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He needs to understand that this is not normal behavior. Rising from my spot on the worn linoleum I stare him down.
“You lost your temper because I made chicken for dinner instead of pork. Does that sound logical to you? Because to me, it sounds batshit fucking crazy.”
Before the last word leaves my mouth, I see his fist flying at my face again and I know it isn’t going to be pretty.
****
I wake up sometime later in the fetal position. I’m back on the ugly cream-and-brown damn linoleum floor with congealing blood pooling around me. From the angry shade of purple his face turned, I’m surprised to be alive. Pushing up gingerly, I don’t feel too bad as long as I don’t try to breathe. That hurts like a bitch. But I pull myself up from the floor and walk through the house that we’ve been sharing for the past two months.
Memories assault me as I pass the framed photographs on the hallway wall. Better times, happier times. When I didn’t know who Gerald really was.
It didn’t start like this. Gerald was a great guy. Always bringing me flowers, being attentive, and trying to spend more time with me. We dated for six months and rarely spent time apart before moving in together. Thinking back now, I realize I was letting his controlling behavior lead our relationship from the beginning.
He has isolated me from most of my friends and has even recently started complaining about the time I spent at my job. I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner because all the signs were right in front of me. He is a classic narcissist with major control issues.
Never mind the past,the little voice of reason in the back of my mind screams.
What do I do now?
Leave!my inner voice yells.
Yes, but where do I go? I can’t let Laine see me like this. He’s still on parole and will most definitely end up back in prison if he gets his hands on Gerald. My mind runs a mile a minute as I amble through the house to our bedroom.
Motherfucker!
This bastard was lying in my bed, sleeping peacefully, while I was bleeding on the kitchen floor. My temper spikes and for a full five minutes, I stand frozen in the doorway glaring at him. I consider taking his service pistol off the nightstand and simply ending him. It takes me that long to decide whether I really hate the color orange enough to let him live. Instead, I grab my handbag, toothbrush, charger, and car keys, and slam the door as hard as I can on the way out.
A message blinks on the screen of my cell phone and I hesitate before opening it.
Kaiya:I miss your face!
A small smile twitches at the corner of my mouth before I hit “call.” I don’t even think it through. It rings twice before she answers, laughter and music floating down the line.
“Hey, bitch!” she says loudly.
“Hey yourself, bitch.” I chuckle.
Smiling hurts. I think about looking at myself in the mirror but decide against it. I need to be across state lines for that because I may change my mind about shooting him.
“What are you up to? I miss you,” Kaiya continues speaking, none the wiser about my personal dilemma.
“Well…” I hesitate for a second before turning the key in the ignition and backing my little red car out of the driveway.
“Tell me!” Kaiya says with another laugh.
“I hope you have an extra room,” I say nervously. “I’m coming to visit.”
“Hell, yes,” she whoops loudly down the line. “When?”
“I just just got into my car.”
“It’s ten o’clock. You can’t drive here in the middle of the night.”
“Like hell I can’t,” I say. “I miss you. And Storm and Brogan. I need a break and I can’t think of a better place to do it than with my favorite people.”
“Fine,” Kaiya gives in begrudgingly. “But I’ll be calling you every hour until you are right in front of me.”
“Yes, Mother,” I sass, earning a growl for my effort. “See you in a couple of hours.”
