. Contempt, detestation, and pure hatred warm my skin, starting a burning in my ears. “I have work to do out here. I’ll eat later if I’m hungry.”

  I stand, avoiding contact with any part of Anden’s clothes or skin, and do my best to skip down the stairs. Anden also stands and holds out his hands in surrender.

  “Come on, Letty,” he whines.

  I keep walking over to my b
ow rake, which is laying in the grass.

  “My fucking name is Violet,” I grind through my teeth and start grating the rake through the mulch around the boxwood by the stairs. I am absolutely livid; I can feel it choking me as I rip through the tiny pieces of wood. Anden storms down the stairs and grabs my already bruised arm.

  “Don’t fucking touch me!” I growl, looking towards the ground.

  “I apologized. Now move on.”

  “In what realm is that an apology?” I yank my arm out of his grip and shove past him to the other bush on the opposite side of the stairs. My breaths are coming in such short bursts now, there are black spots starting to float around my periphery. “Not that it matters anyway.”

  I keep at the mulch, scraping and clawing. It’s exactly what my heart is doing trying to get out of my chest.

  Anden rips the rake out of my hands and throws it on the ground. “Knock it off, Letty!” he booms.

  “Fuck you!” I shout. “I said don’t touch me!”

  I race up the stairs into the house, adrenaline numbing my sore knees. The screen door slams. I hear a loud grunt behind me and it helps to drive me faster towards the bathroom where the door locks and I can wedge myself between the vanity and bathtub to do my best to keep Anden from breaking in.

  In the bathroom, I take my phone out of my back pocket and debate on calling Renee as I slide to the floor. I’m at a loss with what else to do. I need a rescue plan, but I don’t want to have to confess everything about the last couple of days. I feel so humiliated about what led up to now and all the lies. So guilty, too.

  I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. My head falls to my legs and I just wait, listening to how quiet it is. It occurs to me that Anden didn’t chase me. Maybe one of our neighbors saw the whole thing and intervened. Maybe work called, I don’t know. I also don’t know how to get out of here.

  I start to dial Renee’s number when I hear pounding on the front door. I jump at the noise but don’t move. There’s a second of silence and then it comes again. I thought I only slammed the screen door… Why would Anden be pounding and what would he be pounding on? A brief second of hysteria has me thinking that he’s sealing me in the house.

  Carefully, I unlock the bathroom door and poke my head out. The hallway is empty. Pound, pound, pound! I creep towards the living room and peer around the corner. There is a uniformed officer and two guys in suits at the door and a whole lot of flashing lights coloring up the evening air. The uniform sees my head peeking out around the wall.

  “Is this your residence, Ma’am? Are you Violet Black?”

  “Yes, why?” I move into full view, so as not to look suspicious, and step up to the screen. From what I can see, there are at least ten other officers on my front lawn, two more on my porch, and an ambulance with its doors open. “What the hell is going on?”

  “We have a situation out front here. We need to ask you some questions. May we come in?” the taller of the two suits asks flashing a badge.

  “No, I’m coming out there…” I try to open the screen door, but the officer won’t budge.

  Shaking his head, he tells me, “That’s not a good idea, Ms. Black.”

  “Why not? Where’s Anden?” I address all three strangers at my door.

  “Anden’s your husband?” the man I have yet to speak to asks.

  I exhale hard and grimace, “Yeah… Were those detective badges? What’s happening here?”

  Tall Suit asks, “Can you tell me what you were doing this evening?”

  “I came home from work and sat on the swing out there for awhile. Anden came home, and I started to work on the mulch beds. We got in an argument, and he grabbed me and threw down the rake I was using. It scared me so I ran up the stairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I was going to call my best friend to come and pick me up,” I show him my phone to prove it. “I was in the bathroom dialing when you started banging on the door. Where’s Anden? If he’s being honest, he should be able to tell you all of that except what happened when I came inside.”

  The officer hesitates and looks back towards the front lawn. When he meets my eyes again, he shakes his head as if he’s sorry. “Can we come in and sit down, Ma’am?”

  “No, I think this spot is fine. Please, just tell me what’s going on so I can deal with it.”

  He shifts from one foot to another while Tall Suit, clearly the one in charge, takes over. “A neighbor called when she heard arguing. She saw you run inside, Mr. Black try to chase you up the porch stairs, trip, and fall backwards.”

  The officer moves to the side and I can see that the same damn plank I’ve been tripping on has been snapped completely off. Shards of wood are laying scattered all over the stair. My eyes go back to the man in uniform.

  “Well, that sucks. I’ve tripped over that plank three times already, and he won’t fix it. Is that why the ambulance is here? He’s hurt?”

  All three of them look at each other, then the officer rubs the back of his neck and lets out a huge breath. “I’m sorry, Ms. Black, but when he fell, he landed on a rake. It went clear through his back. We did everything we could, but he didn’t make it.”

  I blink a few times but remain quiet. Anden’s dead. I take a deep breath and blow it out. Anden’s dead. I squint at the officer and then look at the porch through the screen. Anden’s dead. I feel a little like I’m floating…

  “I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard you correctly. My husband is…dead.” A feeling like I just swallowed a whole bowl of lemon wedges fills my mouth and throat.

  “Hey, Ramirez! I’m gonna need some help here,” the officer says. Anden’s dead. A woman dressed in a matching uniform opens the door and helps lead me to the uncomfortable stuffed chair in my living room. I hate this chair. Anden used to take humiliating pictures of me in this chair.

  Disbelief, anger, and delight all bubble up inside me and I want to either throw up or giggle as Ramirez brings me a glass of water. I guess I should call Renee after all; I surely can’t stay here now.

  Cullen

  I’m sitting on the couch, vegging out, but my phone rings. I check out the screen and it’s an unknown number. I let it go to voicemail, turning back to the Netflix menu. It rings again.

  “Holy hell,” I grab my phone and swipe to answer. “Hello?”

  “Cullen?” a panicked voice asks. “It’s Renee.”

  When she identifies herself, I immediately get concerned that something is wrong with Violet. Why else would Renee be calling? Images of how forlorn she’s looked the last couple days flash to the bandage on her arm and snap to the bruises…

  I sit up, “What’s wrong?”

  “I just got a call from Violet. You’re not going to believe this. Are you sitting down?”

  “Not anymore! What the hell is happening, Renee?” I bolt off the couch and start pacing.

  “Calm down, she’s fine, but there was an accident at her house. That son of a bitch husband of hers is dead.”

  “What? What happened?” I sit back down but on the arm of the couch this time and press my fingertips into my eyes.

  “They got in a fight and he tripped on the same piece of wood that Violet’s been catching herself on. He fell backwards onto a rake, Cullen. It stabbed him right though the back.”

  “Jesus, Renee, did she watch it happen? Did she see him?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She said she ran in the house. I guess she didn’t know it happened until the cops showed up. I’m on my way over there to get her now. It happened a couple hours ago but she was just now allowed to use her phone. The neighbor witnessed it, I guess.”

  I get up again and grab my keys. “Do you want me to come with? Can I do anything at all?”

  “Oh, Cullen, you’re such a sweetheart. No, I just wanted you to know before everyone else. I’m sure it’ll be all over the news and school and shit. I’m sure she’ll let you know if she needs you…”

  Dropping my keys with a clang, I huff out a di
sappointed breath. “Yeah, I know. Ok, thanks for calling me. Hey, Renee? Take care of her, ok?”

  “Ok, Cullen, I will. Don’t worry.”

  FIVE

  Violet

  Renee arrives in under ten minutes and I attempt to joke with her about how many red lights she “thought” were green. She doesn’t think I’m very funny. The police are finishing up outside, but the ambulance with Anden’s body in it is gone. Renee takes my hand and leads me to my room to pack some clothes. I hesitate in the hallway before entering. I hate this room; it holds secrets of terror and misery.

  “You can stay with us this weekend for starters and then see how you feel. I’ll call your family tonight and Anden’s mom for you so that you don’t have to deal with them. I’ll say you’re in shock or something and you’ll call them when you’re ready. If you want to hang out longer, we’ll come back and get more clothes. I don’t want you by yourself, ok?” Renee is standing in front of my closet with her hands on her hips.

  At first, I contemplate sitting on the corner of the bed but a brief flash of Anden’s knees between my legs and his dick hanging out of his teal underwear startles me into the corner with my arms wrapped around my middle. Anden’s dead. I want him dead.

  Vomit rises up in my throat as Renee continues to ramble about packing and finding my “weekend wear”. I rush to the bathroom just in time. Renee comes in behind me and gets a washcloth wet with cool water. She holds my hair and places it on the back of my neck.

  I speak into the toilet bowl, “I’m an awful person. I wanted him dead, Renee, you have no idea.”

  “No, honey, I have a good idea. I’m so sorry that it went down like this, but I would be a shitty friend if I didn’t tell you that I’m relieved you won’t be hurt anymore. I love you, girl. Maybe now you can find your happy again.”

  I sit back on my feet. “Things that make me happy don’t last long. I’m just a hollow framework, Renee.”