by Jade Eby
"Let me in this bathroom right now, or so help me God." He bangs on the door. I put my hands over my ears. "You can't stay locked in there forever. One way or the other, I'm getting you out of there and you know it won't end well."
"I'm not leaving until you're gone," I say.
"Might be a while. I'll just sit here and wait. How bout that?"
Behind the locked door, I'm much braver. I say words that have been boiling up inside of me. "You want to know what I think? Not even your father would try to kill an unborn child. You've been so scared of being him your entire life and here you are… exactly like him. No, you're worse than him."
He says nothing, but slams his fist so hard against the door it cracks. I scramble to the other side of the bathroom.
He's going to break it down. He's going to kill me.
But he yells, "Fuck you." A door slams shut outside the bathroom.
I sob into my hands, letting the salty tears pass right through my fingers like pieces of me falling away.
The pain is starting to set in. My cheeks, ribs, stomach. Every piece of me aches.
I curl into the fetal position and hold my stomach, but when my legs slide against each other, I look down.
Blood.
So much blood.
"Oh, no. Not again. Please, not again." I reach for a towel and push it between my legs. It's getting harder to breathe.
My head throbs.
I close my eyes. Please let this be my last breath.
The Next Day
I open one eye and it takes me a minute to realize where I am. What happened last night. I sit up, pain shooting through me. The towel between my legs is crusted with blood. Holding my stomach, I remember. The way Carter went straight for my stomach. Tried to kill my baby.
I have no idea what time it is, where Carter is or what I'm about to open the door to. I decide right here, on the bathroom floor that I'm done. For good.
I will not allow him to control me anymore.
When I crack the door an inch, I see the sky outside the bedroom window is inky black. I open the door a bit wider and look to the bedside clock. Four am. The entire room is dark. Quiet. Eerie.
My feet move forward as my heart beats against my chest. Carter isn't in the bedroom. I creep down the hallway and peer around the corner into the living room. He's not on the couch either. I take another few steps and look into the kitchen. Not there either. Glancing out the kitchen window, his truck is still parked in the driveway.
What the hell? Is he waiting to ambush me? I tiptoe to the door that goes to the back porch and that's where he is. Passed out on the cement.
That's where he's going to stay. I lock the back door. Race to the front door and lock that one too. I check all the windows, making sure they're secured tightly.
Fuck you, Carter.
I sit down at the kitchen table and stare out the window. Planning.
Today is the last time I will ever see my husband. I will make sure of that. One way or another.
All I have to do now is wait.
* * *
In the three hours it takes for Carter to wake up and pound on the door, I've made plans. He's in for a real surprise.
I stand by the open window, my arms crossed.
"Let me in the house," he shouts. "Now!"
Not this time, Carter. I shake my head no.
"Unlock the door, Tawny or I swear to God, I will fucking kill you," he says.
Not on my watch. I flip him off and walk away from the window. I undo his truck key from the keyring and unlock the front door quickly, slide the key out and lock it again.
He's hungover as shit and there's no way his reflexes are as good as mine. He's not getting into this house until I want him to.
He slams his fist against the door again. "I'm going to work where there's plenty of time for me to think about what I'm going to do to you when I get back."
I won't be here when that happens.
When his truck rumbles out of the driveway and down the street, I grab the phone and make the call I should've made sooner.
"Tawny? Are you okay? I heard… things last night." Rose's voice shakes.
"It's time," I say, my voice calmer than it's been in a long time.
"You're sure this time?"
"Yes."
"Because I can't help you if you don't help—"
I clench my eyes shut. "Myself. I know, Rose. I'm ready. I need to pack and…"
"Just get your ducks in a row. Be ready by four. We're not leaving a minute later."
I don't say anything. This was supposed to happen months ago. I was supposed to escape Carter and be free from this prison.
"Tawny?"
"Sorry. I'm just —"
"Stop thinking. Just do. I'm not letting you get out of this."
"I know. See you in a few hours."
I hang up and set the phone on the counter. Adrenaline thrums through me. This is it. My chance to leave my past behind. So why am I shaking? Why does it feel like I'm about to make a mistake?
Excruciating cramps send me to my knees. I thought the worst of it was over.
I was wrong.
I notice the bottom cupboard is open a crack. Carter's stash of liquor. The one Mom raided last year. I'm guessing that's what Carter broke into last night to cure his demons. I open it wider and examine the contents. Jack, Jose and Captain.
I reach for the whiskey. Break the seal and open it.
The smell is nauseating and burns my nostrils. Perfect.
Carter already killed what was left inside of me. I've got nothing left to lose. I sit cross-legged on the floor and drink.
One swig. Then two. Then five.
I focus on the burn. The spicy tingle coating my throat and moving through me like a shot of electricity. Maybe this will take away the pain. The cramps.
When I stand, the floor spins beneath me and I laugh, grasping the kitchen table for support, the bottle of whiskey in my hand.
"Fuck you kitchen table. I never liked you." I go to the cupboard and pull a glass out. Pour the whiskey into it, spilling all over. I drop the bottle onto the kitchen table. I walk out of the kitchen. The living room is an assortment of colors blurring together. "Fuck you couch. Tv. Living room. I fucking hate everything in this house."
I laugh and unlock the front door. "Come back and try to kill me, you bastard. I dare you!"
I stumble to the bedroom. Set the glass on the dresser, then nearly fall into the closet looking for a suitcase. It's so much heavier than I thought. I yank it out, boxes and shoes toppling out with it. I kick them away.
"Fuck you, too."
I'm tipsy. Maybe bordering on drunk. Why didn't I do this sooner? Maybe I'd have gotten through a lot more of Carter's shit if I'd had a little liquid courage in me.
The suitcase goes on the bed. I pull the dresses from the hangers, the plastic swaying back and forth. I move to the dressers, and rip through my drawers, I toss everything into the suitcase. It's a mountain of clothes.
In the bathroom, I see the bloody towel and pick it up. Cradle it to my chest. Fat, angry tears roll down my cheeks. "Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you," I scream into the air.
Carter's not here to see this, but he's going to feel the destruction when he gets home and I'm no where to be found.
I open Carter's bedside drawer and his .45 stares back at me. I pick it up. The heaviness of it feels strange in my hand. I aim it at the wall, pretending it's Carter and squint. I imagine taking the safety off and pulling the trigger. Blowing his brains out.
I used to be a good shot. It's the only thing my father taught me to do well. Whiskey and guns. How fitting.
Should I take it or leave it? I slide it next to the suitcase to decide later.
My bedside dresser drawer creaks when I open it. I haven't opened it in forever and the wedding photo album stares back at me.
I take it out and hold it against my chest. Memories of good times. Memories of who Carter and I used to be. Or ma
ybe that's a lie. Maybe we've always been who we are and time only magnified it.
I sit in the chair opening the book.
Smiling caricatures of two people in love. He was so handsome that day in his charcoal suit. His eyes dancing with what he once must have felt for me. I flip the page.
I'm turned toward him, my face lit up with his adoration. Our hands are intertwined. Jesus, I love him. No. Loved.
I loved him.
Slamming the book shut, I rest my head against the wall. Rose is going to be pissed if I don't sober up. The sun comes through the window and the heat mixed with the alcohol in my system is doing dangerous things to me. If I just rest my eyes for a minute…
* * *
When I open my one good eye, the first thing I see is my glass of whiskey on the dresser. Jesus, my head pounds. I grab it and sit back down. The clock says it's two forty five. I have less than an hour until I leave this house of horrors. I'm going to enjoy one last swig of whiskey before I never have to see my husband again.
I close my eyes and take a drink. Once again, I let the burn warm me. I swirl the cup and open my eye. Carter stands in the doorway.
Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's the courage. But for once, I'm completely calm. Rose will know what to do to get me out of here. His little appearance doesn't change a damn thing.
"What the fuck?"
I stare at him. "I didn't expect you home this early."
"What's going on here?"
"What does it look like?"
He picks up a dress off the bed and clutches it in his hands. "It looks like you're trying to leave me. Am I right?"
"You're damn right I'm leaving. I'm done with your shit. Do you know what happened last night?"
"You were bad. So I punished you."
I scowl at him. "You killed our baby."
He swipes the suitcase off the bed. "Jesus, Tawny. You weren't pregnant and you're not going anywhere, either."
"Try and stop me," I taunt him.
He rushes toward me, but I'm quicker, even with the alcohol in my system. I can smell the booze on him from here, though. Apparently, we both had the same idea. Only, I can never get as shit-faced as he can. I have the upper hand here. Our mattress is the only thing standing between us. I'm ready to spew venom.
"What are you going to do, Carter? Hit me? Smash my head into the table again? Force yourself on me when I'm so clearly disgusted by you?"
"You fucking bitch!" he shouts. "I'm gonna wring your neck until you beg me to let you go, and then I'm going to slit your throat. You think you're so smart—making up lies about your pregnancy. No one will buy that shit. The doctors will back me up."
I don't move. "The doctors said it was unlikely, not impossible. But I don't think you even know the difference between the two."
I'm not scared of him right now. I'm the one in control. I will not die without a fight.
He rushes toward me. I try to sidestep him but he catches my arm. He slams my body into the wall.
His strength, even drunk, is surprising and I groan, sliding down the wall. He's not done with me yet.
His fist pummels into my stomach before I reach the floor.
I hold my stomach, shielding it from his fists.
"I told you that you weren't ever gonna get away from me. You've pushed your luck too far this time. You'll never leave me. You'll die before I let that happen." He yanks me up by my hair and punches me in the jaw. The pain is excruciating, like it's being ripped from my face.
I want to give up. I'm ready to. But I see that damn bloody towel in the corner. That's whats left of my baby. Because of him.
And I know I can't give up. Not yet. When I turn toward him, he's getting ready to hit me again. I kick him in the balls with all the force I can muster. He falls backward and to the ground.
I scramble to the other side of the bed. To the place where I left Carter's .45 sitting.
He has the same idea, only he thinks it's still in the drawer.
"Looking for this?" I ask, aiming it at him.
He looks stunned and then laughs. "You don't even know how to shoot that thing."
Whiskey is better than any of the drugs I was on. I'm fueled by the liquor coating my veins. I can understand now why they say alcohol changes people. Maybe this is how my mother always felt. Brings out a dangerous side, a side more willing to take risks. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Carter Brooks."
"Oh yeah? What kinds of things?"
I move the gun a little to his right, so it's aimed at the lamp on the bedside table. I squint and take the safety off. Pull the trigger. The lamp shatters into a million pieces. It's a beautiful sight - all those shattered bits.
"My good-for-nothing daddy did a lot of bad things in his life. One was teaching his eleven-year-old how to shoot a gun after a couple shots of whiskey. I gotta tell you Carter, I'm a pretty damn good shot, too."
He gulps. For the first time since I've known him, he looks afraid of what I might do. He has no idea what I'm capable of right now. "I don't believe you. You're just a scared little girl. Put down the gun and I won't touch you. I promise."
That's rich. "Your promises don't mean shit. I learned that a long time ago."
He steps forward. "Someone heard that shot, Tawny. You're done. They're coming—don't you hear them?"
I look to the door, but it's a mistake. He moves fast, but I'm faster. I raise the gun so it's level with his head.
And then I pull the trigger.
Where Whiskey Meets The Finish
The movies got it wrong. Things don't happen in slow motion like they want you to believe. No, it happens so fast, you hardly realize what you've done until it's too late. Something you can't take back. That's when everything slows down. It's your own personal form of torture — making sure you know exactly how bad you've fucked up.
At first, I'm more concerned with the blowback of the gun than I am with the red mist that sprays, squirts and floats as the bullet rips through Carter's forehead and lodges in the wall. His head lolls back but it takes a half second before he falls forward.
Red speckles dot the wall like chicken pox and bits of brain matter cling to it for dear life. The weight of the gun in my hand suddenly feels like a ton of bricks and I drop it to the ground.
The ringing in my ears is like a symphony of screeching birds. It's grating and comforting at the same time.
Carter lays facedown, blood streaming from the hole in the back of his head. I stand there wanting to scream or cry or both but everything is stuck in my throat.
"Carter?" I rush over to him and lean down closer to his body and catch a whiff of the copper-metallic scent emanating from his body. It's so strong, I choke back bile.
I sink to the floor, inches away from the burgeoning crimson stain in the carpet and I hug my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth. Back and forth. I actually did it. I shot my husband.
No, Tawny, you did more than shoot him. You killed the bastard.
Then it sinks in. Gunshots, blood, Carter lying on the floor dead.
Everything stops still. And there's nothing to anchor me to this place. I'm floating above my body — trying to escape this death room but no matter how hard I try, I can't fly away. I'm stuck here, hovering, watching the blood seep from my husband's skull and the shell of me curled into a ball, like a child, rocking back and forth. Back and forth.
Here's the thing — you never know what you're capable of until it's time to prove it to yourself. Until you're in a situation that your brain recognizes as life or death. But was it? Was there any other way this could have ended differently? The answer is lodged in me, put there by every broken bone and bruise I incurred by his hands.
I replay the last few minutes until I've memorized every word, every step we took. I've engrained the click of the chamber, the way the gun felt good in my hands before I pulled the trigger.
It had felt good. The way I was completely in control. And now…
My body comes back to me and a strangled sob escapes. Everything comes back in focus and I look over at Carter and the way his brain is a curdled mess forces the bile up where I was able to stop it before. I don't even move to the bathroom. I let it all go. On me, the carpet. I deserve this. To be covered in my own mess. Carter is.
My entire life has been nothing but a mess so maybe this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. I look around the room I've called home for so long. Nothing in here reminds me of who I am. But right now — I don't even know who I am. Wife? Punching bag? Not anymore.
I am a killer now.
Chapter 7
July - 2008
I wake up to an incessant beeping and only one of my eyes will open. Wires hang aimlessly all around me. From my fingers and arms. My head. The unmistakable smell of bleach wafts in the air and the hospital gown I'm wearing is so thin, I feel the breeze from the air conditioner.
I attempt to lift my arm, but it's heavy. So heavy. My entire body throbs with pain.
"You're awake!" A nurse appears in the doorway.
I nod and open my mouth to say something but she shakes her head. "Don't talk right now, honey. It's best to just rest, okay? You're gonna have plenty to talk about soon and I don't want you worn out."
She comes in and looks at the machines I'm hooked up to. "Your vitals are looking much better. Are you in pain?"
I nod.
"I'll get you something for that."
Licking my lips, there's one question I have to ask. "I lost it, didn't I?"
The look on her face is a mixture of pity. Understanding, maybe. "Yes."
I look down at the thin blanket covering my broken body.
"You almost died, too, you know."
I snap my eyes up. I wish I had died. It's a mistake to be alive right now. "What?"
"You miscarried and went into hypovolemic shock."
I don't know what that means other than I lost my baby. She seems to sense my confusion as she pulls up a chair and sits next to me.
"You were bleeding from the miscarriage and bleeding internally. Clotting. If they wouldn't have found you when they did… I'm not sure you would've made it."
