Reclaim Me

by A. O. Peart

  Rita locked her door, and we climbed up the stairs. My apartment—no, Seth’s apartment that I lived in—was a mess. A chair in the living room was overturned, a glass vase lay broken on the coffee table, water dripped onto the carpet, the flowers were scattered, and a few magazines were strewn all over the floor. The kitchen looked like a tornado went through it: dishes were broken, pots and pans spilled from an open cabinet and onto the counter, my cookbooks littered the floor, some pages ripped out of them.

  “Holy motherfucker,” Rita drawled, amused. “He’s one sick son of a bitch.” She gingerly walked into the kitchen, broken plates crunching under her boots. She picked up the cookbooks, knowing they belonged to me. I loved to cook. It was like a special therapy for me.

  It seemed that all my dishes were broken, but, miraculously, a large hand-painted bowl from Spain survived. I picked it up and examined it for any damage. Finding none, I exhaled with relief. It was a gift from my good college friend who went back to her country after graduating.

  “Where is your luggage?” Jack asked walking into the kitchen.

  “There is blue duffel on the shelf in the closet, by the front door, and a large suitcase under the bed,” I said, peeking inside the cabinets. It was no use—everything was thrown out of them and broken.

  I found my kitchen towels in one of the drawers and a few smaller items like a bottle opener and a set of my silicon oven gloves. I also remembered to look in the drawer next to the oven—I exhaled loudly, finding my cookie sheets and two cupcake pans. They had survived Seth’s insane rage, and that felt like a small victory to me. I knew how to be thankful for even the tiniest things in life. This was one of them.

  Jack came back with my bag. He pushed the broken pieces of my favorite white plates from the counter and into the sink and set the bag on the cleared spot. “Here, you can start packing. Let’s hurry.”

  I nodded and thanked him. Rita put my cookbooks in the duffel and wrapped the Spanish bowl in my kitchen towels, before placing it on top of the cookbooks. “So, sweetie, you’re welcome to stay with me as I told you before. But remember, Seth might come back. We don’t know when, but you would be stuck inside my place. No way I’d let you take a risk of running into him. And I can’t take any time off work—not with my asshole boss. You know?”

  “I know. I really wish you would find a different place to work. Anyway, the police will have a warrant for Seth’s arrest, so it would be actually good if he came back. One phone call and they would be here. Besides, I’m planning to file for a restraining order,” I said.

  “Smart thinking. Do that, honey. If he shows up, I honestly doubt he would hang around for long. If he even comes back to begin with. I think he will actually stay away.”

  “Unless he left the apartment before the police came, so he might not even know I reported him,” I commented.

  “Seth’s not the brightest crayon in the box, but even he can’t expect you not to call the cops after such assault.” Rita shook her head, her red hair bouncing around her shoulders. “Well, whatever your decision, I’m here to help.”

  I hugged her. She stopped rummaging through the cabinets and wrapped her arms around me, too. It was a quick hug, but it carried a lot of reassurance. Having a best friend like Rita was a true blessing.

  “Let’s hurry up with this shit. You need to rest and ice that face of yours.” She opened a few drawers, examining the contents. “Are these yours?” she pointed to the utensils and cutlery.

  “No, mine are still in storage.”

  “You have stuff in storage? Smart girl.” She nodded in approval, while continuing to look for anything that wasn’t broken.

  “I have a lot of stuff.” I shrugged. “It wasn’t possible to fit everything in this little place.”

  Jack poked his head into the kitchen. “I got your suitcase. It’s on the bed.”

  “Thanks, Jack. Rita, I’ll go get my clothes and shoes. Let’s hope Seth didn’t actually destroy them.”

  “I don’t think he had enough time. You said the police arrived quickly?”

  “Not fast enough, but yeah—soon after Jack came over,” I said from over my shoulder while carefully walking among the broken pieces on the floor and into the tiny hallway.

  When I entered the bedroom, I winced, realizing I shared the most intimate moments here with the monster that hurt me so badly. How could I be so naïve? But I didn’t have a chance to dwell on it, because my attention was immediately focused on Jack.

  He was busy, pulling my clothes from the dresser drawers and the closet and arranging them inside the suitcase. I quietly watched him while leaning against the door jamb. There was something soothing and reassuring about watching this man, whom I hadn’t seen in years,, perform the simple task of handling my belongings.

  He moved with precision and grace, picking up my clothes and carefully folding them, before placing them inside the suitcase. His back was to me, and I couldn’t help but notice how wide his shoulders were, and how nicely his t-shirt hugged his back while disappearing inside his belted jeans. I tried not to gape at him, but my eyes betrayed me, focusing right on the perfect shape of his butt. I felt hot scarlet stain my cheeks, and I cleared my throat.

  Jack turned to look at me. One of the button-down shirts I wore to work was carefully draped over his arm. My heart swelled, which only added to the array of my conflicted feelings.

  Was I wrong once again? I’d been wrong a lot lately. But after hearing that Jack was in a bar brawl tonight, I needed to learn more about the man he had become, before I could form any solid conclusion.

  His hooded eyes regarded me impassively. I refused to break eye contact, and we stood, wordlessly, looking at each other. Long seconds passed before Jack cleared his throat and pointed to the middle drawer in my dresser. “I didn’t pack your lingerie. I thought you wouldn’t appreciate me doing that.”

  My already flushed face suddenly felt like liquid fire. I parted my lips to speak, but no suitable answer came to mind. So I clamped my mouth shut and walked to the dresser.

  Jack stood, looking uncomfortable, my shirt still draped over his arm. He must’ve realized it, because he hastily placed it on the bed and started folding it.

  “Where did you learn how to fold clothes so perfectly?” I asked, marveling at the skill I’d never been able to master.

  “The Marine Corps,” he said quietly, without looking at me.

  The easy air that I felt between us before was nowhere to be found. I hated the discomfiture that emanated from Jack and now was sliding over me too. Trying to keep my mind on something else, I opened my lingerie drawer and pulled out a handful of my panties. I tucked them in the corner of the luggage. Most of my undies were skimpy thongs, so they took up very little space. I tried to decide how to put my bras in the suitcase without feeling weird in the process. My cup size has never been impressive, but all my bras were constructed of much heavier fabrics than the underwear, so it wouldn’t be easy to squeeze them in like I had the panties.

  I started to feel ridiculous, having such a silly little problem. I realized that Jack finished packing all my other clothes and was watching me, as if trying to decide if he should stay or leave the bedroom.

  I left the bras in the drawer for now and squatted down next to the bed, pointing. “My shoes are here. I will get them out if you pack the books from that bookcase by the window. All of them are mine.” I was surprised the bedroom hadn’t been tossed the way the living room and the kitchen were. Seth probably ran out of time or maybe his temper ran out of steam.

  “Sure.” Jack walked to the bookcase, stopped, and pulled out my “Strolling Through Venice” tourist guidebook. He opened it and gently flipped a few pages. His eyes widened and a slight smile brightened his face.

  I knew exactly what was happening, and a stab of sadness almost made me double over. My hands started to shake, my breath caught, and tears pricked behind my eyes. I took a few cleansing breaths and bit the inside of my cheek to stop
my burgeoning emotions.

  Venice was where Jack and I planned to go after the graduation. We had the whole trip laid out; including the hotel in which we would stay and a long list of sights to check out. Except, the trip was cancelled after I broke up with him on prom night.

  I sat on the floor, gaping at him, one brown, three-inch-heeled sandal in my hand. My thoughts were laced with nostalgia, and I didn’t know how to shake it off. I’ve never been particularly good with switching gears when my mind travelled to such distant, wistful memories.

  Slowly, his eyes found mine. There was so much pain in them, so much longing. My heart skipped a beat and a shiver ran through me. Jack looked down at the book, closed it, and carefully placed it on top of the bookcase. He pulled several other books out and put them over the Venice guidebook, as if trying to bury it, and then picked the whole stack and carried it over to me.

  He surprised me by squatting down right next to me, with the books in his arms. “Are all of these yours?”

  “Yes, all of them.” I nodded, still holding one strappy sandal in my hand.

  “You always liked to read a lot. And cook.” His voice was raspy and low.

  “I still do. I mean, read a lot and cook,” I said quietly, feeling surprisingly comfortable with Jack so close to me.

  “Do you ever bake those salted-caramel cupcakes?” Now he sounded like a little kid, hoping for a treat.

  I laughed, careful not to stretch my split lip. It wasn’t as swollen as before and it wasn’t bleeding, but it still hurt. “Only sometimes. I don’t bake as often as I used to.”

  He looked at me. It felt as if he could see right to the very core of my soul. What would he see there? Was I what he expected me to be now, or did he see me as the girl I used to be? I pulled myself from my reverie. I couldn’t let myself become nostalgic again. Maybe what was in the past should stay in the past.

  I leaned to the side and dragged my other strappy sandal out from under the bed. Jack took the hint and stood up with his large hands wrapped around the stash of books. But then he surprised me again when he said, his voice velvety soft, “Those are nice.”

  Confused, I glanced up at him. What I expected to see was a playful smile, or maybe just the polite expression people wear when making such comment. But what I actually saw, sent a shiver of longing through me. Jack’s face was pinched with sorrow and pain, as if some distant memory resurfaced despite him desperately trying to suppress it.

  I tore my gaze from him and glanced down at the elegant shoes in my hands. Small bows adorned the skinny straps right by the tiny golden buckles. The heels were slim and slightly slanted forward, making my feet arch at just the right angle to allow my legs appear longer and more shapely. They were nice shoes, Jack was right. But what struck me was that he actually made that comment. He’d never been the kind of a guy to remark on a woman’s shoes or clothes. Never. It was as if it didn’t really matter what I wore back in high school when we were together. I couldn’t recall a single instance of him stopping and reflecting upon my appearance; not even on prom night after I spent hours, fussing over my hair and makeup. A small change in his personality? Maybe. But it was something I definitely appreciated discovering.

  What I wanted was not to ever worry about violence. Ever. I was done with saving bad boys, or trying to put up with their insane ways and believing I can change them for better. This was my life, and I was done devoting it to lost causes.

  I felt my eye brows furrow. My head was still bent over the shoes. Jack inhaled deeply and, without another comment, walked to the other side of the bed to deposit the books by the suitcase. I noticed, he didn’t put them on top of the clothes.

  As if reading my mind, he said, “The books are heavy. They would wrinkle your pretty blouses and skirts. Do you have another duffle or a backpack?”

  Pretty blouses and skirts? Was this the same Jack I remembered? Obviously not. “I should have another small duffle somewhere in here.”

  Rita hollered from the kitchen in her strong, melodic drawl, “I’m done salvaging whatever shit I was able to salvage. What else do we need to pack?” Her voice sounded closer as she walked toward the bedroom. She stuck her head in. “Do you need help in here, or should I grab your shampoos?”

  I chuckled quietly. She always put a smile on my face, even when she hadn’t tried. “Yes, please.” I nodded to her.

  She lifted her eye brows and motioned with her head to Jack whose back was to her. He was pulling the last books off the shelf.

  I shrugged, looking at her. She mouthed, “Talk to him.”

  Before I could react to that suggestion, Rita left for the bathroom. A moment later, I heard something crashing down in there and Rita’s voice, “Fuck! Really? I’m okay, carry on!”

  I rolled my eyes, smiling and wondering what damage she just inflicted on herself. Of course, that didn’t matter a bit in such an already trashed apartment.

  Jack went to the bathroom. I heard muffled voices, but I couldn’t discern the words. All my shoes were out, and I stood up to put them in the suitcase. Instead, I decided to find that other duffle Jack requested and just pack the shoes on top of the books. Funny, how Jack’s comment about not wrinkling my clothes stuck in my head.

  It wasn’t long before we were done. I was relieved we didn’t encounter Seth. That would have been too much for me to handle. I was an emotional mess, even though I tried not to show it. Between Seth’s assault, Jack showing up and dredging up old memories, and Rita’s telling me about Jack beating up some guys at the bar, I was on a verge of a mental breakdown.

  I had to get out of this apartment. It reminded me too much of my strange relationship with Seth. Or maybe the problem was that it reminded me of all the pain and fear I lived through while in middle school. The therapist I was seeing a couple years back once suggested that I might feel obligated to help the others and to try making them better people in order to elevate my own self-worth. It took me a long time to get over the feelings of shame and suppress the memories of the abuse inflicted on me.

  I pressed my hand over my eyes and shook my head in an attempt to clear my mind and return to the present. The packing was done. Jack and Rita were doing the last walk-through to ensure all my belongings were collected. I stood by the front door, looking down at my things neatly stuffed into the luggage.

  Jack picked up both duffels, draped them over each shoulder, and then grabbed the suitcase.

  “I can carry one of them.” I pointed to the duffel bags.

  “I got it,” he whispered and opened the door.

  I froze. Seth stood at the landing. The furious expression on his face immediately morphed into surprise when he saw Jack.

  “Son of a bitch,” Jack hissed through clenched teeth. He dropped the bags and leaped at Seth faster than I could take a single breath.

  I screamed.

  Rita grabbed me around the waist, holding me in place. “Stay here.”

  Everything happened so quickly. Seth ended up sprawled face down on the hallway floor, with Jack pressing one knee into Seth’s lower spine and twisting both of his arms behind his back. Jack grabbed Seth’s hair and slammed his face down. Seth yelped. Jack growled.

  I screamed again.

  Rita’s arms pinned me to her with surprising strength.

  “Jack, no! Stop!” my voice was raw. I was shaking, my heart slamming in my chest.

  His fist was ready to strike the side of Seth’s head when he lifted his face and looked at me. Our eyes locked, and I saw something fleeting in his expression—it wasn’t rage, as I expected. It was sorrow.

  Slowly, his fingers unclenched. He was breathing hard, his muscles tense. “You’re not worth it,” he spat the words, looking down at Seth. “You’re not worth it,” he said louder and added, “Rita, call the cops.”

  Chapter Five

  I stood at the curb with my arms crossed over my chest. I watched the police escort Seth into their vehicle. His wrists were bound with handcuffs, but he h
eld his chin up, looking furious and not a bit ashamed or perturbed with his situation. When one of the cops opened the car door to get him in, he turned his head to give me a hateful look and mouthed to me, “I will find you.”

  Yeah, you do that, asshole, I thought. That will give me a chance to finish what I started.

  I wasn’t afraid of punks of his caliber. Honestly, I wasn’t afraid of anyone, really. Maybe it was cocky of me, but that was my personality. Although, I had to admit, there was something eerie about Seth, something that concerned me because of Willow. Why would she even date a guy like him? Why the hell would she live with him? I kept wondering if today was really the first time he physically abused her, or if she was hiding something.

  A small crowd of apartment residents gathered to watch the spectacle. It was past midnight. Rita and Willow stood behind me, Rita’s arms wrapped around Willow. I turned to look at them. Willow’s eyes were cast down toward the ground. Rita nodded to me and said, “Thank you.”

  I shrugged. “Let’s go inside. It’s cold and it’s starting to rain again.” I walked past their neighbors and toward the building’s door.

  The girls followed. Soon, we were back in Rita’s apartment. Willow looked miserable, and I wanted to comfort her, somehow. But I wasn’t taking any chances. I didn’t know how she might react if I tried to hold her again. So I said, “I better go. It’s really late, and you both need some rest.”

  Willow was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a fuzzy, hot-pink blanket. With only the top of her face sticking out, she looked like a little girl. “Jack,” she called out in a small voice, muffled by the fluffy fabric.

  I turned to her. She gathered the blanket, stood up, and padded toward me, holding it close. “I want to thank you.” She seemed embarrassed, her eyes cast down. “If it wasn’t for you …” Her forehead wrinkled.

  “Willow, you don’t have to thank me. I would do that for anyone. No woman should ever put up with physical assault,” I said quietly.