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I find my purse on a sofa table and flip the canvas flap open, digging around to find my old flip phone. I may not be up on all the technology, but it works. I get texts, I can call people, even send and receive pictures and it’s only fourteen dollars a month, which is still at the top range of my communication budget.
I’m humming as I walk back toward the bedroom with the phone in my hand, bringing up the messages to see what Andrea has to say.
Inside the room, I catch a glimpse of myself in the long mirror that leans against the wall. I’m a mess. My hair looks like I’ve been riding along with my head out the window, and I have a sudden, strong urge to brush my teeth. After being so wild with him, so secure, I notice the thickness of my upper arms and the way the dimples show on the outside of my thighs. I bring a hand down to push inward on the pouch of softness under my belly button. I push in, then let go and it pops back out. I suck it in, standing straight, then breathe out. It’s no use.
The word ugly flashes through my mind. I don’t recognize the voice, but I know it’s not my own. It belongs to one of the kids at school, or one of the random people on the street.
“Don’t do this,” I tell myself, eager not to ruin the moment with self-loathing.
I bite the inside of my cheek and step away from the image in the mirror. My emotions are crashing, and I hate myself for hating myself. It’s a vicious circle that goes on and on.
When I get into the bathroom, I pull out the new toothbrush that is waiting there for me, turn the water on with one hand and flip open my phone with the other, ready to read what Andrea has to say.
But when I look down at the matchbook-sized screen, the toothbrush freezes in my mouth. I drop it, letting it clatter into the sink as foam drips from my chin, grabbing at the device and scrolling through the messages. My stomach is suddenly in my throat.
I wipe the back of a hand over my mouth, my breathing speeding up as I scroll down through the messages until I see a link. I click, and there is a picture of a newspaper article and the image of Magnus.
“Local Businessman Charged with Manslaughter.”
Chapter Fourteen
_______________________________________________
MAGNUS
“Angel?” I lay two plates of food on the bedside table, piled high with tasty, irresistible morsels. I want her to eat. She worries me constantly and I know she hasn’t been eating right.
The wind that rushed through the trees earlier is now whipping around in torrents whistling through the massive pines that surround the house. A late fall storm draws gray clouds across the lake, the sun no longer casting the amazing streaks of color there.
I smooth my hand over my head. The bathroom door is open an inch and I hear the water shut off.
Then I hear something else.
A sound assaults my ears and tears at my heart. My blood runs cold as I rush to smack open the door. I’m not even concerned at what state she may be in, I’m only able to focus on the sounds of her crying.
“Baby.” Barging through the door, my head swivels toward the sound and I find her in my white t-shirt, sitting on the floor of the shower with her arms wrapped around her knees, her head hanging. “Jesus, Angel, what the fuck is wrong?” I grunt out, already hot with rage. What the fuck has happened?
“Go away! I want to leave. I don’t even know you.”
My head throbs and there is a pressure behind my eyes, a ringing in my ears. I’m disoriented and there is this horrible feeling of pressure in my chest. It’s not coming from the outside; it’s more like lead weights have been chained to my heart and it’s pulling it down into my stomach.
“Baby, what is it? Christ. What the hell happened? Tell me, I’ll fix it. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. But you have to tell me.”
When she raises her face from its nest between her upper arms, I see such anger there that I nearly recoil, afraid of what she’s about to say. But instead I lean forward, my hands on her cheeks.
My Angel wrenches her head side to side, trying to dislodge my grip, but it’s strong as iron. I know better than to break the connection. Whatever is going on, we will get through it and move on. But we have to do it together.
She will learn, problems are just that, problems, but we are bigger than any of those.
“Who are you?” Her voice shakes as she kicks at my legs, her arms darting down to push at the floor of the shower, trying to get to her feet. But I’m not having that; she needs to tell me what’s wrong before I lose my fucking mind. “I knew this was too good to be true. I knew you couldn’t be what I thought.”
“Baby, I’ll answer anything you want, but just ask me a question I can answer. I’ll never lie to you, I’m an open book; I don’t know what in the fuck is going on, but it sounds like you’re scared.” The idea makes my stomach turn, but I have to name it. “It sounds like you’re scared of me. And if you’re scared, that means I’ve done something wrong. So I’ll fix it. Tell me what it is and I’ll fix it.” I hate that my voice falters on the last words. There is a burning in the bottom lids of my eyes. My mind wanders for a moment to all the things I want for her. All the ways I wanted today to be her day. Her perfect day.
I don’t recall the last time I cried. If you count the tear I shed the first time I came inside my Angel, then well, not so long ago. But this is different. I feel it choking me. I think the last time I had a full on cry, was when Mom died, but I’m on the verge right now. Her tears are my tears, and more than that, they are my responsibility.
“I want to go home. I don’t want to be here with you.” The snap in her voice cuts me, but I see past it. I see her, and this noise is just that, noise. I need to find a way to calm her down, but that won’t happen if I push against it.
She pushes me over the edge when she slaps at me with one hand, kicking me with both feet.
