Closer

by Mary Elizabeth

  “Whoa,” he exclaims, finally … finally losing the charm.

  I’m not naïve enough to believe this is all about me. Teller’s possessive and jealous, and he’s gotten himself in a few fights on my behalf, but the anger darkening his eyes and fisting his hands results from being backed into a corner. He lives a life his father chose for him, rebelling with ink and his relationship with me. The pressure to be as great as the man who gave him life suffocates him, but he doesn’t want to be a disappointment.

  But they constantly treat him like he is.

  His parents. Maby. Em and Nic.

  Even myself.

  “He bought me a drink, Teller,” I explain calmly. “But we can leave now. It’s not a big deal.”

  Social distortion slowly nods, eyes locked on Phillip, waiting for him to make the wrong move so he can strike. My heart dislodges from my throat and falls to its normal spot in my anxiety-riddled chest, hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth.

  “Sure,” Teller replies. He beckons me forward. “Let’s go, baby.”

  I step away from Phillip Graves without a second thought, relieved to slip my hand in Teller’s. Our family’s still at our table with drinks in front of them, chatting without a clue as to what almost went down.

  I’m envious of their oblivion, and then fearful when the dog walker suddenly says, “You better get the fuck out of here.”

  It’s so childish, so after school special bully edition that it takes me a split second to register it as a threat. Teller figures it out right away, gladly jumping at the chance to relieve his pent-up anger and frustration. He yanks me back and stands in front of me protectively, keeping his hand in mine.

  “Please don’t,” I beg, tugging on his fingers. “Teller, please don’t do anything.”

  People start to notice the rise in tension spoiling the atmosphere, and the fellas Phillip’s here with lower their pool sticks and finish their beers, gearing up for a brawl. Teller doesn’t need an entourage to get his point across; the tone of his voice and the look on his face are frightening enough.

  “Say something?” he asks.

  Phillip looks over his shoulder to double-check with his friends that he’s not in this alone, boosting confidence and arrogance. “You spilled my beer, buddy.”

  “Fuck your beer, and fuck you. Come near my girl again and I’ll break your motherfucking neck.” Teller walks away, but we don’t get very far.

  “Your girl approached me. Maybe you need to teach her a lesson instead of starting shit you can’t back up.” Phillip and his friends laugh, and now the entire bar is watching.

  Teller lifts my knuckles to his lips and then nods his head toward my brother. “Go over there with him. I’m going to have a talk with this guy.”

  Before I can protest, Teller grabs Phillip by the front of his shirt and shoves him back into the table, knocking it and everything on its surface over. Wood splinters and breaks, glass shatters, and girls scream, scattering out of the line of impact. The bitter scent of cheap beer mixes with fear, and everything goes perfectly still for a second when we pause to let the damage sink in and figure out who’s on what side.

  Then all hell breaks loose.

  I’m rammed against the bar by a crowd of people running to the exit as more tables flip and stools are thrown from one side of the room to the other, trapped and unable to get closer to Teller. Security in bright yellow shirts shove their way through, and the bartender behind the counter’s on the phone with police.

  “Get the fuck out of here, Ella.” My brother, not in uniform, grabs ahold of my shoulders and pushes me toward the door as Husher bolts past us, right into the thick of things. I stumble forward, tripping over my feet before catching myself on some redhead’s arm. “Go outside with Nicolette.”

  I can only see bits and pieces of the brawl, but it’s not a one-on-one fight anymore. Fists and kicks are thrown at random, drawing blood and bruising ribs, turning a minor scuffle into a riot. As soon as my brother turns his back on me, I chase him, propelling my way through the mob and elbowing anyone who’s in my way. Red and blue lights flash through dark tinted windows, and more people flee once they realize the cops are here.

  My heart freezes at the sight of Teller on the floor, curled on his side, protecting his head with his arms as Phillip and two of his friends kick him while he’s down. His mouth’s bleeding, and his left eye’s swollen shut, but he’s not alone. Emerson grabs Phillip by the throat and slams him to his back, pressing his knee into his chest so he can’t get up. And Husher—the most non-confrontational person I know—takes on one of the friends, capturing him in a headlock.

  “Get up!” I scream. “Tell, get up!”

  Enduring a thrashing until he’s upright and steady, Teller knuckles up, swiping blood from the corner of his lip with his thumb. Friend number three’s not bold on his own, petrified prey in the eyes of an untouchable predator. Security moves in a minute later, heaving Teller from the guy before he beats his face in, but rage doesn’t back down easily.

  “No!” I shout, unable to reach him in time.

  Beaten but nowhere near broken, Teller lifts a barstool from the floor and swings it around. Anticipating hitting the guy who gave him a bloody lip, he breaks it over the back of a security guard who got in the way. Shock sobers fury, but it’s too late. Five armed officers storm the bar, and everyone scatters, leaving behind shards of glass, broken pool sticks, and upturned tables and chairs.

  “Get the fuck down!” a police officer shouts, pointing his weapon on Teller. “I want to see your hands.”

  Teller slowly sinks to his stomach, hands in the air, with his eyes locked on the law. Emerson, Husher, Phillip, and five others are apprehended, cuffed and left on the floor until the scene’s under control.

  “Emerson, what should I do?” I ask as I’m shuffled away by security. “I don’t know what to do.”

  My brother doesn’t hear me, but Teller, with the side of his battered face pressed against the dirty barroom floor, hangs on every word like he might never hear the sound of my voice again.

  “Keep moving,” a man in yellow orders, driving me out the door. “Party’s over.”

  I’m ushered to the parking lot where the night glows in red and blue, changing faces and reflecting off windshields and windows. Police officers write in notebooks, taking statements from the bar’s owner, bartenders, and other witnesses from inside. People laugh, some cry, but most are indifferent, waiting for a cab.

  Turning in circles, searching for a familiar face, I can’t see past the panic closing in around me. Heat flashes through the palms of my hands, and the hair on the back of my neck stands straight, triggering the deep-set anxiety that creeps through my bones at the flashing image of my brother, Husher, and Teller in handcuffs.

  “Gabriella.” Nicolette’s voice rises above the ringing in my ears.

  She darts between the hood and the trunk of two police cruisers, with an oversized purse on her delicate shoulder and lights streaking her blonde hair blue. Recognition doesn’t lessen the dread building in my chest, but it does elicit tears from my eyes.

  Relieved and horrified in equal amounts, she wraps her arms around my neck and holds me against her small frame with a giant’s strength. The idling scent of my brother, cinnamon and citrus, hugs the curve of her throat and hangs on her cotton top, igniting guilt so hot I have to step away before Nic catches fire.

  “Where’s Em?” she asks, looking over my shoulder. “Wasn’t he with you?”

  Before I have a chance to tell her, Maby follows Nicolette’s footsteps, slipping between cop cars with a cell phone in her hand. Her short dark hair’s untidy, in disarray from her restless fingers, and streaks of eyeliner and mascara stream down her face with worry.

  “Are they in there?” she asks frantically.

  I nod, looking toward the bar entrance. “Yes.”

  “Wait. Why are they still inside?” Nic looks from me to Maby, who’s now heading toward the col
lection of police officers at the front doors.

  Exhaling a large breath from between my lips, I run my hands through my hair and look to Nicolette with tears blurring my vision. “Teller was in that fight.”

  She rolls her eyes, unsurprised. “What does that have to do with Emerson and Husher?”

  “They were in the fight, too,” I say, watching her eyes widen. “I think the cops are holding everyone involved.”

  “Are you fucking serious, Ella? Emerson’s being arrested? Why didn’t you say something to me?” She storms away, running across the parking lot to catch up with Maby.

  It’s over an hour later when my brother and Husher are let go, escorted out of the bar with a few others who were involved in the brawl. I’ve kept my distance from Nic and Maby, afraid of how angry they are with me, and ashamed of my part in this. But when I see Emerson’s face, I run to him, overcome with relief and unable to stop my feet from moving.

  He takes me in his arms, squeezing me tightly against his chest until he’s not anymore. He holds me at arm’s length while everyone watches, disappointment etched in his expression.

  “I lost my job thanks to this shit, Gabriella,” he says, shaking me like a child.

  Sobbing, I can’t take my eyes off him. He looks just like Dad. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “They’ve placed Teller under arrest. He’s going to jail. Probably for the whole fucking weekend.”

  “What?” Maby shrieks. “What did you say?”

  He doesn’t need to repeat himself, because before Emerson opens his mouth to speak, the front doors come open. With his hands cuffed behind his back, two police officers lead Teller toward an awaiting cruiser.

  “Where are you taking him?” Maby asks, her hysteria barely contained.

  “Miss, you’ll be able to call the station in the morning for more information,” a third officer explains, holding his arm out to keep her from chasing after her older brother.

  Tugging my arms free from Emerson’s tight hold, I sprint from his reach, past Maby and the cop, after Teller. He’s lowered into the police cruiser, staring at me through the one eye that’s not swollen shut.

  “Please don’t take him,” I beg. “Please, this was my fault. He can’t go to jail because of me.”

  “Step back,” cop number one says, holding the door open. “Unless you want to go with him.”

  “But he didn’t do anything.” I make the mistake of grabbing the officer’s wrist.

  Cop number two places his hands over the cuffs at his waist.

  “Gabriella!” my brother shouts, coming after me.

  I’m miniscule under the law’s dark glare, an afterthought and an inconvenience, preventing them from completing their job safely and going home. There’s nothing stopping the law from placing me under arrest for intervening, but I only want everyone to understand.

  “Please,” I whisper, wiping sadness from my face.

  “Step away from the vehicle or you’ll be the next one going in,” number one warns, leaving no room in his tone for misinterpretation.

  “Baby,” Teller suddenly says. His voice muffled through the closed door. “Go home, Ella. I’ll be okay.”

  My brother pulls me away by the back of my shirt. “Are you that fucking stupid?”

  “I’m sorry, Tell!” I yell, unable to fight Emerson off. “I’m so sorry.”

  We watch the cruiser drive away with Teller in the back seat, speechless and unsure of what to do next. Four pairs of eyes glare at me, frustration and deserved judgment coming from all angles, and I’m not brave enough to stare back.

  “Dad,” Maby cries into her cell phone. “We need your help. Teller’s been arrested.”

  Now

  A heavy pounding at the door wakes me up after it feels like I’ve just closed my eyes. Pre-dawn light fills the loft with gray shadows and silence even the city that never sleeps has at this time in the morning. Dressed in the pants I wore the night before, having put them back on after the bath with Ella, I step barefoot and shirtless to the hammering.

  “Where the fuck is my sister, Teller?” Emerson brushes past me, shoving me out of the doorway. Nicolette steps in behind him, avoiding my eyes, following Em to the room as he shouts, “Gabriella!”

  I close the door quietly, already knowing exactly where this is about to go, and follow the couple into the master bedroom where I left Ella alone after she fell asleep on the bed. She wanted me to stay with her, but guilt tapped my heart with her in my arms like nothing happened. It was a normalcy I couldn’t stomach with the bruises on her neck and the scratches between her thighs.

  Ella sits up as I walk in, letting the thick white comforter fall around her waist. Her hair’s still wet, unbrushed and tangled, and nothing’s hidden under the old concert T-shirt she’s in. A lesser man would look away, but I can’t take my eyes off of her.

  “What’s going on?” she asks. Her tone is thick with sleep and scratchy from hours of crying.

  Emerson pulls the blanket off her body, tossing it to the floor. Ella curls her legs against her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees, tiny in the massive bed.

  “What the fuck, Em,” I say, moving forward as rage resparks, ready to burn.

  “Emerson, don’t,” Nicolette says, stepping to him before I can.

  He ignores us all, turning on the lamp to get a better look at his sister in the light. Ella squints against the brilliance, holding her arm up to block it from her eyes, but it does nothing to block her from us. Reds are redder, blues are bluer, and purple has gone black, from her throat, down her arms and legs and knees.

  “Oh my God,” Ella whispers, lowering her arm to stare at me. She asks, “I did that to you?”

  I still haven’t taken a very good look at myself, but if it’s as bad as I feel, it’s not much different than her.

  “Don’t worry about me, baby—”

  “You son of a bitch,” Em snarls, possessed with a father-like rage. “What did you do to her?”

  Deserving his anger—wanting his wrath—I don’t avoid being hit. His large fist connects with my jaw, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as the sight of Ella does. The girls scream, and I stumble back, catching myself before I fall.

  “I’ll fucking kill you.” Emerson hits me again, this time in the stomach. Oxygen leaves my lungs in a quick whoosh, leaving me breathless but nowhere hurt enough.

  “Stop.” Ella throws herself in front of me, holding her hands out defensively. “Don’t hurt him, Em. It’s not what you think. It’s okay.”

  His eyes widen, shaking his head in disbelief. “This is not okay, Gabriella. This is nowhere close to okay.”

  Coughing, catching my breath one small gasp at a time, I move bravery out of the way with tears in my eyes and face consequence.

  “Nicolette saw you,” he says, spitting the words in my face. “She went looking for Ella when you guys didn’t come back, and she fucking saw what you did to her. I had to pry it from her, because I knew something was wrong. I knew I couldn’t trust you.”

  “What we did to each other,” Ella says boldly, standing by my side. “He didn’t do anything to me I didn’t want him to.”

  Emerson’s booming laugh fills the entire loft, echoing off the walls. He takes a quick step toward me, but Ella places her hand on his chest.

  “Do you realize how ridiculous you sound? Have you seen yourself?” he asks his sister, softening his tone. “I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but this isn’t healthy. It’s abusive, and I wouldn’t be doing my job if I sat back and let it happen.”

  Ella straightens her shoulders, covered in bruises the size of my fingertips. “I’m not a job.”

  Her bottom lip trembles, and her hands shake in the face of outcome, unwavering and sure. It would be so fucking easy to let her fight this out and win, smarter than the rest and cunning beyond belief. We could keep on keeping on, doing what we’ve done for the last seven years, destroying everyone and everything in our way until the
re’s nothing left but wreckage left in our wake.

  But I have to give her a chance to change her mind.

  “He’s right.” I feel my face pale.

  “What?” Ella asks in a small voice.

  “Baby, you can’t act like this is normal. You’ve had normal.” I swallow bitterness at the mention of Joseph West because it’s not entirely true, but he might have been better than me. “And this can’t be what you want.”

  Dark brown eyes overflow with grief, spilling down her tear-soaked cheeks. “Shouldn’t that be my decision?”

  I look up at the ceiling, incapable of facing her when I say, “Not this time.”

  “Don’t do this to me again, Teller,” she says through clenched teeth. Rage comes off of her in waves. “I know you don’t mean it.”

  “Ella, maybe you should come stay with Em and me in our room,” Nicolette chimes in. “I can help get your things together.”

  “No,” Ella says right away. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shoving my hands into my pockets to keep myself from reaching out for her, I stare at her mouth instead of her eyes and say, “You should go.”

  When she comes after me, hitting me harder than her brother ever can, I don’t stop her either. I take every small strike proudly, honored to be a target of emotion so overwhelming, only I can stir it from her.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her body, crying into her hair.

  Emerson yanks devastation from me a moment later, taking an elbow to the face as he drags her away kicking and screaming. I help Nic gather Ella’s belongings, finally taking in my reflection when I go into the bathroom for her toothbrush and makeup bag.

  “You need to keep her away from me, Nicolette,” I say, tracing the deep scratches across my chest with the hint of a smile on my lips. “I won’t be able to tell her no again.”

  I don’t leave the room or talk to anyone until the next day when we’re scheduled to leave, in need of the time alone and not trusting myself if I found my way back to Ella. But the knocking on the door was unavoidable today, and I can’t wait to get out of here.