by Ellis Marie
“Fixed?”
“Yes, fixed.”
“What do you mean?”
He slowly turns to me and takes a step forward, like a predator moving in for the kill, his eyes unblinking and his gaze not leaving my own as the words drip from his lips. “As in you need to move classes.”
His demand hangs in the air between us and everything stills, like the whole world stops for a moment, waiting for my response. His eyes pierce me and pin me in place, and my ankles feel like they’re chained to the ground. My fingertips become numb. I can hardly breathe.
“I can’t,” I finally choke out and it all shifts. Suddenly, my bedroom doesn’t feel like the safe haven it usually is. The space in front of me becomes static, and I swear, I can feel my own blood rushing through my legs.
“What?” It doesn’t come across as a question. It’s a statement. A warning that if I say another syllable, then things will get worse and I won’t like it.
“I’m top of the class.” The words come tumbling from my lips, crashing like a Jenga tower on the way down. “I can’t move to the lower class.”
Matt moves like a shadow, his footsteps silent as he crosses the room, his arm stretched out in front of him. I can barely blink before my back hits the wall, the pictures shaking beside me as his hand encloses around my throat, cutting off the air that I attempt to gasp in.
“Do you think you’re better than me?” he spits, his voice daring me to defy him, daring me to admit it. “Well?”
I shake my head profusely and claw at his fingers, trying to loosen them from around my neck, but he doesn’t budge. “M-Mrs. Howard showed me the class scores. I-I can’t drop down, my grades are too high,” I beg, pleading with him to understand but the only sign of him hearing my words is the tightening of his grip.
“You will manage,” he grits out. I watch as the vein in his neck pulses, straining beside his clenched jaw. I try to think of something to make him understand, a reason that he would support so that I could stay without him hating me.
“But they’ll call my father,” I wheeze out with the last of my breath, praying that he releases me soon. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
Matt considers my words, his eyes not moving from me as they zero in on my constricted throat. He’s watching his fingers, no doubt, turn white with the pressure he’s applying. Black dots start to blur the edge of my eyes. I try to shake them away, not wanting to faint for a second time today, but they don’t budge and slowly start to spread. Panic fills me.
“Please.”
His eyes flick to my own, his face cracking for a second as he takes in my terrified expression, then his fingers release me. I fall back into my wall, my lungs burning as I cough. The cold air rushes through me, making me light-headed and dizzy.
Matt’s feet appear in front of me, his shoes leaving marks on my cream carpet. I watch his legs bend down, his face soon replacing the spot they had just been. I lift my chin to meet his gaze, my ragged breaths managing to squeeze out of my shaking body.
He has an almost robotic smile on his face as he holds out a glass of water, which I eagerly take, gulping down the contents in an attempt to soothe my aching vocal cords while his eyes study me. His hand softly pats my head, sweeping his palm over my hair. I resist the urge to shiver every time he lifts it and places it down again.
“You’re right,” he coos, his voice soft with comfort. “You don’t want to disappoint your dad any more than you already do.” His fingers move from my hair and slowly caress down the side of my face before they grip my chin in their tips. “I suppose it’s the least you can do for him.” He pushes my head away and it knocks gently against the wall as he stands.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I am famished.” He grins, rubbing his hands together while my own rub my neck. “Mom is making lasagne, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He holds his arm out to me. I pause for a second, hesitating, before taking it and accepting his help as he guides me up, trying not to cry once I’m fully upright.
“You know I just want the best for you,” he whispers, moving his palm to cup my cheek. I recoil slightly, which makes him chuckle. “What are you afraid of?”
The words make me want to vomit, the same words that he uses every time this happens, every time his anger gets the best of him.
What are you afraid of?
His lips feel like they’re sealing my fate as he kisses my forehead, trapping me in my own fear and I’m helpless under his hold. He pauses briefly before heading for my door, his steps bouncing as he hums to himself and collects his things.
I stand shaking, afraid to even breathe in case it’s the wrong thing to do, but he doesn’t even turn around as he walks out the door and disappears from my view, a shout of goodbye being thrown over his shoulder.
For a moment, I don’t move. All I do is listen to his retreating footsteps as they assure me that he’s getting further away and then I fly forward, throwing myself against the door so quickly that I almost catch my foot, but it slams successfully. I feel my body give way as I slide against it, my cheek landing into the wood as tears start to pour from my eyes.
My knees hit the carpet, and I muffle my sobs with the sleeve of my jacket, biting the rough material in the hopes of no one hearing. I listen to Matt saying goodbye to my father and then the front door slams. Both pairs of footsteps fade in different directions.
My throat burns as I cry, my hands becoming stained with the damp residue of my makeup as I wipe the snot from my nose, crawling towards my bed. I can feel my body beginning to shut down as the adrenaline flees from my system. I grip the covers in my hands and pull myself up, sliding into the sheets like they are a shield from the world. Like they will protect me from the hatred that seemed to constantly spill into my life. I ignore the way my clothes dig uncomfortably into me and just kick off my heels, too exhausted to care and too numb to be bothered.
Taking the photo frame out of my drawer, I kiss the two figures and cradle it to my chest. My neck dips so it can tuck into me as I pull the duvet over myself, shutting out the world.
“I miss you two so much,” I croak out, barely hearing my own voice. “I don’t know how long I can do this.”
Just like every night, there is no reply and the only thing that greets me is my own silent solitude, the ghost of my memories floating around in my head. The sobs wrack my body as all my pain flows out of me, my fear tumbling after it like they’re racing to see which would end me first. I let them swallow me whole, consuming me in the overwhelming desire to just accept my defeat and surrender to my sadness.
And that’s how I fall asleep—curled up under my blanket with my mind turned off and the world shut out. With soft tears dripping down my face. Totally alone.
A few hours later, I wake up in bed and reach over to pick up my phone, checking the time. It’s 3:35AM.
I groan, the sound coming out croaked as it leaves my parched throat and I have to half-peel my eyes open to be able to see through the layer of tear-induced crust coating the edges.
I swing my feet over the side of my bed, and I stumble, my tired limbs not fully awake yet as I try to find my way in the darkness. I cross the room and head to the bathroom, the bright light and white counters half-blinding me as I enter.
I manage to make it to the sink with one eye open. I turn on the tap, attempting to wash away the remnants of my breakdown off my face.
I hadn’t gotten to sleep for hours, but eventually, my sobs wore me out enough to put me under. However, when I did finally sleep, my dreams were plagued with images of my mother.
Whether they are memories or made-up fantasies, I have no idea. I was so young when my mother left that I can barely remember her face; maybe my dreams are subconscious memories from when I was young, or the more likely explanation is that they are completely made-up—a fake past life that I wish I had.
With my eyes half closed and my arms stretched out like Frankenstein’s monster, I somehow manage to grab the towel h
anging off the rail and pat my face dry with relief washing over me at the freshness that replaces my stale sadness.
I’m peaceful for a moment, then I hear the footsteps.
It’s like my whole body freezes as I listen to their echo climb the stairs, the curses bouncing after them clumsily.
He’s drunk.
I throw the towel down onto the toilet and quickly make my way to the bathroom door, twisting the lock as I reach it. The relief I feel is brief as I remember, that although I’ve managed to lock this one due to my emotional breakdown earlier, I had gone to bed without locking the other.
I silently run to the adjoining door, my feet skidding onto the carpet on the other side as I still. My eyes are trained on the closed door, my ears listening to the approaching threat.
Cautiously, I move forward with my heart in my throat as I struggle not to make a sound. I can feel my heart rate jump every time my weight makes a small creak come from the floorboards.
My heart pounds in my ears in time with the footsteps; they’re now in the hallway, and I can hear him stumble as he catches his foot on the last step, his angry voice mumbling to himself.
Only a foot away.
At the speed of a snail, I raise my shaking hand forward. My sweaty fingers are struggling to grip the lock on my door as I try to silently turn it. If he heard the lock, he would know I was awake.
I feel as though I’m about to combust, my chest aches with the constant strain of my erratic heartbeat and my legs wobble as I try to steady myself against the door, the tips of my fingers just managing to hold onto the cold metal.
With a small click, it locks. Air rushes out of me so quickly that it pushes me over, my body resting against my arms as I stare at the door handle, waiting for it to move.
No less than two seconds later, I watch it rattle, the metal halting after only a few centimetres of movement.
I want to cry in relief.
I hear his angry grumbles from the other side. I take a few steps back cautiously, just wanting to make it to my bed. I freeze as I feel the floor groan beneath me.
I hope he didn’t hear that.
“Annabelle?” the voice rasps.
My blood turns cold. The hairs on my arm stand up in panic.
“Annabelle?” It hisses again with a soft knock accompanying it. It’s as if my eyes are unable to move, my body paralysed as I slide to the floor, the voice continuing to call for me.
“I know you’re in there,” it taunts. Tears begin to drip down my cheeks, my chest shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that he gives up quickly.
“Let me in,” the voice asks. My whole body shivers in revulsion, the tears streaming down my face and dripping to the floor as I sit, trapped in the room with the monster on the other side of the door.
“You’re the reason your mother left.”
“I’d rather have her than you.”
“You’re a worthless child.”
After minutes of constant insults and threats, the figure gives up. Obscenities spill from his lips as I listen to his footsteps turn and walk away. Defeated by the lock on the door and believing I’m asleep, he descends back down the stairs and into his bedroom.
I hear distant snoring not a moment later, but I don’t move. I stay in that spot for the rest of the night.
You’re the reason your mother left.
The tears dry after a while, but I still do not move. My eyes won’t leave the door handle across from me, and it’s like my limbs are too terrified to listen to my brain, and so, I don’t. I don’t for the entire night.
I watch as the room around me goes from dark to light, the shadows moving across the wall as the sun rises. I hear birds chirping outside, and for the first time in hours, my eyes move, blinking at the window, which shows me a blue sky.
“It’s a new day,” I whisper to myself, my voice sounding foreign to me as it scratches its way out. “Time to pretend everything is okay.”
CHAPTER FIVE
School that day is quiet for me. In classes, I keep very much to myself. I keep my head low and my chin basically in my turtleneck. It’s pulled right up so that no one can see the slight discolouration underneath.
I notice it in the morning when I get out of the shower. Although it isn’t very dark, I don’t know what will happen if someone at school sees it. It’s hard keeping a good reputation, especially when everyone’s eyes are constantly on you and you feel suffocated by their questioning stares. Even though it’s a million degrees outside and I want nothing more than to wear something breathable, I choose to wear a turtleneck.
Luckily, for me, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to do something like this. I have a large wardrobe with an outfit for every occasion. The top I’m wearing is thankfully short-sleeved and cropped at my waist so that with the pleated skirt, it looks like a solid outfit.
When I walk downstairs and see my father leaning against the island in the kitchen with a pot of coffee brewing in front of him, I flee out of the house without a second glance.
As always, Matt is waiting for me with his pick-up truck parked precisely outside my driveway so that there’s no way to avoid him. As I walk to the car, I can feel my hands brushing up and down, smoothing out non-existent creases that I feel like Matt can see.
He doesn’t say anything about the night before when I hop in the car. Instead, he just kisses my cheek and starts driving, his voice singing along to a song on the radio. It’s as if it never happened. Like usual.
When we pull up to school, he keeps his arm around my waist and walks like that the whole way to my locker, not leaving me alone for even a moment. When the guys from the football team stop him to talk, he just drags me beside him. I stand in silence, waiting for their conversation to be over while politely smiling. He even walks me to every class that day and picks me up, his golden boy grin coating his face whenever he sees me.
I have to admit that, as much as I know, he’s probably only doing it to try and keep Trent away from me, and I’m enjoying it. He hasn’t acted like this in months, maybe even years. The sweet expression he looks at me with the entirety of lunchtime reminds me of the boy he used to be, the one I fell in love with.
He even cuts Tracey off at lunch when she tries to make a sly dig at my top. Afterwards, he pulls me in for a kiss and whispers that I’m the most beautiful girl in the world to him, and honestly, I kind of feel like it.
This morning, when I first saw him, I had been so scared of how he was going to be, so terrified that he would ignore me or shout at me, or something worse, but he’s acting better than ever.
At the end of the day, he stands waiting for me at my locker. I feel my heart swell when he flashes me that charming grin, motioning for me to come over to him. Beside him stands Carter who doesn’t look too pleased with Matt’s infatuation, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he chooses to shoot me glares for the whole two-minute conversation he is involved in.
Matt even takes me round to his house for dinner—an activity that he usually needs an occasion for or, at the least, a very good reason. His mother is so happy to see me that she hugs me as soon as I walk into the room, her familiar shouts echoing around us.
The dinner is amazing; Matt doesn’t once snap at me or make a comment about my appearance. He even takes me on a walk afterwards to a small park around the corner from his home. It’s as if we’re sixteen again.
The next day is the same; he even brings me coffee in the morning when he picks me up. I’m so shocked that it makes him laugh the whole way to school. I haven’t heard him laugh like that in forever. It’s like he’s someone new.
When I walk into my English class that Thursday, I’m hesitant about what will happen, but it’s like all of Matt’s good behaviour just pushes me to really focus on our happiness.
When Trent tries to talk to me, I just put my headphones in and get on with the assignment, blocking out his voice easily. When the bell rings on the second day of me doing this to him, he storms
out of the room so quickly that I almost miss him.
Cole goes rushing after him and Kristie gives me the strangest look, but I just shrug.
It kills me to do this to him, but Matt is trying. He really is.
By Friday, I feel like the hardest part is over, like maybe he’s finally given up on trying to be my friend and my life is about to become a little easier, but I should know that that is definitely not the case.
“So what is it that Matt did that’s put him on such good behaviour the last couple days?”
It’s lunchtime. Kristie and I are sitting in a classroom, sorting through potential fabrics for her to use for new costumes.
We barely spoke this week because Matt had pretty much occupied all my time, and we hadn’t had a chance to hang out together.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I reply, shuffling through a stack of questions.
She rolls her eyes and props her feet up on the table beside me with a lollypop sticking out from between her lips. “Oh really? So he hasn’t been making up for something?”
I pause, my thoughts playing over the horrific scene in my bedroom while my mind tumbles as I remember his hands around my throat.
“Elle?”
I jolt out of my memories and look up at Kristie. She’s watching me with concern, her eyes flicking to my hand, which has subconsciously curled into a fist, panic floating in them as she leans towards me.
“Did something happen?” I feel a lump in my throat at her soft voice filled with genuine love for me, and I want to spill everything to her. I want to tell her about what he did and how scared I was, but I know she would just get worried.
Over the years, I’ve told her a lot. I’ve told her about my mother, my grandmother, and I’ve even told her a little about my father, but I’ve never once told her about Matt. I’m sure she has an idea. Every time I would flinch away from him or I would shoot her a warning when she made a teasing comment towards him, she would give me this look. Like she’s worried. Like she knows more than she ever let on and it scares me.
Sure, I would love to have someone to talk to about it all, but Kristie has been there for me enough already. She doesn’t need to know more of my life and the pains that come with it. Plus, admitting it makes it real, and I’m not quite sure I’m ready to admit that.
