by M A Gelsey
“You’re going to leave, are you?” He bellowed, not letting go of her hair even as she tried to cringe away from him. “Do you have any idea — any idea — how much I paid for you?” He flung her onto the couch facedown, and the next second she felt one hand pressing hard into her back while the other pushed her dress up roughly to her waist and ripped off her underwear. The act itself was not much different than what she’d endured a hundred times before but the intent behind it — the rage and the possession — seeped deeper into her with each thrust and poisoned her from within. It wasn’t long before Rex finished with a final grunt and moan. He collapsed back onto the couch beside where Annabel lay facing away from him, not bothering to cover herself.
“You’re mine,” he whispered hoarsely. “Forever. Don’t forget that again.” With that he heaved himself up from the couch and she listened to the stairs creaking as he went up to bed. Annabel lay where she was for a long while before she was able to force herself to get up. She went into the upstairs bathroom and turned the shower up as hot as she could stand, scrubbing and scrubbing, unsuccessfully trying to remove the feel of him, the smell of him from her body. When she finally stumbled into bed it was almost 3:00 a.m. and she fell asleep to the hateful sound of his snores, amid fantasies of burning his house to the ground.
When Annabel awoke the next morning, Rex was already gone. All at once, the emotions of the previous night came rushing back to her; the embarrassment over Leon eclipsed by the rage and shame Rex had left her with. She went downstairs to find him waiting for her looking contrite. The breakfast table was laden with all of her favorite foods: lemon poppyseed chestnut pancakes, scrambled eggs with kale, cherry tomatoes and pesto, homemade chai tea. Rex drew out the chair beside him with a pointed look and Annabel took the hint and sat down. He placed some of everything on her plate, but she only picked at her food, not speaking except when asked a direct question.
Every moment in his presence was physically painful — Annabel felt like she was choking on her repressed rage, like it was ripping her apart from within. Outside she was detached and unreadable, inside she screamed and screamed and screamed. After what was an agonizingly long meal, Rex kissed the top of her head and went back to his office, leaving Annabel alone. She felt acutely aware of his presence in the house, and no matter how many deep breaths she took, she could not release any of the tension that clenched her body.
Annabel wandered through the house with no purpose other than to shake off some of her pent up energy, and soon enough she found herself in the room that contained Rex’s remaining unpacked boxes. As though in a trance, Annabel walked over to the one nearest the door and opened it. She pulled out the familiar metal briefcase, clicked the latches and felt the reassuringly heavy weight of Rex’s pistol in her hand. With calm deliberation she slid one bullet into the magazine, then slid that into the gun with a satisfying click. Finally, she pulled back the slide as far is it went, listening as her bullet moved into place. Loading the gun was as easy as it had looked on Ms. Durant’s favorite crime shows. She then closed the metal briefcase and returned it to the box.
For a moment, Annabel studied the loaded gun in her hand, then pointed it at her own temple. Just do it, she thought. Her breathing was ragged as she tried to will herself to pull the trigger. She couldn’t say how long she stayed frozen in that position — it might have been five seconds or five minutes or five hours. Eventually, she let her hand drop, still clutching the gun tightly. She felt herself shaking and cursed herself as weak, too weak to escape. Then clarity arrived, and she realized what she had to do. She got to her feet and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
She found Rex in his study, head bowed over his desk as he read a book. The sound of some jazz song Annabel did not recognize floated through the spacious room, muffling Annabel’s footsteps. Rex neither heard nor saw her as she approached him from behind. Before he had a chance to turn or look around, Annabel pressed the gun to his right temple and squeezed the trigger as hard as she could.
The sound was deafening, exponentially louder than she expected, and the recoil was so strong that the gun nearly flew out of her hand as it jerked her wrist upward. Bits of bone and brain matter flew out of the hole the bullet created, and Annabel was splattered with blood. She screamed in surprise, and stepped back as Rex’s body fell from its chair onto the floor. She dropped the gun, and leaned her back against the wall for support. The whole room spun and distorted; reality seemed to have given way to a surreal horror show. Annabel felt a mirthless laugh bubble up and burst from her lips. It didn’t matter that she sounded completely insane. Maybe she was.
When Annabel saw Mrs. Lennox standing in the doorway, reality returned as abruptly as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her head. Justifications floated through her mind but she remained mute, waiting. The older woman stared at Rex’s body, then without saying a word she picked up the gun where it had fallen, wiped the fingerprints off it using Rex’s shirt, and pressed the gun into his own hand, positioning his index finger on the trigger. Understanding arrived in an instant, and Annabel scrambled over and knelt next to Rex. She cradled his mangled head in her arms — surely a natural act for a woman whose husband had just shot himself — and felt the warm blood ooze over her, masking the initial spray. There was something hard digging into her left knee and she realized with a wave of nausea that it must be a piece of splintered bone. Before the panic could overwhelm her, Annabel pulled out her blood-smeared phone, and called 911.
56: JAVI
“You’re not eating,” his mother observed.
Javi merely grunted. Coming up with an excuse wasn’t worth the effort. He’d already had to lie about the bruises on his face by saying they were the result of a stray soccer ball. His parents accepted this explanation although he doubted either of them believed it.
“Is this about Stanford?” his father guessed. His father’s brow was furrowed in concern, but the only feeling Javi could muster was frustration. He wished they’d just leave him the fuck alone.
“Yeah,” Javi said. He knew there were better ways to bring this up, but at that moment, he didn’t give a fuck. “I don’t want to go there. I’d rather go to Georgetown.”
He noticed the look his parents exchanged; sad but accepting. So they already knew. Somehow, that knowledge made him feel even worse.
“All right,” his father said.
“All right?” Javi repeated. “That’s it? After months and months of you both making me feel guilty about it, now all you’ve got to say is ‘all right’?”
“What else is there to say?” his mother asked. “You’ve made your decision.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” Javi muttered.
“Language!” His mother’s voice cracked like a whip.
He threw her a resentful look, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t figure out why he was suddenly so angry, when finally they’d capitulated, but at that moment all he wanted to do was upend the table and throw his chair at the wall.
“Can I be excused?” he asked as evenly as he could manage.
“Got somewhere to be?” his father quipped.
Javi closed his eyes for a moment, reminding himself he’d regret it if he lost his temper, even as his frustration peaked. He suddenly loathed both of them, sitting there with their resigned disappointment that he didn’t turn out just like their son after all.
“Go ahead,” his mother said.
His eyes snapped open and he shoved back from the table. When he reached his room, he barely managed to restrain himself from slamming the door. Inside, he paced relentlessly. Every afternoon since Theo had discovered them, Javi had walked by Imogen’s house, unable to stop himself. He noticed Theo’s car in the driveway and for that reason didn’t knock on the door, instead continuing his brooding prowl down the street. Fred and Herman tried to distract him, but it was an uphill battle. The following night they were bringing him to another party at Violet’s house to take his
mind off it. Good luck with that, Javi thought savagely. He hadn’t realized how attached he’d become to Imogen until she had vanished from his life. That night he texted her four times, but received no responses.
To make things worse, he felt a stab of hunger now that he was alone and wished he’d eaten more before storming off from dinner. Much later, when he was in bed staring at the ceiling and trying unsuccessfully to will himself into dreamless sleep, he felt ashamed for how he’d treated his parents. You really are the biggest fuck-up. No fucking wonder they’re disappointed. It took hours before he fell into a fitful sleep, plagued by one stress-filled dream after another, waking up intermittently drenched in sweat with the covers twisted around him like a python.
The next day he felt like shit. He drifted from class to class like a zombie, barely present. When the final bell rang, he told Herman and Fred he’d see them later for the party, and took off on his usual post-school walk to Imogen’s house. When he arrived, he found Theo’s car gone. After a split-second of indecision, he strode up the front walk and knocked on the door.
There was surprise on her face when she opened it, followed quickly by wariness. He wanted to shove her against the wall and kiss her until she begged him to fuck her right there on the floor, but before he could act on this impulse she spoke.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
“But you’re glad I came,” Javi said in a cocky voice that belied his nervousness.
Imogen crossed her arms. “I don’t think you understand.”
“Why don’t we go into the bedroom and you can educate me?”
“It’s over, Javi.”
His laugh was hollow and humorless. “Come on.”
“This isn’t a negotiation. Get out of here before Theo comes home.”
“If this is about him —”
“Of course it’s about him! He’s my fucking husband!” her voice rose angrily, but she took a deep breath and her next words were steadier. “Look, I know I owe you an apology. I got caught up in — nostalgia or something. I shouldn’t have — we should never have — I don’t know what else to say to you. Please don’t come back here again.”
The facade of calm was slipping away; Javi felt like he was falling with it. “But you loved him, didn’t you?” He didn’t need to tell her who he meant.
She looked miserable, conflicted. But no less resolved. “You aren’t him, Javi.”
Javi was falling through space, bracing himself for the moment of impact when he’d hit the pavement and splatter apart like a water balloon filled with jello. “You don’t mean —”
It was her turn to laugh; it was a cruel sound that almost made Javi cringe. “I don’t know how else to say it, Javi. What we had was not reality. I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy it while it lasted but — ” There were tears in her eyes now and, he thought (hoped?), longing too. “It’s over now. Goodbye.” He saw her face crumple as she slammed the door.
He didn’t have a very clear idea of how he got home, only that it seemed to take forever and no time at all. By the time Fred picked him up for Violet’s party, he was already so drunk he was slurring his words.
“Fuckin’ fuck,” he mumbled to himself as they drove. Herman was telling a story and Fred was laughing, but Javi wasn’t paying attention. His bad mood soured even more when they reached Violet’s. Javi lost no time in filling up a solo cup with beer from a keg in the back yard, but the moment he turned around he slammed into a hulking figure standing behind him in line.
“What the FUCK?” Javi yelled, staggering and drenched in Coors Light that had exploded from the solo cup on impact. It was only then that he recognized the person he’d run into as Kato Barre.
“Dude, chill out. It’s only beer,” Kato said, even though he was as drenched as Javi.
“Fuck you, man.” Javi said, swaying on the spot. The world was blurry and spinning, and the nausea welled up just before he vomited all over the grass. Kato jumped back just in time to avoid the spray, and Javi was dimly aware of a group of people whispering and giggling to each other nearby.
Javi kept retching until his stomach hurt and his throat burned with the sour taste of stomach acid and half-digested food. There was nothing Javi wanted to do more in that moment than lay down in the grass and sob, but instead he stood up unsteadily. Gentle hands took his arms and guided him around the house to the street out front, supporting his weight as he stumbled along while the world rolled and pitched with every step.
A car door was opened, he found himself sitting in the passenger’s seat. Whose car is this? Javi wondered, as the door closed. Two figures stood talking on the sidewalk, and he realized one of them was Stella. A wave of humiliation swept over him, and he fumbled around trying to open the car door. Before he could, however, Kato Barre got into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition.
“Put on your seatbelt,” he said brusquely.
Javi obeyed, leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes.
“We’re here,” Kato’s voice sounded like it was a long way off. Javi blinked his eyes open, confused for a moment about where he was, before scattered memories from the party crashed over him, and he wished he could shrivel up and die.
“Where?” Javi asked. His tongue was clumsy and his breath stank.
“Your house,” Kato said with a bite of impatience. “Stella told me your address. Do you need help getting inside?”
“No,” Javi replied, but that soon proved to be a lie. He managed to take off his seat belt and open the car door on his own, but the moment he stepped out of the car he keeled over onto the grass. He heard Kato sigh as he came around the car and pulled Javi back to his feet. Kato brought him all the way inside and deposited him on the couch in the living room. His parents had left a few lights on for him, but had already gone to sleep. Small mercies, Javi thought to himself ludicrously.
“Where’s the kitchen?” Kato asked, not unkindly. “I’ll get you some water.”
Javi gestured vaguely towards his left, unable to find the words to refuse. Javi heard Kato open the fridge and pour. A moment later, he returned and handed the glass to Javi.
“You should be fine since you puked already,” Kato said. “But you’re gonna have a hell of a headache tomorrow morning.”
“Thanks,” Javi croaked.
“Don’t mention it,” Kato said cooly. “I’m gonna take off.”
Javi nodded and sipped his water. He heard the front door close and the car drive away. It barely took five minutes before Javi passed out.
The next morning he woke up with his head splitting open, to the sound of knocking on his bedroom door. He had a vague memory of stumbling upstairs sometime before dawn after he had woken up with a painfully full bladder and a rancid taste in his mouth. It was only after he’d finished pissing that he realized he’d forgotten to raise the seat and had sprayed all over it, unsteady as he still was. He had wiped it off with some toilet paper, then rinsed his mouth out with Listerine (he hadn’t been up for brushing his teeth; the bright light of the bathroom made his head throb). As soon as he reached his bed he’d passed out again, and had never been less happy about being disturbed from sleep.
“What?” he yelled irritably. Judging from the bright light filtering through the window, it was late morning or early afternoon. Javi expected one of his parents to call back asking if he was all right, but instead the door opened to reveal Stella. Javi yanked the sheets up to his chin reflexively, wishing he could hide beneath them until she went away.
“Oh,” Javi said stupidly.
“I hope it’s okay that I came,” Stella said, closing the door behind her and approaching his bed. His face felt hot and he tried not to think about how he probably looked to her. The shame of having to be driven home by Kato hovered over him like a demon, stabbing him with a trident and laughing in his face.
Seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, Stella sat on the edge of the bed and held out a large bottle of coconut water and a wrapped ba
gel.
“Best hangover cure there is,” Stella said.
“Thanks,” Javi managed to reply, taking both from her. He sat up awkwardly, dragging the covers with him, aware that he was still wearing the same rumpled clothes from the night before and that he probably smelled. “D’you mind if — I really need to brush my teeth,” Javi said apologetically.
Stella gave him a rueful smile. “I know that feeling. Go for it, I don’t mind waiting.” She got up off the bed and sat down at his desk chair, pulling out her phone. Javi got out of bed unsteadily, and grabbed a change of clothes before going down the hallway to the bathroom.
He looked even worse than he felt; dark circles under his eyes, the crusted remains of what look suspiciously like dried vomit in his hair. “Fuck,” he muttered. Fifteen minutes later he was stepping out of the shower with his teeth freshly brushed and his hair now vomit-free. He felt a little better once he toweled off and pulled on clean clothes, but the pounding in his head didn’t abate. He arrived back in his room to find Stella spinning absentmindedly in his desk chair while she texted. She looked up and smiled at him when he closed the door and crossed to the bedside table where he’d put the coconut water and bagel. He took a sip.
“Drink all of that and you’ll feel a million times better,” Stella told him.
He nodded dumbly, and sat on the edge of the bed facing her. “Thanks,” he said, while thinking why are you here?
“I wanted to check that you were okay after last night,” Stella said, answering his unasked question.
“Oh.” The shame returned and Javi stared at the floor, taking another swig of coconut water so he would have an excuse not to speak again. “Yeah. I am.”
“I can see that,” Stella said, and he couldn’t tell if she was mocking him. Javi took a bite of the bagel; it was sesame with butter and avocado. My favorite, he thought.
“It’s good,” Javi said. He took another bite. “Look, if you’ve got somewhere else to be, you don’t have to —”