[Ash Park 01.0] Famished

by Meghan O'Flynn

  “Why the hell would it be okay for you to go to a club?”

  My face was on fire. “I wasn’t there for long and I didn’t dance or anything like that.”

  “Did you talk to anyone?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Why did you tell him, Hannah? “The club was next to the restaurant. I just—”

  “Who’d you go with? Are you fucking around?”

  I put a hand on the table behind me to steady myself. “No! I … saw Noelle, this girl who works with me in HR. She always asks me to come out with her, and I always refuse because I know you wouldn’t want me to. But I was right there. I thought she might get suspicious or something if I said no.”

  “Suspicious?” A flash of understanding. Not enough.

  “I mean … I don’t know.” My back was dewy with sweat. The table. Focus on the table.

  Jake stepped toward me, face inches from mine. “Are you fucking listening to me?” I could barely hear him over the thudding of my heart.

  He grabbed my arms in both hands. “Look at me, goddammit!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jake, I just thought that—”

  “Why do you make me do this to you?” He released me, violently. My tailbone hit the table and I yelped.

  Just get it over with. Be done.

  “I need to get the fuck out of here to calm down,” he said. “You’re fucking worthless, you know that?”

  I watched him stalk into the hallway. The door slammed.

  You’re worthless. I am the only one who appreciates you.

  Let me show you how much I care about you—

  I ran through the living room to the bathroom and dropped to my knees in front of the toilet. One of Jake’s pubic hairs stuck to the seat. My stomach muscles lurched, but nothing came up. The world wavered. I gripped the sides of the toilet bowl.

  In, out … in, out …

  I shouldn’t have told him where I had gone. No, I shouldn’t have gone somewhere that I wasn’t supposed to be. I was a damn liar and nowhere near clever enough to do the right thing or avoid pissing him off. Maybe I should stop working at the shelter too, before he found out and had another reason to get angry.

  A scar on my ankle throbbed wetly. In the past, it had been worth bleeding the dejection from my veins with a straight razor. The pain had worked to clear my mind because it released calming endorphins, though I suspected the hurt also served as a distraction from my shitty life. But I wasn’t that girl anymore.

  Maybe if I did just a little. It wouldn’t take much to make my head stop spinning.

  I won’t go back.

  I stood on wobbly legs, leaned against the counter and stared into the mirror. Pale cheeks, like Casper, but not as adorable. See? As long as I could crack a joke, I would be okay. I smiled shakily at my reflection.

  You’re okay, Hannah.

  I splashed my face with cool water, toweled dry, and walked out to the living room. All was silent except for the television that had been left on low. The whole place felt utterly abandoned. I touched a large brownish stain on the armrest of the empty couch. Sticky. I sighed instead of crying.

  Beer bottles and old magazines littered the coffee table. I was bending to pick them up when a cold chill shivered down my spine. Someone was watching. I jerked around, envisioning a figure emerging from the shadows, but the room remained empty.

  Outside. The curtains were open, window cracked—probably so Jake could smoke a bowl without me knowing—but now the darkness beyond taunted me with far more terrifying unknowns. I clasped the papers to my chest and moved closer to the window, peering down at the empty street below. What would happen to me if Jake left for good?

  Get it together, Hannah. There’s no one there. No one’s going to come after you, you’re not that important.

  I was important enough to him. And I’m sure I made him furious. I slammed the window shut.

  The living room took half an hour, the bedroom another forty minutes. When all was tidy, I finally felt like I could breathe again. As I brought dirty rags back to the kitchen, I stumbled over my purse on the floor and grabbed the wallet off the top. But I already knew—my cash was gone.

  Through the glass front door, the man saw Jake rush out of the stairwell and into the lobby. The man had no time to escape across the street without drawing attention to himself, so instead he grabbed the front door handle as Jake emerged.

  “Pardon me,” the man said.

  Jake glared back, his stained T-shirt showing beneath his wrinkled, open jacket.

  “A friend of mine is having a party here tonight, but I seem to have left the address at home. Can you tell me where Sandra Henson lives?”

  Jake snorted. “How the hell would I know?” He scurried down the walk without waiting for a response.

  The man held the door, watching Jake’s back until it was swallowed up by the night. Then he let the door swing shut and crossed the street to a building that had once been a family home, but was now a tailoring service for children’s clothes by day and vacant every evening after six o’clock. He ducked under the awning and considered the boyfriend.

  An unexpected encounter, but not concerning. Jake would be less apt to think it strange when they met again.

  And they would.

  His breath hissed steadily in and out, merging with the brisk, dry air and the twigs that skittered across his path. A short distance from his shoes, the grass shimmered under the glow of the streetlight. He wore the shadows without concern for passersby; she lived on a street populated with people who went to bed early. Was it by chance, or by her conscious design? Probably the price. And the fact that there were fewer people to hear her boyfriend yelling at her like a Neanderthal.

  And then there she was, a silhouette against warm lamplight, moving, almost dancing as she wiped the glass. She had stayed up late, as if she knew he’d be there.

  He inhaled the crisp scent of leaves and musty earth. Interesting how quickly he had found her once he began looking in earnest. It was equally intriguing that he wasn’t yet sure whether he would kill her, whether he would pull out her insides and watch her writhe like the others.

  Usually, he knew a woman’s date of death from their first meeting. This time he felt the question throbbing between his ears, wrapping his mind in a conundrum.

  “Hannah.” He let the name play on his tongue, tasting the syllables, savoring this single piece of her he now possessed. Hardness strained against his zipper. He watched closely as she spun from the window, clicked off the lamp, and disappeared into the blackness of her apartment. Satisfaction tingled around the edges of his brain.

  The night birds squalled as the light in Hannah’s bedroom turned on. She did not pass the windows, no more bustling around trying to forget her useless boyfriend, not even a shadow as she dressed for sleep. Perhaps she was already in bed. The wind pulled at his jacket, the cold sharpening his focus on her window until the song of the night birds faded in his ears. He could almost hear her breathing. And still the light remained.

  Hannah must not be sleeping well. He suspected it was because of him.

  Monday, November 1st

  What a difference a weekend makes.

  On my desk, a vase of tulips brightened my cubicle with silent but sincere apology. Three were already wilted, but they did their job all the same, even if they had been bought with money from my purse. At least I hadn’t had to pay for the deliciously long back rub that had lulled me to sleep last night.

  I should pick up something special for him on the way home. Maybe condoms.

  I was the most romantic girlfriend ever.

  Also on my desk, three stacks of new hire packets fluttered in the dry heat from the vent. I blinked hard to wet my corneas and an eyelash stabbed me in the eye. I tried to blow it off. It stuck. I brushed at it until the stubborn bastard came out, then finished entering the last of the new employee data from the second stack.<
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  I took my completed work to the filing room and found Noelle already there, shoving personnel files into the cabinets with practiced precision. “Hey there, stranger! What’s been going on?”

  “Same old, same old,” I said, trying to sound casual but feeling guilty as hell for not calling Noelle back this weekend.

  She squinted at me. “You okay? What happened?”

  “Jake was a little pissed about the whole clubbing thing, but we made up. No biggie.”

  She wiggled a file into place. “I just don’t understand what you see in him. I keep thinking about what you told me when my dad died. All that stuff about it taking more than blood to build a relationship, so I wouldn’t feel bad for hating his ass. But all Jake ever gives you is grief, and you don’t even—”

  “I really do love him.” My pulse quickened and I swallowed hard. “He’s had a tough time finding work so I think he’s stressed.” I just needed to talk to him more. Be more understanding. At the least, I could avoid intentionally doing things that I knew would make him upset.

  Noelle touched my hand. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it. I’m just a little tired.”

  My heart slowed at her backpedaling. But … Noelle, tired? There were no bags under her eyes, and the whites were clear, probably more clear than mine after my renegade lash incident. She looked … peaceful. Happy, even. “You’re tired? Why? Did you go over and mess around with Ralph? He looks like he could go all night long.” I tried to smile.

  “I went out with Thomas last night.”

  Jim’s creepy, weirdo eyes flashed across my consciousness and disappeared. “How did it go?”

  “Dinner was good.” Her words caught almost imperceptibly, like a leaf hitching on an breeze that doesn’t ultimately possess enough power to change its course. Noelle closed the drawer and bent to open the one below it, but kept her face buried in the files. “He’s an interesting guy. Really … different from any other guy I’ve met. He’s funny but not like he’s trying to be.”

  “Did you … you know?”

  Noelle closed the file drawer and straightened. “Nope. He came back to my apartment but he didn’t even try to get in my pants.”

  “Really? I mean, he likes women and everything, right?”

  Noelle laughed at my joke, but not as hard as she had laughed at Thomas’s. “Yeah, he likes women. He’s just … nice. Cautious, you know? Respectful. Plus he’s kind of a homebody. Would rather hang out in the woods or at home than be out partying.”

  I took her place in front of the cabinet and opened a drawer. Noelle was happy with a homebody? She wasn’t determined to drag him out clubbing with her?

  Or is it just … me that she needs to take out? Am I not interesting enough on my own?

  I stuck a couple folders into the drawer. “So what did you do at your apartment?”

  “Talked for a few hours. And ate ice cream.”

  I closed the drawer. “Come on, Noelle. You have to do better than that. How else am I supposed to live vicariously through you? I need details!”

  “If you feel like you need to live vicariously, then that just proves you’re missing something in your real life. Jake seriously needs to step up his game. Or you need to make better friends with your vibrator.”

  Hannah laughed, but her eyes glazed over as if she were thinking something she didn’t want to say. Noelle’s stomach clenched.

  Note to self: Don’t talk about Jake. Just the mention of that jack-off made Hannah’s mouth tighten up.

  Noelle ground her teeth together to keep from screaming at her friend to kick his ass out. She knew Hannah wouldn’t, and she no longer cared why.

  “Good enough,” Noelle said. Good enough if you don’t care about being happy.

  She avoided Hannah’s eyes.

  There has to be a way to get him away from her.

  I took a bite of the roasted vegetables I had made for dinner. “I just can’t believe I got everything done today. I’m glad I was able to sneak out of there on time.”

  “Well, I know you’re good at your job. You’re good at everything you do. I appreciate the way you always take care of me.”

  His words softened a touch of the frostiness I had felt when I walked in and found beer bottles all over the kitchen counter and the garbage overflowing. But being angry at him wouldn’t push away this feeling I had that someone was after me, and it certainly wouldn’t help if I pushed him away and ended up alone. I stared at the table and wielded my fork like a bayonet as I finished my veggies. Better the carrots than a person. Probably.

  I should buy myself some more flowers.

  After dinner, he slothed off to the living room, though sloths are cuter than the face Jake makes sucking on his after-meal cigarette. Maybe instead of Mario the philodendron I would get a tree, so Jake could hang out in the branches all day on his machete claws, looking dull. Doing nothing.

  I washed the dishes with irritation burning in my chest like a nasty infection you couldn’t scratch lest you make it spread. I tried to picture the flowers on my work desk. I should have brought them home so I could be more easily reminded of the good things. Things like the way he used to hold me when I was too afraid to sleep, though he thought I was just an insomniac. And the compliments, used sparingly, so I knew he really meant them. And what about that time he spent all day cleaning the apartment after he got angry and … well there were other good times, too. Lots of them.

  When the last dish was clean, I poked my head into the living room where Jake was glued to the TV, eating what looked like a fast food apple pie from a paper sleeve. “I’m going to get the mail.” My voice dripped annoyance, but if he heard it, he didn’t acknowledge it.

  “Mm-hmm.”

  He even talks like a sloth. I rolled my eyes and yanked open the apartment door, but glanced back toward the living room once more as if really expecting to see a sloth lounging on Jake’s recliner. The television droned on, flashing lights on his face as he chewed with his mouth open.

  I squared my shoulders and hurried down the hall and downstairs to the wall of mailboxes. A slip of white paper poked from the corner of my box, probably an advertisement for housekeeping services. Or pizza delivery. Maybe a new takeout restaurant. My keys clattered against the metal doors as I unlocked the box and grabbed my bills and the rogue paper. A scent like lilies wafted into my nose, but it was sharper, more acidic. Citrus. Oranges, maybe. Weird. Perhaps I’d be a scent detector if this thing at Harwick didn’t work out. But they already had German Shepherds for that. Doggie jackasses, stealing all the good jobs.

  I opened the mystery sheet.

  Jake

  Miss you, babe! Come down tomorrow after she leaves for work. I picked up that lingerie you like and some whipped cream. xoxo

  ~Me

  Jake? Snakes in my stomach awakened and writhed. Acid climbed to my throat. Behind me, someone entered the building, and the blast of bitter air turned the dew on my skin to ice. I fled to the stairwell. My feet on the metal stairs thudded like an executioner’s drumbeat.

  How could he do this to me? I reached my floor and grabbed the door handle, but it was heavy, much too heavy.

  No one else will ever put up with me the way Jake does. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything about it at all.

  I let go of the door and collapsed on the top stair, face against the dilapidated railing. My tears tasted metallic.

  Just leave. Run. Start again.

  Stay. Don’t say anything. It’s not worth fighting.

  I won’t make it on my own.

  So what? What have you got to live for anyway?

  My hiccuping gasps echoed around me, then, from the phone in my pocket, a text message plink: Baby, where’d you go?

  The snakes lashed themselves against my esophagus. I wiped my tear-stained face on the sleeve of my shirt and stood, fist clenched around the letter. Lingerie. Whipped cream. I had never had a chance.

  The apartment door clicked softly closed behind m
e. Sometimes the beginning of the end was a whisper. I resisted the urge to throw myself at his feet, begging him to stay.

  “Where’d you go?”

  I stared at my shoes, the wall.

  “What’s in your hand?”

  “The … mail.” No use delaying the inevitable.

  He snatched it from me. “What the fuck is your problem?”

  Paper rustled. I walked around him into the kitchen, and turned back to face him, my butt against the dining table.

  “What the hell?”

  Jake flicked the letter with two fingers. “I have no idea who this is! It must be for someone else.” His face was flushed, neck corded.

  Don’t talk. Tears slid down my cheeks. I swallowed back bile.

  “Baby, it isn’t for me! Someone is fucking with you. I want to marry you! I’ve asked you a dozen times!” His hands clenched into fists when I didn’t respond.

  “How could you even … so what, it’s over now? We’re not going to get married? I have to start all over?”

  I clamped my lips shut, stealing glances at him, gauging his distance.

  I’m sorry, forget I said anything, please don’t hurt me!

  I don’t care who you screw, please don’t leave me alone!

  His knuckles were white. “You’re going to believe some stupid note over me?” His voice grew louder with each word, escalation steeped in rage. “We’ve been together for years and you’re just going to throw it away on this shit? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  Don’t speak. You’ll make it worse.

  Jake’s fist unclenched and everything around us slowed until there was only the motion of his hand, reaching along the counter. A weapon? A knife? My heart slowed too, then seemed to stop, the throbbing of my chest replaced with white noise so deafening I couldn’t even hear what he was shouting, though spittle flew from his moving lips. Then movement, sudden as lightning. He grabbed a plate from the stack of drying dishes and I flinched, preparing for the pain, for the shattering glass to embed in my skin. It flew past me and the breath from the hurtling dish whispered in my ear: Run. Run away. I flattened myself against the table. Don’t move. Watch the wall. Nothing but the wall.