Another time I tell him that my mom and I are going to a concert.
“How nice for you guys. Did you get me a ticket?” he hisses.
“No… my mom got them. Come on, don’t get mad,” I coo, always trying to keep it playful with him. Things can turn quickly with Seth, so I learn to keep my tone light.
“Your mom doesn’t want you to be happy,” he says, the words dripping with resentment. “She’s obviously neurotic.”
“Why would you say that, Seth?” He’s adorable, but he can be a real dick when he wants to.
“Because she wants you for herself when you should be spending your time with your boyfriend. You’re a teenager, not a toddler!” he screams, trying to educate me. “What mom takes her daughter away from her boyfriend on a Saturday night?” This is how he tries to convince me that my mother is too overprotective and that I owe it to myself to cut the cord.
“You can come with us next time,” I say, knowing full well that my mom can’t stand the sight of him, so there likely won’t be a next time—at least not with her. He gets really riled up and punches the floor so hard that he breaks his hand, splinters of wood sticking out the flesh of his palm like bloody thorns. He rolls onto his back right away and starts crying like a little boy who has just suffered an accident on the playground. I cradle his head and tell him it’s OK. I don’t know why, but I feel the need to take care of this person. His drama matches my latent sadness in a way I can’t explain, but that somehow makes sense to me.
Another time we’re hanging out at his house, just kicking around watching a movie. We’re all cuddled up on his sofa, and things are calm. Until my phone rings. It’s my mom, so I get up to go into the other room to take the call—not for any reason in particular other than the TV is on too loud and I simply want to be able to hear her better.
“Hey!” Seth yells, pausing the film. “Where ya going?” He cranks his neck to try to scope out my phone, to see who it is.
“Just to the other room,” I answer, with an expression on my face that says “Why does it even matter?” “It’s my mom,” I say, emphasis on the mom.
“Why can’t you talk here?” His eyes are narrowed now and his chin is tilted up. This is the moment when I know he could flip. I have to stay level.
“Because I can’t hear anything,” I reply, now a little irritated.
“You got something to hide?” he says, standing, his tone sour and his brow tight.
“Really? It’s my mom, man. Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” And he hurls his plate of pizza across the room, sauce everywhere, porcelain shattered.
“Jesus, Seth!” This type of antic reminds me of my dad’s short fuse. So I stare at the slice of pizza that’s sliding down the wall in slow motion and then, in an act of pure deflection, I start to laugh, and so does he, and that’s the end of that… at least for now.
My mom doesn’t feel at ease around him at all. She says he’s got a darkness. I tell her to relax. Dad doesn’t care what I do, as long as I’m not sulking around the house all the time. He also doesn’t mind Seth’s no-bullshit character—it reminds him of himself.
“Don’t you want me to be happy?” I ask Mom rhetorically, laying the guilt on thick. And I mean it. After the shit I’ve been through, I would think she’d be happy that I have someone new in my life who I actually like. Seth might be right: Maybe I do need to set boundaries with my mom. Maybe part of my problem is that I’m not independent enough. So I sneak around, I disappear and come and go like a shadow, I hang out with Seth whenever I want, and I don’t ask for permission and don’t give explanations. It’s my life and I’m driving.
On Thanksgiving weekend Seth comes with us to Newberg to visit with family. Thank God he is with me, because just being in this town, especially in the fall, makes me want to tear my hair out. Being here feels like visiting the graveyard of someone you never really liked, like I’m meant to somehow pay a certain respect, but no part of me wants to be there. The fact that so much of my family is here is the only thing that makes the experience bearable, and with Seth by my side, I guess I should be OK.
The afternoon before the big dinner, he and I are at the grocery store to pick up some stuff for my aunt Cara, which I’m somewhat excited about because I’ve been experimenting with cooking lately, and I’m eager to help Cara out with the meal. I’m standing in the condiment aisle looking for ground nutmeg, when out of the corner of my eye I see a huddle of people at the other end, snickering and gesturing toward Seth and me. I can’t tell what exactly is happening, but something about the menace in their stance and the way they are directed toward me makes my skin go warm.
“Tell that slut to get the fuck out of our town!” one of them yells through cupped hands on her mouth, half wanting to be heard and half hiding. Seth doesn’t know anything about my history here, so the last thing he thinks is that they could be referring to me. He doesn’t do anything for the first few moments, and instead waits to see what’s going to come out of them next. It almost seems like he wants them to do something else. I try to turn around and face another direction, to dodge any eye contact, to remove myself from the whole dynamic. They watch me fumble, cackling like a coven at the other ends of the aisle, reeling in their discovery of my presence. I knock over a whole row of spices, which rattle and topple like little bowling pins all over the floor. I kneel to pick some of them up when suddenly I feel something cold, moist, and fleshy smack me on the shoulder. They actually threw a piece of raw chicken at me! I totally freeze, unable to scream or even cry. Seth’s face goes purple and the veins in his neck bulge into thick, pumping ropes. Both of his hands are in tights fists and his knuckles a yellow-white as he runs down the aisle, chasing the girls out of the store and into the street. I get up, wipe the stinking chicken slime off my shoulder, and follow them outside, where I see the girls jump like fugitives into their car.
“Come on! Get in!” Seth snarls, but it isn’t even Seth anymore—it’s an animal that’s taken control. His eyes are wild, every one of his exhales exaggeratedly loud and sharp. I get in the car and before I even have a chance to buckle up, Seth is driving at top speed, chasing the girls in their mint green VW down the road.
“Stupid fucking cunts!” he screams, spitting the words through his teeth. He grits his jaw and screams hard questions at me: “Do you even know those bitches?” The look on his face says he wants blood. I sit shaking but silent, straddling the feelings of fear and vengeance. Part of me wants him to calm down, the other part wants him to smash their fucking faces in. They deserve to be hurt. They deserve to be tortured. We’re going so fast that I grip the side paneling of the car with both hands.
“Jesus Christ, Seth!” I scream, because I can’t imagine how this whole scene is going to end. He’s closing in on the girls’ car, and we get close enough for me to make out at least one of them: it’s clearly one of the burly bitches who used to corner me into the lockers, who used to breathe into my face and steal money straight out of my wallet and scribble “Paige Slutton” all over my stuff. And the memories come gushing back, and now I’m not only screaming, but also crying hysterically, and the faster Seth drives, the closer I feel to justice.
The engine howls as he speeds up, then he rear-ends the back of their car, hard enough that it spins sharply to the right, careens off the road, and comes to a screeching stop, with dust everywhere, and their shrill screams audible to me even though their windows are all rolled up. Seth bolts out and runs over to their car. Panicking, they lock it from inside, which doesn’t stop him from taking the most violent swing I’ve ever witnessed from a living human, punching the side of their car so hard he leaves way more than a dent. The girls are now hysterically crying, calling for help. I sit frozen, watching the unfolding scene with a strange sense of redemption slowly filling me up. I feel a jolt of euphoria watching them squirm.
We don’t talk about it on the drive back or ever again. Maybe he doesn’t want to have to apolo
gize for or explain his temper, and I certainly don’t want to have to tell him about who those girls were and what it meant. It’s like a sudden storm that comes and passes. But it moves me. Later at Thanksgiving dinner, I hold Seth’s hand under the table, and silently give my thanks to Jesus. Seth stood up for me like a man. It was at once the most romantic and terrifying thing that has ever happened to me. This must be love, I think. He’s clearly a maniac, but he’s my maniac, and I’m safe with him.
BETWEEN LOVE & LUNACY
One Saturday night we’re at his house cooking spaghetti, and as we always do, somehow or other we get into an argument about our plans for the next day. He wants the rundown. He wants to know how much I’ve made it a point to build him into my day. My schedule, it seems, is always going to be a raw nerve for Seth. I have to find a way to set some boundaries.
“I’m going to the gym tomorrow. I told you, remember?”
“The hell you are,” he says, changing the channel, taking a long swig of his beer, and not even looking at me. “I told you: that fucking place is nothing but a sausage party.” He hates that I’m the only girl there, and he doesn’t get why I feel the need to train at such a filthy place. Why can’t you just go to a Spinning class like a normal girl?
Sausage party or not, the Lion’s Den is a refuge for me right now, and not even Seth gets to take that away from me. I like being there with my dad, and I like what I’m learning. While I’m there I unplug from the world. I release myself into the fullness of my physicality, demanding strength from myself at every session. It’s where I blow off steam, where I reboot and where I push myself. Some girls like spin classes and yoga—I guess I like to fight. After what happened on Thanksgiving weekend, it’s a good idea for me to learn some basic self-defense. I try to explain. I try to make him understand.
“Seth, don’t be like that—you know going to the gym makes me feel good.”
“I should make you feel good” he says, with a narrow-eyed glare. Everything threatens him. He never feels good enough. It’s almost heartbreaking. I smile and go over to him, a gesture of good will and peace, in the hopes that he’ll snap out of whatever mood he’s in. But the next day when I get up and start getting myself ready to go, he leaves the bedroom—with me in it—locks the door, and says again, “I already told you—you’re not fucking going! Don’t test me, Paige!”
“We’re through if you don’t open this door!” I scream through the walls, banging the door with both fists. “I don’t need this shit in my life.”
“Ok, Paige. Dump me if you want. But then you’ll be the one who has to live with the consequences when I blow my motherfucking brains out!” he threatens. “Unless, of course, you’re not alive either!” I can feel his mouth close to the door. I should be scared, but I’m not. I’m mostly just concerned about him. His dad abandoned him and his brother, and then his mom ditched them to go be with some boyfriend she met in an online chat room. So, he’s no stranger to deep-seated issues and neither am I. I want to show him that I’ll never abandon him, that I will always love him. I don’t even care when he shreds my yearbook with his bare hands, after seeing that Alan, my ex, had signed it. I pick my battles. He can kick and scream and do whatever the hell he wants to the stupid yearbook as long as I can keep training.
I mostly try to keep Seth away from my folks. Alexa is the only one who knows the truth about his antics. At this point, she wants me to break up with him, but when I think about leaving him, the guilt hardens my heart and the thought of him suffering reignites my loyalty. I want to take care of him, to be the thing that stops his pain. I want us to heal together and come out the other side in love and happy. Maybe I need him as much as he needs me, so I drink up his chaos like a familiar elixir.
For my seventeenth birthday, my parents surprise me with an impromptu weekend to Disneyland, and since Alexa is also going to be out of town, Seth offers to watch my dog, Chester, at his place while we’re gone. I haven’t had much time alone with my folks lately, so it seems like the perfect opportunity to get away and bond. We’re in line to buy a churro when my cell phone rings.
“Your stupid mutt crapped on my floor!” Seth screams from the other end of the line, without even saying hello, and hangs up. Chester has never been a fan of going to Seth’s house, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a nervous accident. Fucking Seth, though. Can’t you just handle it, dude?
After the weekend, I pick Chester up and bring him home, but there is something off about him. He’s wheezing and snorting in a way that he never has before, and I can tell he’s having a hard time just getting from point A to point B. He looks at me with his head cocked to one side, there’s a strange froth on his black lips, and he whimpers whenever I try to pick him up. I take some comfort when I see that he’s finally asleep and getting some rest, but when I get closer to caress him I don’t see the familiar up-and-down motion of his belly. He’s not breathing at all. Chester is dead! I start going crazy, screaming and crying and pacing around the house, and Dad rushes in to give him CPR. But nothing works.
Mom and I take his body to the vet, where they examine his corpse and estimate that he’s likely suffered some kind of anaphylactic shock, maybe due to an allergic reaction to a fleabite. But it’s just a guess, and I can’t tell if it’s just a load of crap.
“We can do an autopsy on the little guy, but that’s gonna cost upwards of $1,000—so it’s up to you,” the vet says plainly, covering my beloved childhood pet with a thin white sheet, an act that feels so clinical and final to me. Mom holds me close and the two of us quietly sob for Chester.
Watching the veterinary nurses take Chester’s body from the cold silver table off to God knows where, all I can think of is Seth. His rage. That crazy look in his eye. The sinister way he spits out the words “your mother,” knowing that she wants me to have nothing to do with him. The way he flares his nose in irritation when I say I’m going to train or to Alexa’s, or anywhere or to do anything. The way he squeezes me so tightly that sometimes it stops feeling like a hug. The way Chester used to scurry to the other side of the room when Seth would walk in. “Motherfucker,” I mutter under my breath, seething. I know he had something to do with it—he definitely did something. Chester was perfectly fine before I left him in Seth’s care. So irrational are the levels of that man’s envy and possession that I wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually jealous of my goddamned dog!
I don’t even bother to do it in person. I send a decisive text.
don’t call or write. i’m done with you.
I change my phone number right after I hit “Send” because I don’t have the head to deal with what I know will be a barrage of texts and calls back from him, begging me to stay—or worse. I’m not afraid of losing him—hell, I don’t even feel bad about abandoning him anymore. As far as I’m concerned, he deserves to rot in his own misery, and I want no part of it. I’m sick of his shit. The possessiveness. The onslaught of meanness. The meanness about my mom! My fucking dog. His fucking tantrums. The whole shit show. It’s done. I’m out. I go to the gym that night and train hard. My feelings jumble up into a fire that explodes onto the bag. The coach tells me to settle down, that I’m going to hurt myself, but I ignore him and pound the shit out of my agony with both fists until my lungs are winded and my skin is raw.
Some months pass. Things have settled. I’ve moved on from Seth. I’m getting my groove back. It’s Thursday and I’m riding on the back of a motorcycle with one of my new friends, Kenny, enjoying the simple normalcy of the moment, the easy sunshine, the crisp, dry breeze. It’s been a while since I could just chill like this. Then out of nowhere, I see Seth’s car coming up the hill, speeding. Right away I see the violence in his eyes, the fuming that seems to come from a wicked but elemental part of his soul. That lunatic is hunting me down. I scream. Kenny hits the gas, but Seth is close enough to hit the bike with a heavy force, and Kenny and I both fly off and crash onto the street. I can’t tell if I have broken any bones, or whe
re Kenny landed, or if he’s OK. I try to stand up and see that Seth is already out of his car and pounding on Kenny, blood spurting from everywhere on Kenny’s face.
“Get the fuck off him, Seth! I’m calling the cops!” I take my phone out of my backpack. But Seth, who for all I know is high on a bag of bath salts, won’t be stopped. And if he strikes Kenny one more time I’m afraid the guy might die right there on the street. “Please, stop! Can we just talk!?”
Seth releases his grip on the front of Kenny’s shirt and looks up at me, Kenny’s head dropping to the asphalt with a thud, blood dripping from his nose and mouth.
“You’re damn right we’re gonna talk. Get in my fucking car, and we’ll talk in private. And your shitbag friend doesn’t get to come,” Seth says, spitting on the street, perversely close to Kenny’s mouth. I can’t even tell if Kenny is conscious or not, but if I don’t play ball with Seth right now, he might murder both of us, so I quickly get into his car. It is one of those moments that I instantly regret.
Seth locks the doors and tears off. He’s breathing heavy and staring straight ahead. “Where are we going?” I ask, trying to keep calm. He doesn’t answer, and instead accelerates even more. “Seth… please,” I try again
“We’re going somewhere where we can talk. Like grown-ass people. Without your mommy and daddy and bullshit new boyfriend to interrupt us,” he says. What a bizarre déjà vu, to be here with him again, sitting in the passenger seat, while he drives like a mentally deranged criminal who just escaped from a ward. How did I find myself here again?
“OK,” I say, acting like his plan sounds perfectly reasonable.
“You owe me two fucking things, Paige: an apology and an explanation,” he demands, sure of himself and mad as hell. He’s hurt because I dropped out of his life via text; I get it. I never called him back after Chester—I never even called to yell about Chester. I literally just deleted him from my life. I guess that’s the kind of thing that could drive a guy like Seth insane. My strategy is to make him think I’m working with him, to not show resistance, which will only stoke his fire more.
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