CHAPTER FOUR

Fiancés Suck

 

Elsea parked on the street outside of Peter’s house, as per usual. She had an oil leak that never managed to stay plugged, and she didn’t want to be scolded for parking in the driveway. The lights were off in the house. Why had he gone to bed so early? The house had just finished being built, and the yard was still muddy, covered in straw. Cement bricks rested along the sides of the house.

She hadn’t stayed over in a while in an attempt to build up some anticipation for their wedding night, but she was becoming restless. Her parents’ house was wearing her down. She had wanted to move in months ago, but Peter didn’t find it to be appropriate. He seemed so traditional in that way, but their sex life said otherwise. He was a savage and untraditional in every way.

Also with her marriage came a new car. Peter had promised her that weeks ago, and as she sat in her old car, she imagined the new smell, the feel of the leather against her skin, and the sound of the engine. Not loud like the clunker that she drove, but smooth with a low purr. She thought back to the day when she first met Peter at the grocery store. His smile had lit up the whole place, and Elsea was mesmerized by the smoothness of his skin. She remembered how good his skin felt against hers when they made out in his car. He did well for his age, thirty-two, with his own home, his own car, his own life. He was Elsea’s hero. The Prince Charming that every girl waited for. He was her knight on a white horse.

Elsea stood at the door, breathing in the cold air. All she wanted was Peter’s lips on hers; she couldn’t wait any longer. She pushed the doorbell and waited in the cold, slightly frustrated that she still didn’t have a key. The conversation had come up a couple of weeks ago, but Peter, being a man of tradition, had told her that a key to his home was reserved for only one woman, and that would be his wife.

While most women would have opposed this, Elsea found it to be sweet. He had boundaries that he didn’t want to cross until he was married, and that was commendable. He still hadn’t answered the door, so she pushed again then started fiddling with her hair. She wanted to make sure that it looked nice, even if it was the middle of the night. She stood, hearing rustling, but no one answered the door. She pushed the doorbell again.

“Peter,” she called out. She stepped toward one of the windows that lined the sides of the door, peering through the glass, looking for Peter in the darkness. Then she saw that shadow of his body move toward her.

The door opened, and Peter stood looking irritated, frazzled, and tired.

“Peter, were you asleep?” She moved forward to step in.

His hand landed on her stomach and stopped her.

“Peter, what’s wrong? Let me in.” She pushed past him, and the sweat above his eyebrows flickered in the light.

She had the strange feeling again that she’d had at the house before she left. Something wasn’t right, and this time it left her shaken.

“Elsea, what are you doing here?” he asked, his voice irritated. “You should have called.”

“What?” Elsea asked, confused. “Is there someone here, Peter?” She looked at him, afraid of his answer. Her cracking voice exposed her for what she was—insecure and full of fear.

“No, of course not,” he said. “What is wrong with you? You’re acting crazy.”

Elsea didn’t believe him. Not this time. She had been called crazy so many times in her life she almost believed it, but something told her not to. Even behind her fear and her cowering, something was inside her that was fighting to be released. Fighting to be heard and not walked over.

However, that something wasn’t powerful enough, and she turned toward Peter and walked toward him, outstretching her arms, hoping to lock him in an embrace. Before he could lock his arms around her, she heard a noise come from the direction of the kitchen.

Something was rustling back there. The alarm beeped from the door opening, and then she heard it shut.

She turned away from Peter, but he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her into his body.

“Let go of me!” she cried, the distress clear in her voice. “Who is here, Peter?”

She looked up into his eyes, and she didn’t see love but rage. If she was honest with herself, that was his usual temperament. The savageness. She searched his eyes for love, but she could not find it. Her heart was so fragile, so much like cracked crystal in that moment. She stepped away from him slowly.

“No one,” he yelled. “Leave it alone.”

The only thing that Elsea could think about was Peter and Hannah and how close they were at the neighbors’ party. She broke away from his hold and ran out the front door. She was going to cut whoever it was off as they tried to make their escape. She ran from the front porch around the side of the house.

It’s Hannah, it has to be, she thought to herself. Elsea knew that she was the whore that she never claimed to be, and there she was, sleeping with her fiancé. Elsea turned the corner of the house and ran toward the back. As she ran she felt a pop in her ankle, slipped, and fell face first in the mud, writhing in pain. When she looked down, a pile of clothes rested in the dirt. Pink lace undergarments, a coat, pants, and other things. She looked up. It was obvious they had been thrown from the window.

She got to her feet, ankle throbbing, limping in pain, spitting mud from her mouth. She steadied herself on the pile of cement bricks that sat lined up against the side of the house. More rustling came from the backyard. She grabbed a piece of one of the broken bricks that rested in the mud. It was larger than her hand, so it could do enough damage if she needed it to, but it was light enough to carry without slowing her down.

When she turned the corner, a naked woman stood before her, shivering in the cold. The woman let out a scream in fear as she tried to cover what she could of her private parts with her hands. Elsea stood there covered in mud, looking like she had just risen from the grave. She breathed hard, holding the cement brick in her hand, watching the heat of her breath float away in the cold air. She tightened her grip around it and raised it up to her ear, ready to smash it against the woman’s head. She wanted to see the blood ooze from her skull, to hear the sound that it made when it cracked it open. She imagined that it would sound like a nut in a nutcracker. She was ready to hurt her. Ready to finally inflict pain on her, but when she looked the woman in the face, her eyes cleared, and she realized that it wasn’t Hannah.

“Who are you?” Elsea demanded.

The woman cowered over in fear. “Please don’t hurt me. I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

All the rage that Elsea had felt leading up to that moment was gone, and there she stood, weak and helpless all over again. She didn’t want to hurt this woman. She was tormented, torn apart by her own frailty, her inability to even confront this woman, her inability to confront Peter.

The brick dropped from her hand into the mud. The woman ran past her, grabbed her clothes, pulled them to her body, and ran back down the street.

Elsea felt like life was leaving her body. Everything was being destroyed right before her eyes. It was as if Satan himself had come up from Hell and punched her in the stomach.

Peter came up behind her, putting her in a hold that restrained her arms.

When he touched her, the rage inside her returned. It rose in her like water in a tub that was almost over the brim. She squirmed against his strength. She wanted him hurting just like she was hurting.

“Elsea, stop!” Peter said, struggling to contain her. She was full of rage. He gripped her tighter, and Elsea lost her breath.

Elsea relaxed, and he loosened his grip. She slipped out of his arms and into the mud.

“Look what you’ve done,” he said. “You got us both covered in mud.”

“Peter …” She had returned to her natural state. Passive. Her wedding was tomorrow. “How could you?” Tears began to roll down her cheeks, clearing the mud from her face.

Peter stooped down and looked her in the eye. “You should have called.” He stood up, walked away, and left Elsea in the mud.