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I swallowed. They had started cleaning. What did my home look like? "Ok…"
As we stepped out onto the porch, my eyes lifted to my door. I found myself falling deeper and deeper into the looming panic. My feet stopped at the entrance to my apartment. No matter how much I tried, they wouldn’t budge. My hand quivered as it hovered at the doorknob.
“Let me go first.” Damien stepped ahead, took the doorknob and opened the door as he peered inside. He’d warned me of what happened on the way here, but assured me that my parents were safe, and that Marcus’ men had broken in while they were out searching for me.
It still wasn’t enough to prepare me for what I saw.
Damien flipped on the light switch and my eyes moved across the room. Partially filled garbage bags lay in various places from where they had started to clean up, but it was still such a mess. My furniture lay flipped and destroyed. The beloved collection of books I’d spent a lifetime building was ransacked. Torn books and shreds of paper lay scattered everywhere. They hadn’t just raided the place.
They had destroyed it.
I turned in the entry to see my easel, remembering the countless hours I’d spent in front of it drawing. The easel now lay on the ground, snapped and mangled. I approached it and lowered myself to the floor, the mess of papers crinkling under my knees. I rummaged through the rubble, lifting the torn remains of the drawing of Kat I’d poured so much love into. My eyes lifted to my desk, my art supplies scattered, drawers pulled free and thrown across the floor.
My entire life. Destroyed so easily. Everything. Gone.
Damien’s hand came to rest on my shoulder, and I tilted my head into it, accepting the comfort he offered. I rose and trudged through the mess, heading for the stairs. I hesitated at the base of the stairway before staggering up the steps to the second floor. The door to my bedroom was broken and splintered, and I stopped just outside it. Damien came up behind me and stepped into the room. He flipped on the lights revealing the mess that was left.
My bed and sheets were ransacked and torn, mattress cut and shredded as if they’d hacked it to bits. Dresser drawers were pulled free, clothes and keepsakes strewn across the floor. He left nothing untouched, nothing salvageable. Bright red spray paint marred the walls with messages. Damien stood frozen, reading the words Marcus had left; it was clear to us that the message was meant for him and no one else.
‘You won’t recognize her when I’m done.’
His fist slammed against the wall, startling me as a low growl escaped his throat, and anger rose off him like steam, an overwhelming scent like ashes and embers burning my nose. I couldn’t focus on it as my feet slid backward.
The pain became unbearable, so much so that I couldn’t stand to be here anymore, to be anywhere near this place. The wood floors groaned beneath my feet as I paced back out of the room, my hands trembling at my sides. I wanted to run, to escape, to never set foot in this place again.
“I need to use the restroom,” I blurted out, turning to hurry down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. Tears welled in my eyes.
Everything stored in my medicine cabinet lay scattered on the counter and floor, my shower curtains ripped from the rod. I searched furiously through the mess before finding my backup prescription bottle. Thankfully, it was still full and hadn’t been taken.
Nothing seemed to be missing, save the few things I’d seen in the room Marcus kept me in. Of course, there was nothing missing. They didn’t want my things. It was a message they wanted to leave. My palms, clammy with sweat, pressed against the counter as I leaned into it, breathing through the panic attack gripping me.
Sobs built in my chest, filling it until I felt like I was going to explode. I cupped my hand over my mouth as the pain became so unbearable that I couldn’t hold it back anymore. My legs gave out and I slid down to my knees, sobbing against the cabinet. I cursed as the emotions poured out of me.
Damien didn’t knock at the door for a long while, and I didn’t know how much time passed before I finally felt like I’d gotten it all out. After a long silence, a soft knock came at the door, his voice gentle on the other side. “Mea luna?”
My eyes burned as I rubbed them, a headache throbbing in my temples, and I splashed my face with cold water. I quickly shoved the bottle of medicine into the pocket of Damien’s hoodie and grabbed the doorknob. When I opened the door, Damien was there, leaning against the wall.
His eyes wouldn't meet mine.
“We’re not taking any of those clothes. They smell foul. I don’t care, we’ll buy you new ones. Whatever you need, we’ll get it,” he said, his voice laced with a deep-seated anger. Behind the calm facade, he was seething. The muscles of his arms were tense, crossed against his chest, his fist pressed to his lips, twitching faintly. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, but I could see them shifting, the crystalline veins becoming more prominent in his irises.
A part of me was relieved that he said it. No matter how much I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to even enter the room, let alone take anything. Everything was tainted by Marcus and would only be a reminder of what he had done.
I couldn’t stay here anymore, couldn’t live here a second longer. As long as Marcus walked freely, I knew he wasn’t done with us. He would be back for me. What if he came for my parents? What if they were hurt in the crossfire? If he hurt them, I didn’t know what I would do.
We headed back down the stairs, and the moment he closed the door behind us, I knew it was closing forever, a part of my life that I would never look upon again. They could burn it to the ground for all I cared.
Damien held me in a warm embrace as I stood, frozen on the porch, tears threatening to fall again. Difficult wasn’t enough to describe the pain I felt. I’d always known a day would come when I’d walk out that door, never to return. I just hadn’t been ready for that moment. Not yet.
Damien held the door to my parent’s side of the duplex open for me as I entered, and we walked through their living room. My dad sat on the couch, watching the news, working on what I hoped would be his last cup of coffee so late in the night. Or, I guess, early in the morning…
Damien squeezed my hand. “I’m gonna stay in here and talk to your dad. Take all the time you need; visit with your mom and Kat.”
“Ok,” I said, and he laid a tender kiss to my forehead before I left him.
I lingered in the hallway of the kitchen. My mom and Kat sat at the table, Kat rubbing my mom's shoulder as she sipped from her tea. They perked up when I finally mustered the courage to enter the room. It looked as if my mom had been dozing off, dark bags hanging under her eyes. She looked so worn out and a pang of guilt sank into me at sight of her fragile state.
Kat wore no makeup, her hair a mess tied in a bun, and I’d never seen her so ragged.
