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He quietly pulls away and slides down the wall and onto the pillow. Attie wraps his arm around the back of my neck and rolls me into his chest.

“You could’ve just told me you were hungry,” he pipes up, “I would’ve been more than happy to make you breakfast.”

I playfully roll my eyes.

“You did. I was hungry and now I’m not. You fed me. Even poured me a fresh glass of protein to wash down my meal. Thank you for being such an excellent host.”

I wink his way and watch as his face turns a deep shade of red.

Attie isn’t someone who gets humiliated easily, so this reaction makes me giggle. He flicks his wrist and I notice we’re fully clothed again. Bummer.

“Hey! Who said I was done?” I bat my eyelashes at him as I attempt to hold back a laugh.

“I did, pretty girl. We’ve got work to do.”

As we come up to my old room, I can’t help but feel anxious. I don’t want Jake to get away with what he did, but I can’t bear to be around him either. It’s punishing knowing that the person you once loved took your life brutally and without remorse.

There was never a moment where it just went all wrong; it was throughout time, in subtle changes, minor disagreements that grew into flying fists and shattered pieces of old thrifted furniture. It didn’t get worse when we ended up in the motel; things had been going downhill for a long time by that point. Jake was lazy. He was a cheater, a liar, a manipulating, gaslighting, narcissistic piece of shit. He always had been; he just waited until I was comfortable before he showed me who he really was.

The last time he laid his hands on me wasn’t just because I retreated to the bathroom to pray. That was something I did every night, and he knew it. No, this was because I finally argued. I fought back with my words. I advocated for myself. My hurtful expressions tumbled out of me when I shrilled that I hated him and I wanted out. He did this to me—to us.

He was the reason we lost our baby. The day I “tripped” down the stairs to the shared laundry room could only be my own fault. I didn’t hang up his previous load of clothes in time for him to change into something clean after returning from work. His drinking and gambling were the reason we were evicted from our shitty apartment. I needed clarity about what to do next, and prayer would bring me just that.

I never thought I’d get away from Jake unless it was in a body bag, but the night that I did, I really thought I had just finally been strong enough. I thought I had overcome my fear, that I had shocked him with my bravery, and that’s why he stood there frozen in place.

It never occurred to me that I could manifest the very thing I didn’t want for myself.

Attie links his fingers with mine, and we walk through the door. I don’t feel as dizzy this time around. It’s mid-morning, and Jake is still zonked out in bed; the TV is showing college hockey, and I’m assuming, judging by the smell, that the timed pot of coffee has been burning all morning.

Attie appears and presses the button until he hears the clicking sound of the off position.

“I’d love to leave this on, hoping it’d start a fire and burn this stupid fucker alive, but unfortunately, we have to think about the other guests in the building.”

I, too, wish it were that simple. Atticus brushes past me and hunches down to the floor. He yanks the blanket free, Jake slides it between my body and the bed as he positions the blanket on top of what’s left of my remains. He curses under his breath as he watches Jake stir from the swift movement.

A gurgling sound bubbles out of Jake’s mouth, followed by him throwing the upper half of his body over the side of the bed and projectile vomiting all over Attie and the already foul floor. “You’re so fucking lucky I don’t have a human form for your offensive insides to adhere to or I’d beat your drunken ass.”

Attie stands, unscathed by bile and greasy chunks of gas station food.

I gag at the sight and continue my way through the room until I’m startled by a loud crash. When I turn around, Attie is standing there with an empty pitcher of water. On the floor, Jake lies balled up in his vomit and emits hissing sounds of pain while clutching his knees to his chest.

“What just happened?” I ask, confused.

Attie shrugs.

“Just giving the man the wake-up call he asked for.”

He glances down at an imaginary notepad in his palm.

“Oops. The room next door requested that. My bad.”

I give Atticus my best stink eye and watch as Jake continues to roll around on the floor.

“You startled him?” I ask, my voice inflecting.

“I don’t know if I startled him as much as I poured water on him and shoved him off the bed.”

I turn away to hide the grin forming on my face.