Archer

by Haley Jenner

  His words are disgusting, harsh and I try to remove myself from his tight grip as his lips meet mine. His mouth is hard, his kiss forced, rough, almost sloppy. Nothing like how my Archer would kiss. Further proving this person before me is a stranger.

  "Stop it!” I squirm. “Archer, stop. Please," I cry pushing at his waist, the only part of his body I can reach with my arms held so tightly. He ignores my plea; but doesn't touch me anywhere else, just assaulting my face with rough kisses.

  I feel panicked. I struggle in his hard grasp unable to move him, his strength too great. Bile begins rising in my throat as tears wet my cheeks. Moving his mouth into my neck, he breathes deep, groaning as his lips move upwards. When he reaches my lips, I open them slightly and a grin transforms his face at my defeat. It’s calculated, malicious and makes him unattractive. His tongue dips into my mouth and I bite down hard causing him to grunt out in pain, throwing me back onto the bed, hard enough to cause my jaw to bite closed fast, jarring my neck. His eyes are fevered and running his thumb along his tongue, he pulls back to see blood coating his skin. Sucking on his tongue, he slowly becomes aware of his actions and I watch his stare turn from skittish to guilty.

  Massaging his temples, he glances at me once more before charging from our room. I hear our front door slam shut and for the first time since he came home, I actually don't care where he goes, as long as it's far enough away from me.

  Chapter Twenty

  Annabelle

  DARCI: Free for dinner tonight?

  ANNABELLE: Sounds good. U good to come to me? Not really feeling like heading out.

  DARCI: Of course, I'll bring dessert. See you round 7ish x

  I stare at my cell for countless minutes. My eyes unfocused, I see nothing, but I continue to stare. I contemplate calling Archer again for what feels like an eternity. I don't want to call him. I don't want to add salt to my open wound, don't want his rejection to cause further pain. Yet as I convince myself of the damage calling him will cause, I can't stop myself from doing it. My heart and my brain are at war. Two separate entities as my brain is powerless against my hearts control. I watch my fingers glide across my screen, locating his number. It's not hard, he fills my recents. Every last call unanswered. Bringing the phone to my ear, it rings, maybe twice. That's it. Twice. Before he sends me to voicemail. I listen to his voice, telling the caller to leave their details and he'll call them back. That's a lie. It's not true. I've called him countless times over the last few days, left an unnecessary number of voicemails, sent an infinite number of texts. All without response. Nothing.

  I hate that his voice makes me miss him, makes my heart ache with loss. With need. With love. I hate that his voicemail offers me more time than he does. That the few clipped sentences at the end of the beep offers me more in the way of verbal communication than the real thing. I throw the phone onto the couch and stare at it once again. Willing it to ring. Willing him to call back. He doesn't and once again, I'm reduced to staring at the blank screen.

  Turning my attention back to the TV, my state of numb continues. I don't know what's airing; men and women interact inside the screen. Talking, laughing - but I'm not watching. Instead, blankly staring into oblivion, my brain working to shut my heart off. Credits eventually begin to roll and I take that as my cue to move.

  I do this slowly.

  Moving around the kitchen I prepare dinner, my body working on autopilot, not brain power. Opening my brain to thought will let the emotions in. Sadness. Anger. Anxiety.

  I know he's okay, because he lets his phone ring before he cancels my call. Always rejecting my attempt at contact after a beat or two. Two days. Two fucking days and nothing. I came home from work one day and like usual his car was gone, but this time he hasn't come home. I panicked at first, fearing the worst. But he rejected my call. Read my texts, but didn't respond. His things are still here, so he hasn't left. He just hasn't come home. I've thought of calling Bennett or Toby. I know he's not next door. Jake doesn't mention him. Nor does Janie. Not to me anyway, they work their hardest to avoid all conversation about him. Preferring to treat me like a fragile animal, easily startled. But I see their concerned glances and sympathetic smiles. It pisses me off, so I've started avoiding them. They get it; at least, I hope they do.

  Darci hugs me tightly as she walks through the door, holding on for a bit longer than necessary, a little tighter than usual. I force my tongue to the roof of my mouth, attempting to hold in the tears threatening to spill over. She must sense my need to compose myself because she walks through the house, leaving me at the entryway. I give myself a minute, before following her through to the kitchen. She hands me a full glass of wine on a wink and I drink deeply before meeting her eyes.

  "Babe, I'm going to give you the time you need right now. But tonight, you need to talk to me. Shutting everyone out isn't helping."

  I nod my head in agreement, silently conceding and she smiles in relief.

  We eat dinner in relative silence, Darci filling long quiet moments with stories of The Coffee House, sharing her worries on stock shortages and staff issues. I appreciate her presence and enjoy the sound of her voice. Her empty chatter both relaxing and distracting.

  After dinner, settled into the couch with a coffee, I take comfort in holding my mug. The warmth of the liquid relaxing to my body. "It's getting worse," I start. "I thought he just needed time. That being home, being surrounded by his family and friends that I'd be able to break through. That he was just disjointed from being away. But the distance just keeps expanding and I've tried everything I can think of. I've been patient. I've been indifferent. I've cried and I’ve begged for him to come back to me. I've tried anger. I've fought. I’ve fought so fucking hard and I can’t even scratch the surface. I don't know what to do."

  Darci squeezes my hand, showing her support, encouraging me to continue. "There’s so much sadness in his eyes. I think it catches him off guard at times, because he actually lets me see it. Other times he glares at me, as though he resents my very existence. Then there's the indifference. When we co-exist, but avoid one another. For me, those times are the worst, because he looks straight through me. As though I'm nothing."

  Leaning back into the couch I turn my profile to see Darci's face. I take comfort in the concern shining from her almond-shaped eyes. I relax at the lack of pity in her gaze. I couldn't handle that. "I’ve done enough to research to know he’s experiencing PTSD, but every time I bring it up, he looks at me with such contempt. He takes it as me saying he’s weak, he takes it as a personal attack and he begins to shut down further. Starts distancing himself more. He's been gone for nearly three days. I don't know where he is, if he's with someone else,” my voice cracks with hurt when I share this fear. “I know he's okay. Physically at least. I call, I text. He doesn't respond but he waits a few beats before rejecting my call. He reads my texts, but that's it. I thought he'd left me, Darc. As in left. But all his stuff is still here, I don't think a single thing is missing. I was so worried at first. Now I'm pissed. I am so fucking mad. I want to burn his clothes and break every fucking possession he has. I want to find him and yell. I want to cause him physical pain. But then I want to crawl into bed, under the covers, cuddle his pillow and cry. Big, fat, ugly fucking tears." I take a deep breath and use the palm of a hand to rub my eyes. "My brain is a circus right now. I'm a fucking freak show of emotion. I'm so lost, Darc," I finish on a whisper.

  "I think I can safely assume he's not staying with Janie. He's not with Bennett or Toby?" she questions softly.

  "I can't bring myself to call them. He's not at Janie's, he's not in lock up, I rang the Sheriff. He's not in the hospital, so that leaves them…. or…. somebody else." Placing my mug on the coffee table I brace my elbows on my knees and massage my temples. It takes me three attempts to speak and even then, my voice is barely audible. "What if he’s spent all this time with someone else, Darc? Where the fuck does that leave me?"

  Placing her own mug on the table s
he moves along the couch to pull me close, offering any small comfort she can. "Babe, I don't want to upset you anymore, but if that's the case, wouldn't you want to know? It might give you the strength to walk away, if that’s what you want."

  "I don't know what I want. I rush through my work day with a need to get home. To see if he's here and to try and connect on some level, however small. But come closing time, I can't bring myself to be here, to sit in this empty house, alone, and wait. So I walk, I explore the lakes and mountains. I sit at the Maple. I'm still alone with my thoughts but at least I'm not here waiting, right?" I meet her eyes, shrugging softly. "He's never here when I eventually get home and no matter how hard I try, I can't stop the disappointment and sadness filtering through my body." I take a deep breath before speaking again. "I'm so unhappy, Darc. I haven't felt an iota of happiness in months. Is this my life? Do I wait? Do I leave? I have no idea. I'm a fucking mess of insecurity and indecision."

  Standing, I move towards the kitchen to clean our cups, needing the short reprieve from speaking. I focus on the small task, thankful that I'm pouring my heart out to Darci and not Aubrey. Darci will never push me further than I wanted to go, understanding my irrational emotional state.

  "Do you think you'd be happier without him?" her voice hits my back and placing the clean mug on the sink, I turn to face her while drying my hands on a towel. She’s leaning against the center bench, arms crossed over chest, face troubled with concern.

  "I honestly don't know. I can't imagine wanting to be with anyone else. Archer was always it for me - my life planned out. I don't know what my life looks like without him. Or more importantly, whether I want to know."

  She moves forward to hug me. Tightly. I'm done talking. Finished with verbalizing the shit-storm that is my life. Darci can sense this, closing our conversation with her non-verbal show of support. We both know she can't bring me closer to an answer, but she'll be by my side through any decision I make.

  We settle back onto the couch to watch a movie. I don't know what Darci chooses, instead twisting my cell in my hand over and over again contemplating every possible outcome. Darci’s right, maybe it would be better to know. Would the knowledge that he's been unfaithful be enough for me to walk away? Or would I stay? Continuing to live a life that no longer exists. Am I that pathetic?

  Sliding my thumb across the screen I text Archer again.

  ANNABELLE: I'm caught. Don't know if you're just being an asshole or if I need to call the cops and file a missing person's report.

  I stare at the screen and watch as the message goes from delivered to read. I wait. One minute. Then two, sucking in a sharp breath as the three dots show on my screen, indicating an imminent reply.

  ARCH: Just an asshole

  That’s it.

  That's all I get.

  Just an asshole.

  A-FUCKING-MEN.

  I throw my phone onto the coffee table with excessive force, causing the house to echo with the bang and Darci to startle.

  I stand faster than necessary; my head spinning with the movement, making me feel nauseated.

  I walk into the kitchen. Then back out.

  I pace in front of the stairs. I start up them once, twice, before turning back to the lounge.

  I pace the length of the couch, cracking my knuckles, fidgeting.

  I stop walking and stare at the TV, my leg bouncing with obvious agitation.

  I chew the corner of my lip, my mind working overtime.

  Darci remains quiet through my silent meltdown, watching on with worry creasing her brow. She leans down to retrieve my phone, reading the open text and sighing in disappointment.

  I could go to him. Go out. Drive until I find him. Then yell. Scream. Tell him what a piece of shit he is.

  I could pack his shit. Leave it on the front porch. Change the locks. Rid myself of his sorry ass.

  I could throw his stuff across our front lawn. Wait for him to come home to find his shit turned out. Tossed aside like the useless asshole he is.

  Each of these outcomes end with me looking pathetic. Reacting to his behavior. He'd get joy out of that. Watching me lose my shit. I don't know how he finds amusement in those moments, but I see the gleam in his eye. The spark of life reach the green of his iris.

  I should just leave. Stay with Darci for a few days. Archer might not notice, but I'd do it for myself. Just be away from this house, from the bombardment of constant memories. From sitting around, waiting for him to come home. Give myself time to think about what I really want, really contemplate a life without him.

  "Mind if I crash at your place for a few days?" I ask, turning to meet her curious eyes.

  "Of course not,” she comforts. “Need me to help you pack a few things?"

  I shake my head. "You go ahead; I'll meet you there in a bit."

  "You sure? I'm happy to wait.”

  "Nah, I need a bit of time alone. Promise I'm good. I'll be there soon."

  Darci nods her head before standing to embrace me, offering me a sad smile before gathering her things and leaving. Standing on the porch I watch her car pull from the driveway and my gaze lingers on the street as her car disappears out of sight before I make my way back inside. I climb the stairs slowly, my brain convincing my heart that this is the right thing to do. I work my hardest to make my heart understand the need to protect itself.

  In our bedroom, I stop to survey the room. My focus seeks out our bed and memories crash through, invading my thoughts.

  Baby, you are fucking amazing.

  Because the sound of you begging for it is the hottest fucking thing I've ever heard.

  Tell me you're mine.

  Because the love I have for you is stronger than anything. I love you more than life, so I know, no matter what, our love is strong enough to beat fucking anything, beautiful girl.

  I rub my chest with the heel of my hand, attempting to loosen the strain on my heart. I struggle for breath as I work to calm my emotions. Wrestling to stop the tears, refusing to allow him to take me there again, to make me cry.

  I will my feet to move. To pack a few belongings, the bare minimum. A few necessary items to get me through the week. All packed, I turn the lights off as I wander through the house. I'm encased in darkness and I'm okay with this. I welcome it; welcome the aching loss of light.

  Refusing to look back, I lock the door. I don't leave a note. Archer most likely won't notice my absence, but if by some miracle he does, I hope he reads my fuck you loud and clear.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Archer

  I drop my keys. A-fucking-gain. "Fuck" I mutter.

  The porch is dark, that's why I can't see, it has nothing to do with the copious amount of booze in my system. Belle’s turned the lights off, probably retaliation for my disappearing act. Why can't she get that being here is too fucking hard? That seeing her every day, being assaulted by reminders of a life I no longer have, is too fucking hard. Fuck that, I needed some breathing space.

  I struggle with the lock a few times before banging on the front door. It goes unanswered. "Belle, open up," I yell at the door, banging louder and longer. Nothing. No lights. No footsteps. No open doors. I bang again, my force excessive causing the front windows to shake. Again. Nothing.

  "ANNABELLE, OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR," I bellow.

  I lean against the doorframe and wait. Seconds pass. Long empty seconds with nothing.

  What. The. Fuck?

  Anger bubbles on my skin. She can't do this; lock me out of my own fucking home. I know she's awake. Probably lying in bed crying. Always fucking crying. I can't take it. It's so hard to watch. Belle was stronger than this. I need her to be stronger. Call me an asshole, but I love when the fight hits her. When she yells. When she breaks through the sadness and throws attitude, pulls me up on my shit. It makes no difference to my behavior. But I love knowing that I haven't destroyed her, not completely anyway. I live for those moments.

  I walk along the porch, banging on the win
dows, yelling out her name.

  "Archer." I turn quickly at the sharp voice. "What are you doing? You're gonna wake up the entire street,” Ma snaps, pulling her arms into the sleeves of her jumper, trying to combat the cold air.

  I stalk towards her, stumbling slightly from the rush of my feet. I don’t let myself register the disappointment marring Janie’s features. I don’t let myself care that once again, I’m my Mother’s biggest disappointment. I don’t let myself acknowledge the fact that Ma is just one of the many people I’m hurting.

  "Belle won't let me in my fucking house. My key won't work," I slur, using the rail of the porch to keep me standing.

  "Baby boy, her car ain't here. She ain't home," she whispers.

  I dart my eyes to the drive where Belle’s car should be parked. "Where is she?" I demand, still staring at the empty asphalt.

  "I don't know, baby. Haven't seen her car since last night. Why don't you come and crash in my spare room, yeah?" Janie offers, touching my hand and pulling my attention.

  I jerk away from her touch, pissed off at her need to coddle me. "Open my door for me," I instruct.

  "Since you asked so nicely…." Janie mutters, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  I watch as she collects my keys from the ground and easily fits the lock before swinging the door open for me. She steps back as I barge through, slamming the door behind me, shutting her out. I wait until I hear her footsteps move down the front steps before making my way farther into the house. The blinds are drawn, it's dark and I can't see shit. I stumble over furniture I know is there, bump into walls that I'm sure as shit haven't moved. But I'm rushing, moving upstairs at a quickened pace to our bedroom. Only when I reach our room do I turn on the light. Nothing seems different, or out of place. I move to our dresser, pulling the drawers out with more force than necessary. Her things are all here. I check the bathroom, opening every cupboard and drawer. Again, most of her shit is still here. She hasn't left and I let this knowledge comfort me for the barest moment.