Love Me More

by R. S. Medina

  "She said she saw him texting you a week or two ago. She said he called you pretty." He's daring me to deny it with his eyes.

  "I thought you don't talk about our problems with anyone?" I remind him, trying to deflect the situation a little bit. They must have been talking about what I told Finn this morning.

  "Don't change the subject, Blair. How long have you been talking to Tristan?" he asks. I clamp my mouth shut. At this point, I don't know what's going to make the situation worse, telling the truth or lying. I'm still not sure exactly how much Finn knows. I have to dig myself out of the hole I buried myself in.

  "Give me your phone," Finn says, his eyes blazing. I can see his jaw flex. I shake my head no and clasp it to my chest. Finn stands up and walks over.

  "I'm not going to ask again, Blair. Give. Me. Your. Phone," he demands, clenching his jaw. "If he's only telling you that you're pretty, then you won't mind me seeing your phone," he says. When I don't move, he walks to my seat and grabs my arm. I struggle, and I can smell the alcohol on him. He smells like whiskey and beer. How much has he had to drink? The smell makes me want to gag. Finn pries the phone from my fingers. I fight to keep it, but he's so much stronger than me. He takes the phone and goes to sit down back in his spot across from me.

  When he sees the lock screen, he looks up at me incredulously. I've never had a lock on my phone in my life. I've never felt the need to until recently.

  "You put a lock on your phone?" he asks. "You've never had a lock on your phone. What's the code?" he demands. But I don't answer. I just glare at him, pissed that he was able to manhandle me and get my phone. I wish my glare was enough to scare him, the way his intimidates me.

  "Fine, don't tell me. I'll figure it out." He gets it on the third or fourth try.

  "Really, Blair? You used our kid's birthday as your lock. It was so easy to guess," he says shaking his head, disappointed in me. I'm shocked that it was that easy to guess. I'm silently kicking myself. I want to stand up and storm off. He's going to see whatever I didn't delete. I don't have to sit here and agonize and watch him read it, but I can't seem to make myself move. I'm frozen in place, watching this train wreck take place.

  He scrolls through the messages. His face goes from sad to mad to furious. His ears are bright red, which is how I know he's pissed. His jaw is flexing under his skin. I don't know which part he's reading, but I'm dying inside, knowing that he's seeing them. I'm ashamed and embarrassed, and disappointed in myself. I'm angry. And the only person I have to be angry at is myself. A tear slides down my cheek.

  When he looks up, I can see his heart breaking. I can see it on his face and in his eyes. I've never seen someone's heart break before. I wish I was anywhere but here. Finn deserves better. I never wanted to hurt him.

  "I'm sorry," I whimper. I feel regret and disappointment wash over me and weigh me down like a wet blanket. I'm uncomfortable in my own skin. Another tear escapes and falls down my cheek. I don't even try to wipe it away.

  He shakes his head vigorously like he's physically shaking away my apology.

  "Do you love him?" he asks, his words hardly more than a whisper, his eyes downcast. He gently places my phone on the coffee table in front of him, making sure to carefully line the edge of the phone parallel to the edge of the table. His care and precision are a little unnerving. The way he asks the question alarms me. It reminds me of the calm before a storm. There's an underlying current in his tone that gives me chills. I don't know how to answer, so I don't.

  He looks up at me, and his eyes are harsh. "I said," he repeats through gritted teeth, "do you love him, bitch." My eyes and mouth pop open in surprise. All I can do is stare in shock.

  "Are you fucking kidding me right now?" I ask in disbelief. He's never in his life called me a name out of anger. "Fuck you," I spit the words out angrily.

  "Fuck you, motherfucker." Finn growls. He's seething. It's terrifying.

  I snatch my phone off of the table, and he tries to grab my wrist before I can pull away, but I'm a little bit quicker than he is. I jump off the couch, and he jumps up as well. I walk toward the bedroom, thinking I'm going to lock myself in there until he calms down enough to talk, but he's following me, ranting.

  "I asked you a fucking question!" he demands. I roll my eyes and flip him off. He grabs me from behind and shoves me up against the hallway wall. My head smashes into the wall, and I wince. The wall is cold through my shirt, and I can feel the texture imprinting on my skin. He's towering over me, his hands pressed on either side of me, trapping me with his arms, so I have nowhere to go and nowhere else to look other than up at him.

  I'm trembling. Finn has never gotten this physical with me. I can feel his hot breath on my face, and the strong stench of the whiskey makes me want to gag and makes me feel even more frightened. I look into his eyes, but I don't see Finn. Finn isn't there right now. His eyes are bright and wild, his pupils huge.

  "No," I whimper, shuddering. "No, I don't love him. I love you."

  "Don't fucking lie to me!" Finn screams in my face, spittle flying into my face causing me to cringe.

  "Did you fuck him?" Finn asks, his eyes boring holes into me. I start crying. I don't want to answer. Finn knows by the look on my face. He knows. His face contorts in anger, and I don't recognize his face anymore. I don't know this man. This man is not my husband. This man is angry and hurt and has seen shit I'll never understand. This man has been through hell and back again and lived to tell the tale.

  Finn rears back his fist. I flinch, squeezing my eyes together, but the blow goes right past my head and into the wall. The drywall cracks and I start sobbing so hard I can't breathe. I'm gasping for air. Finn examines the hole for a second, and I take the opportunity to dip under his arm, and sprint to the nearest room with a door, which is the hallway bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

  Finn is quick, though, and I feel him trying to open the door, but I'm pressing up against it with every ounce of strength I have. I manage to lock the door and fall against it, sobbing. I crawl backward until my back hits the cold bathroom tub. Finn is banging on the door, demanding that I open it.

  I don't know what has gotten into him. It's like he's possessed. Finn isn't Finn right now. It has to be a combination of the alcohol, depression, anger, and PTSD. I don't know what else. But that doesn't excuse his behavior. This is it. I have to leave. He needs help. Yes, he didn't deserve what I did to him, but I'm fucking terrified.

  With shaking hands, I pull out my phone. I dial the first person I think of, which is Tristan. He answers on the third ring.

  "What's up, pretty girl?" he says, and all I can do is sob into the phone. In the background, Finn is still pounding on the door and threatening to break it down. I don't doubt his threats. He could do it.

  "Blair, what's wrong?" he says urgently, concerned. He listens for a moment, and he can hear Finn yelling profanities at me.

  "I'm calling the police," he warns.

  "No!" I yelp. Tristan hesitates, wondering whether or not he should do it anyway. "Just come get me," I beg. "He will snap out of it. The last thing he needs is to be arrested. Just come get me." Getting arrested would look so bad for Finn. He needs to just pull it together and snap out of it.

  Tristan hangs up, and suddenly the banging stops. I wait for a minute or two and then walk to the door. It's quiet, and I don't know which is scarier—the noise of Finn's rage or the silence of it.

  I don't know what to do. I slowly, hesitantly unlock the bathroom door. Finn doesn't come busting through it, so with shaking hands, I take a deep breath and slowly turn the door handle.

  I only crack the door open wide enough to peek through, hoping that I'm quick enough to shut it if I see Finn, but I don't see Finn in the hallway anymore. With a shaky breath, I take a hesitant step out of the bathroom and into the hallway and am hyper aware of the quiet. I don't know where Finn is, and that's even more terrifying than him pounding on the door. I tiptoe back to the living room, praying that I can
make it to the front door and outside before Finn can stop me.

  "Where do you think you're going?" Finn's voice is dangerously calm. I turn to see him coming out of our bedroom. His face and demeanor are carefully composed. I don't answer him, all I can do is stare, frozen.

  "Who did you call?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. "Tristan?" he says, answering his own question. It's rhetorical. Again, I'm unsure how to respond or react. This new side of Finn is terrifying. I feel like a deer in the headlights, unable to move, staring down a speeding vehicle heading right for me.

  Something about Finn is off. He snapped. I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  "I swear to God, Blair, if he comes over here, you'll regret it," he promises menacingly. His voice is so quiet that it's even more terrifying than when he was yelling at me. I look down at my phone that is still in my hand, wondering if I can somehow manage to get a call or text off to Tristan not to come.

  Maybe I should just call the police? Can I manage to dial 911 before Finn stops me? It would be his fault he got himself into trouble. I can't put Tristan or myself in danger. It's not fair to involve Tristan with this shit show. And I don't doubt that Tristan would get his ass kicked.

  I try to slide my finger to my screen to unlock it, that way I can call the cops, but Finn stops me. He shakes his head at me, and I see him reach around to the back of his pants. His hand wraps around the handle of his gun, and he draws it up and aims it at me. Directly at me.

  I've never seen metal look so menacing.

  I gasp, and I start feeling woozy. There is no way that this is happening. How many times have I told Finn that I don't like having a gun in the house? Finn never listened to me, though. He told me he had to have it. Finn swore that one day I would thank him because if someone ever broke into our house, we would want to have a gun.

  But instead, I feel anything but grateful. The same gun that he swore we would want for protection is the same gun he's using to scare the fuck out of me. He surely wouldn't shoot me, would he? I mean, yeah, I fucked up, but it's not worth losing my life over is it? It's not worth him going to prison for murder when he's inevitably caught.

  He uses the gun to point me to the couch in our living room.

  "Sit," he instructs. The calm is scary. But I do as I'm told. On wobbly legs, I walk to the couch and sit. He sits on the love seat across from me.

  "Put your phone on the coffee table," he instructs. Again, I do as I'm told. He looks at it. And then he points the gun at it and pulls the trigger.

  I scream, and my ears are ringing. The gun is so much louder than I ever anticipated it would be. The phone is destroyed, and the coffee table underneath is splintered and broken.

  Surely, someone heard the gunshot. Someone will call the cops, right? If I can just stall long enough, cops will come. Hopefully, they show up before Tristan shows up. He said he was coming. I hope he doesn't. I hope he didn't listen to me after all and he does call the cops.

  I'm shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. I feel weak like I'm going to faint any second. Finn looks calm, though. Composed. He stands up and goes to the front window and peeks through the blinds.

  "Ah," he says, grinning. "Your friend is here. Let me go welcome him."

  He showed up. Tristan showed up.

  We are so fucked.

  Present

  "Bro, don't go over there," Billy says. We're working on his truck in my front yard, trying to get it up and running again so he doesn't have to keep borrowing my shit. We are both covered in grease.

  "You don't need to get involved in all of that." I'm sure he's right, but Blair needs me.

  "I'm going over there," I growl at Billy. "You'll know where I'm at. I'll be okay. Blair needs me."

  I don't even think twice as I run to my truck.

  Present

  He showed up. Tristan showed up. The guy has some balls. I'm impressed. I shove the gun down the back of my pants to conceal it, and go outside, shutting the door behind me.

  Tristan looks unsure when he sees me coming outside without Blair. I see him tense as if he's preparing for a fight, which is hilarious because I would fucking wreck him. I'm trained in combat. Does he know I'm a Marine? I'm trained to kill pussies like him.

  I smile at him, which unnerves him even more. He doesn't like it.

  "Where is Blair?" he asks me. Straightforward. I like it.

  "She's inside on the couch," I tell him. "I think we all need to have a little chat." He doesn't move, so I have to motivate him. He sees me reach my hand to my back for the handle of my gun. His eyes widen in recognition.

  I can tell by the look on his face that the stupid motherfucker didn't even bring a weapon. He showed up unarmed. I almost want to laugh. How dumb is Blair? She's fucking around with a guy who doesn't even know how to protect himself, much less her. I shake my head at her stupidity. She should make better choices.

  He puts his hands up, surrendering. I tilt my head at the door, encouraging him to walk. He slowly starts toward the door. He hesitates when he gets there, so I step ahead of him, and open the it stepping inside.

  Present

  Finn makes me walk inside their house. I was so worried about getting to Blair. I came completely unprepared for this situation. And Finn has a gun.

  All I can think about is Blair. She better not be hurt, or I will fucking kill him. Even though he's bigger than me and taller than me, I will end him.

  I step inside the house after Finn, and my eyes instantly scan the room for Blair. I see her, on the couch, eyes wide, lips swollen from chewing on them nervously. Her face is splotchy from tears, but she's still beautiful. Her eyes are even more blue than normal. I feel relief flood my body at the sight of her uninjured. Now I just have to get her out of here safely.

  "Sit," Finn instructs me, and I don't want to push him any further. His eyes look wild, and he seems frantic. I walk over and sit on the love seat, facing Blair. I'm staring into her eyes, trying to tell her with my eyes that this is going to be okay. I want to soothe her, but I hate that Finn is here and I'm not able to reach out and touch her or reassure her.

  "Don't act like you guys aren't familiar with each other," Finn barks, losing his calm composure for a second. "Go sit next to Blair, Tristan." He's daring me with his eyes. He's tempting me, trying to get me to set him off. I'm walking a fine line. I walk to the couch and sit down next to Blair.

  "Tristan," Finn's voice is menacing. "I'm not going to say it again. I've read your texts. You're in love with my wife," he says, emphasizing the word wife for me. "Don't act like you guys aren't familiar with each other." Fuck. I wonder how much he read. He obviously knows that I told her I think I'm in love with her. I don't blame him for hating me. I'm in love with his wife.

  I scoot closer to Blair on the couch. Being this close to her and not being able to touch her is agonizing. Even from feet away, I can feel the tension in her body. I feel the worry radiating off her. Being closer to her, though, I can feel her relax a little bit. We will get out of this. I'll get you out of this, baby girl.

  I look at Finn. I have to talk him down. I have to get Blair out of here.

  Present

  I'm looking at the man who is in love with my wife, and I can't for the life of me grasp what she sees in him. His face is pissing me off. His beard is grungy and unkempt. He has grease stains on his clothes. I can't stand to look at him.

  When I tell Tristan to sit next to Blair, and I see her release some of the tension she was holding on to a little bit, it kills me. It feels like there are daggers in my heart.

  There is no going back, I realize. This is it.

  All I can hear is the roar in my head. My heart is racing, my thoughts are racing, and everything is going too fast. My blood is flowing through my body too fast. My palms feel sweaty, but I don't release the death grip I have on the gun. The gun is the only thing I know that is real. It's solid and cold, and real.

  Unlike the people sitting in front of me, I know this
gun inside and out. I've cleaned it, taken it apart, put it back together, and loaded it more times than I can count. This gun is an extension of myself. This gun will never betray me. This gun will never break my heart.

  "Look, man," Tristan says, holding his hands up in a nonthreatening way. I don't want to fucking hear it. I put my hand up, silencing him.

  "I've only got one question for you," I say, slowly, watching Tristan closely. "Did you know she was married?" And that motherfucker has the nerve to look over at Blair, my fucking wife, for some guidance. I see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he gulps nervously. And then he nods. He knew she was married. And that still didn't stop him.

  "Yes," he says, his voice unsteady. That's all I needed to know. He's weak. I can't believe Blair would pick someone so weak. I can tell Tristan's telling the truth. Oh well. At least one of them is honest. I can't get the image of them fucking out of my head. It hurts endlessly. With every breath, I feel the dagger in my heart that Blair placed there. What did I do to deserve this?

  I look at my traitorous bitch of a wife. I want her to look at me. I can't seem to take my eyes off of her. I only have eyes for her. Blair feels me gazing at her, willing her to look at me, and she finally looks back at me, her blue eyes, wide and frightened. Even scared, she's beautiful. She reminds me of a deer caught in the headlights.

  "Well, I hope she was worth it," I tell Tristan, looking directly at Blair as I say it.

  And I pull the fucking trigger.

  Present

  My throat is on fire, and I can't stop screaming. My face is wet with blood and tears. I'm furiously trying to wipe both away, but it feels like it's never ending. I can't make them stop. And I feel like they are searing into my skin, staining me, branding me. I am on fire.

  My eyes are burning. I can taste the iron in the blood, and it tastes like I have pennies in my mouth. I want to throw up. I feel the bile creeping up from my stomach and into my throat. I'm going to be sick. I wish it would just happen so I could get this taste out of my mouth. But I don't want the last thing I want to do before I die to be to throw up.