Ugly

by Margaret McHeyzer

  “D-do you kn-know what he said h-happened to y-you?” No, stop, please just stop. “H-he said he c-came home from w-work and the door had b-been k-kicked in. H-he said he found you like this.”

  What? Trent said he found me like this? He did this to me, no one else.

  “H-he said y-your h-house had been r-r-ransacked be-before he got home. He said y-you were in the k-kitchen, laying on the floor,” his voice drops to an almost inaudible level. “I hate what he did to you.” His last sentence is said in perfect speech, with no stutter. “I-I know h-he did this, L-Lily. D-don’t let him g-get away with it.”

  A perfect silence falls over me. I can’t hear anything, not a single word. Maybe, I’ve finally given up and I’m in heaven. But if I’m in heaven that would mean God actually exists. And if he is real, why have I lived a life of pain? Why have I…

  “My m-mom was ab-ab-abused by my step-stepdad. When he’d b-b-beat her to the p-point she’d be un-unconscious, he’d start in on me. I-I kn-know what he d-d-does to you, b-because it used to h-happen to my m-mom and me.” He tightens his grip on my hand and I hear something in his voice. It’s not pity; it’s not shame. It goes beyond those emotions. “I-I wish I c-could have st-stopped him b-before h-he k-k-k…” Max pauses, his voice cracks and I hear him intake a deep breath. “Before he killed her.” He lets go of my hand and sobs. I imagine his head falling into his hands as he cries.

  If I could open my eyes and move to embrace him, I would. I want to comfort him and tell him it wasn’t his fault. I can imagine him sitting beside me, weeping just like he’d probably cry when his stepfather would lay into his mom while he sat in the corner and watched such violent acts happening to the one he loved most.

  A long time passes and I begin to fight the darkness. The isolation of not being able to communicate is something I don’t want anymore.

  “Max, you need to go home. This isn’t right,” a soft female voice gently says to him.

  “Sh-she’s b-been like this f-for thr-three days. S-someone has to b-be here incase sh-she wakes.”

  “You’re a good man, Max Sterling. But you can’t stay here. She needs to rest and so do you.”

  I want to scream at her and tell her to leave. Max has been talking to me, telling me his pain, and it may very well be exactly what he needs. And furthermore, what I need.

  “H-her h-husband hasn’t b-been to s-see her s-since the f-first day. H-has h-he called?”

  “You know I can’t answer that question. It’s privileged and confidential. But let me just say, Mrs. Hackly has had very few phone calls enquiring on her well-being. So few that if I didn’t know better, I’d think she had no family.”

  “B-bastard,” Max mumbles.

  “What was that?”

  “N-nothing. I-I’ll go in a wh-while.”

  “Okay, Max. As far as I know, you’re going home.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  I hear soft footsteps, then a door close. I’m not sure how much later, I hear a chair being scraped along the floor.

  “Babe, you know you’re really starting to piss me off. You need to wake up, you gotta come home and make my dinner.” I cringe, I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but it feels like my skin is crawling. “I told you I’d stop screwing around on you, why can’t you just damn well wake up. God, Lily, you’re such a selfish bitch. It’s always about you, you never think of me and what I need.”

  Sleep.

  “I-it’s because of h-him I st-stutter,” Max says. “I-I used to w-wet the b-bed until h-he l-left f-for jail and I w-went to live with my d-dad. M-my d-dad was pretty cool, I could never un-understand why my m-mom and d-dad couldn’t be t-together. Of course, I was o-only a y-young boy then.” He goes silent, and I want to know what he’s thinking. I’m desperate to open my eyes and gauge him by how he’s carrying himself. I suspect he’s sitting beside me, focusing on a spot on the wall or floor, staring at it as he thinks about what his childhood was like. “It took me years to realize they’d never work,” he says. I’m not even sure he’s talking to me anymore, it sounds like he’s speaking to himself.

  Sleep.

  “How’s she doing today, Max?” a female voice asks.

  “Sh-she’s got some color in her ch-cheeks. I-I think any t-time n-now, she’ll wake.”

  “I think you may be right.”

  Sleep.

  Opening my eyes I keep blinking until I can focus on something, anything. I look over to my left and see Trent sitting on a chair, texting on his phone. “What happened?” I murmur to him.

  He closes the cover to his phone, and puts it on the spare chair beside him. “Babe, oh thank God you’re alright,” he says as he stands and leans over me, moving some stray hair off my forehead. “I was so scared, I thought something happened to you.” He kisses my forehead and then my cheeks. “You don’t look that hot, Lily. Lucky I love you.”

  “Love me?” I question. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t have beaten me.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t do this to you,” he says. His face is indifferent and cold, but his eyes beastly and knowing.

  “You beat me, Trent because I bought shoes with money I took out of the bank. The bank where my money goes,” I challenge.

  “They must’ve done a number on you, because you’re being delusional, babe. I’ve never hit you, ever. And if I did, which I didn’t, I’m sure that smart mouth is what made you deserving of a slap or two.” He pulls the blanket around me and tucks it into the side.

  I watch him, I notice just how he’s treating me. Without even flinching he’s lying through his teeth. “I can’t do this anymore, Trent,” I whisper as I continue to watch him.

  “Do what?”

  “I can’t live like this anymore. It’s not right.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He disregards me again. “I’ll get them to discharge you and when we get home, it’ll all be different, and much better.”

  “Have you had a change of heart? You said you’d stop cheating on me.”

  He looks at me, and takes a step back sinking into the uncomfortable looking plastic chair. “I don’t cheat on you,” he says as he watches my response. “God, Lily, why do you say things like that? Do you want me to get mad?”

  I feel myself draw my eyebrows together and I think back to what I heard. “How long have I been here?” I ask changing conversation, in case I really did just dream everything.

  “You were beaten fairly badly. You were unconscious for just over seventy-six hours. I came home and found you slumped on the floor.” He shakes his head and runs his hand over his face, then through his hair. “I thought you were dead,” he whispers. “It’s damn lucky I’m a doctor and I checked you out, but damn, you scared the shit out of me.”

  He’s so convincing, maybe I just dreamt it all happened. Maybe my mind has pushed something like Trent beating me and choking me to an extreme where it’s created that memory and blocked out the truth. “You didn’t do this?” I ask.

  “You think I could do this to you? Babe, I love you, no way could I ever go to this extreme.”

  “Mrs. Hackly, you’re awake,” says a young pretty nurse as she comes in the door and her eyes widen when she sees me awake. “Hi, Trent.” She smiles at Trent and her cheeks pink in color. Quickly she averts her eyes and looks back to me. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m thirsty,” I say as I feel the dry parchment in my throat. “I think I’m okay.”

  She smiles at me, but it’s just a plastic smile. Something she shows everyone because she has to. She checks my vital signs, and says she’ll call in the doctor on duty.

  “What actually happened, Trent?” I ask when the perky nurse leaves.

  “Jesus, Lily. Do I have to repeat myself? Just listen will you? I came home, the door was kicked in and you were lying in the kitchen. I checked you out and called an ambulance. That’s what happened.” He links his hands together and cracks his knuckles.
“That’s it. Nothing else.”

  I completely relax, and just let his words wash over me. “I’m tired, Trent. I’m going to close my eyes for a minute.”

  “All you’ve been doing is sleeping. If the doctor okays it, I’m taking you home tonight.”

  I look over to him and he’s back on his phone, typing away. “Did you call work, tell them what happened?”

  “Yeah, babe. Of course. Dale said to get better.”

  “Thank you,” I say and close my eyes.

  What the hell happened? Why does the beating I thought he gave me feel so real? Did I really just imagine him placing his hands around my throat and choking me? Have I manifested the entire thing and made my husband out to be a predator, an abuser? The serene black gives me an escape, and I grab onto it with both hands and let the darkness claim me.

  “Y-you said she w-woke?”

  “She did, Max, earlier today.”

  I open my eyes and see a different nurse standing beside my bed and Max, who’s just come through the door. I look at her, then him and smile.

  “Y-you’re a-awake,” he says as he takes a step toward my bed.

  “I am.” Something courses through my body. I can’t describe it, or even identify it because I don’t know what it is. It feels like excitement mixed with anxiety. “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

  “I-I sh-should go,” he responds as he turns around and is just about to open the door.

  “No, please don’t.” My own words surprise me. I don’t know why I’m asking him to stay, or even why he’s here to begin with.

  Max stands in the far corner, and watches as the nurse checks me over. She leaves quite quickly and tells me she’ll let the doctor know I’m awake again.

  “Y-you l-look b-better than you d-did a few days a-ago,” Max says nervously, as he continues to stand in the corner furthest away from me.

  “Please, don’t stand over there.” I move my hand to indicate the chair beside the bed. Slowly he moves toward it, his movements are so meticulous and calculated he takes a good minute before he reaches the chair. “You sat with me, didn’t you?”

  He looks at me, his intense brown eyes have the most alluring flecks of green to them. They’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. They are fierce, and protective. “I did,” he answers with perfect pronunciation. “I had to,” he adds.

  ‘Had to’? What does that even mean? “I don’t understand.”

  “O-one d-day you will.”

  My heart jumps and my body prickles with a flush of adrenalin. “I don’t understand,” I say again.

  Max smiles and leans forward on the chair. He places his elbows on his knees and links his hands together, dropping his chin to rest on them. “H-how are you f-feeling?” His voice is pure gold. I don’t hear his stutter, just the deep, throaty tone.

  “I can’t explain it, Max, really I can’t. Why am I feeling so comfortable around you? I should be freaking out, and shutting down just from your presence. But…I’m not.” I slowly sit up in bed. Max’s eyes intensely watch as I maneuver so I’m sitting. Suddenly I realize how hideous I must look after being in bed for days, not being able to wash or even brush my hair. I can feel the bruising on my face from where I was beaten by whoever broke in.

  “Y-you should n-never be frightened b-by me.” Max smiles. My shoulders relax and any confused and unsure feelings I may have had all disintegrate, like ash being carried by a small breeze. His relaxed behavior makes me even more comfortable around him.

  A moment later, the door opens and a doctor comes in with the nurse who was just here. Max stands to leave. “Don’t go,” I foolishly say to him. These feelings of complete ease are uncommon and foreign to me. I don’t understand why I’m calm. It doesn’t make any sense, but I like it.

  “I-I’ll go and g-get a c-c-coffee. B-but I’ll re-return,” he says as he steps outside.

  “How are you feeling, Mrs. Hackly?” The doctor asks as he begins his examination of me.

  “I’m okay, just tender and sore.”

  “You’re very lucky your husband came home when he did. The wound on the back of your head was extensive. You needed stitches, twenty-one to be exact, they’re dissolvable stitches and should fall out on their own within another week or so.”

  We continue talking and he tells to me the police are going to want to talk to me when I’m feeling up for it. My spirits sink at the thought of having to talk to the police. At first I thought it was Trent who did this to me, but he’s convinced me it was a break-in and my memory of the situation is hazy. Because of this, I don’t want to talk to the police and give them muddled information.

  The doctor decides I’m not well enough to speak to the police and tells me he’ll tell them to come back tomorrow. He’s given me the all-clear to eat and says if my reactions and vital signs are healthy, then I’ll be able to go home tomorrow.

  A few moments after he leaves, Max comes back into the room and stands by the door. I think he’s waiting for an invitation to come sit beside me. “Max, would you like a seat?”

  “Thank you,” he says with a smile, and he moves to sit beside me. “So h-how are you f-f-feeling?”

  I touch the back of my head where my hair has been shaved and I wince when my fingers run across the bandage over the stitches. “I’m tender and sore, but I’ll live. I’m a tough cookie.” I weakly smile. “It’s just lucky my husband came home when he did.”

  “L-l-lucky? Y-you call that lucky?” He points to my head. “L-lucky he d-didn’t k-kill y-you,” he says through a tight, clenched jaw.

  “What? Trent didn’t do this, someone broke into our house and did this to me.”

  Max’s eyebrows fly up in question, and his top lips snarls in the smallest of ways. “I-is th-that what he t-told you?” I nod my head. “A-and y-you believe h-him?”

  “He’s my husband. Why wouldn’t I believe him?” Although I know something’s not right. I can feel the uncertainty of the entire situation deep inside me.

  “O-okay, y-you believe him,” he says as he shrugs his shoulders. “E-everyone used to b-believe my m-mom, too.”

  “Your mom?” I question.

  “My m-mom w-was b-beaten b-by my st-st-stepf-father, until he k-killed her.”

  Wait. This feels like déjà vu. My mind is swirling as I sit up in bed, waiting for Max to say more. I want to ask him what happened to his mom, but I know it’s insensitive of me to do so.

  “Um.” I look around the room trying to focus on something else. I notice I’m in a private room, and again something’s not adding up. “Why am I in a private room?” I look around once more before turning and having my eyes land on an inquisitive Max.

  “You r-really d-don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “It d-doesn’t m-m-matter then.”

  We again sit in silence. The room is quiet, but my mind isn’t. It’s screaming at me that certain things just aren’t adding up. It’s like I’m fighting my way out of a dark forest and I have no light to guide me. I decide to just let that go, because eventually the answers will come to me. “Can I ask you a question, without sounding rude?”

  Max smiles and I see his tall frame relax. “N-nothing you say c-could ever be r-rude.”

  I try and formulate the question as tactfully as I can. “Why is your stutter sometimes more prominent than other times?”

  A corner of his mouth rises, and he blinks slowly as he brings both his hands up and rests them on his head. “The m-more comfortable I am w-with someone, the l-less I st-st-stut-stutter.”

  This of course leads me to my next question, “Are you nervous around me?”

  This question has him chuckling. “Y-you make m-me most n-nervous.”

  “Hmmm,” I answer as I carelessly run my hand through my hair. The moment my fingers touch the bandage where the slash is, I wince in pain.

  “Are you alright?” he asks as he protectively leaps up and leans toward me.

  I lower my hand a
nd gaze at Max. His caring nature is confusing to me. “I’m okay,” I say as I watch him settle back into his seat. “Why do I make you nervous?”

  “Y-you r-remind me of my m-mom.” I feel myself scrunch my nose at his response, and it must be quite obvious because he hastily adds, “I mean the way sh-she w-was around him,” he says, emphasizing ‘him’. He gets lost for a moment, perhaps talking about his mom and what she went through is still difficult and traumatizing. I can only imagine what a battered woman would go through, let alone the son who witnessed it. “I-I h-have to go,” Max announces as he abruptly stands and heads toward the door.

  “Did I do something wrong?” I ask, shaken and concerned I’ve made him feel as if he has to flee.

  He stops before he puts his hand on the handle. Turning to look at me he says in a low, soothing tone, “No, Lily. You could never do anything wrong.” His words are perfect. Max leaves without waiting for a response from me.

  What’s going on? Why does it feel like he’s walked out and is never going to return? Why does the thought of his absence make my stomach knot in uneasiness?

  Before I even realize, the door opens again and a burly lady comes through, carrying a food tray. “Here you go, darling,” she says, as she places it on the table beside me without even looking at me.

  “Thank you,” I answer and wonder who ordered what for me.

  She leaves quietly and I take the plastic cover off the plate and start to eat the bland hospital food. As I’m picking at it, the door opens again and Trent waltzes in. “You’re awake. Good. Spoke to the doctor on shift, and I swear, the guy is an idiot. Where he studied, I have no idea.” He rolls his eyes and sits in the chair Max was in. “Anyway, don’t eat too much. You don’t want to end up like a fat pig.” He pointedly looks at my half-eaten plate of food and then takes his phone out of his pocket.

  I slow my eating and place the fork on the plate. “What did the doctor say?”

  “He said if you eat and keep it all down, I’ll be able to bring you home tomorrow.”