part0083

“ L ift higher!” I holler from the top of the stairs where I’m holding one end of an eggplant colored couch. It smells like dead cats and mothballs.

Royce is on the other end; his scrawny arms struggling to hold up the heavier side from where he stands on the fifth or sixth step. “Working on it, Em. This bitch is heavy.”

“Yeah, well it looks like it came from the 1970s. I’m surprised it isn’t barf colored.” I retort, beads of sweat forming above my brow. “Not bad for fifteen bucks.”

“This thing stinks,” he complains, and I scoff.

“The faster you stop bitching, the faster we get this thing down the stairs.”

“Then two blocks to get to your house,” he says, eyeing me from over the couch as he wags his eyebrows. “What’dya think about a nice, romantic dinner? Me, you, your place.”

I glare at him. “Fuck off. You’ll get $25. Just like we agreed.”

He chuckles nervously. “C’mon. It’s not like that night was all that bad.”

I ignore his statement and give the couch a subtle push. It prompts him to slowly begin backing down the steps.

A sigh of relief escapes me once we’re outside; the cool, Fall breeze kissing my cheeks. Setting down the couch, I adjust my black beanie. “Alright,” I say, lifting my end once more. “Let’s get this bitch back to the apartment.”

“What the fuck?” I murmur as we shuffle to my door. It’s cracked open, so I grasp a broken broom leaning next to a bucket of ancient cleaning supplies in the hall.

“Emily,” the voice says from inside. My hand holding the broom begins to shake, and I clumsily set it against the wall as the tips of my fingers push the door open the rest of the way. Liam’s dark eyes zero in on Royce from across my dim apartment.

Royce stands behind me, his head cocked to the side as he frowns at my stepfather. Clearing my throat, I reach into my pocket, grabbing twenty-five bucks before shoving the money into his palm. “I’ll see you later,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving where Liam sits on my torn couch.

“Who is that?” Royce asks, and my eyes grow wide when I see Liam stand before he approaches the door. Grasping my arm, he pulls me inside. But before he can close it in Royce’s face, Royce blocks it with his hand. “Em,” He says, and Liam shoves me behind him. He’s like a wall, he’s so big.

“Get out of here,” Liam seethes, the door slamming shut. Whipping around, he grasps my shoulders before considering my wide eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that you needed a new couch? What happened to the one I got you?”

I can see the arm of the couch that I took the knife to behind him; stuffing clumped up beside it on the concrete floor. Labyrinth decided to make a bed out of it, and snoozes peacefully on the couch’s filling. Though, upon looking closer, I realize he’s not moving. Not even so much as a breath. The filling beneath him is stained red, and when my eyes travel back to Liam, I realize that there’s red on his arms and hands, too.

“No,” I whimper, my voice shaking as my knees buckle. “No .”

I fall to my knees, and he allows me to. Sobbing, I bury my face in my hands – the tears seeping through my fingers before they descend to my jean covered legs.

It seems like forever that I cry, the hurt awakening my ice-cold heart. The pang is deep in my gut. That cat meant more to me than he’ll ever know. He’s never had to seek comfort in an animal. He’s never lied awake with a fur ball clamped to his chest as he wept into the wee hours of the morning. Labyrinth knew when I needed him, and he never left my side when I felt like I was falling apart. Some nights, he was the only thing that kept me from unravelling completely.

Staring at Liam’s shiny dress shoes, I don’t even wince at the thought of him kicking me square in the chest, like he’s done so many times before. This hurt goes beyond anything physical, and I almost want him to outwardly harm me so that I can forget about what I’m feeling on the inside. I wish I could say that I can’t believe it, that I don’t believe it… but, that would be foolish of me. Liam takes, he never gives. Even when it’s a gift of his own. I never know how long his “kindness” will last.

“Emmy,” Liam said, his hand grasping my shoulder as I lied on my side. My chest felt hollow; each breath raspy going in and out.

“I miss Juniper,” I sobbed, and he sighed behind me, running his hand over my back in circular motions. “I know, baby. I know.”

“You’re never here, and when you are, you’re with her!” I cried out, causing his hand to still. “Now I don’t have my cat. I don’t have anything!”

“I have something for you,” He responded, leaving my side temporarily before returning with a black box wrapped in a red bow. The sound coming from the box told me what was inside, so when I opened the box and saw the grey tabby kitten with big, green eyes, I wasn’t surprised. Sniffling, I lifted the kitten into my arms, and he seemed to fit perfectly.

Liam gently grasped my chin, lifting my lips to his for a delicate, sweet kiss. Then, he made love to me as the kitten played with my clothes hanging from the open closet.

I was seventeen then, lost in lust and stuck in love. When I stopped idolizing my mother, Liam became my revere. He’s disguised as a handsome, wealthy, and successful business man. Liam has always known how to hide his truth so well. That wasn’t why I fell in love with him, though. I fell in love because he only showed me his wickedness.

He loves to punish me, and I find myself constantly giving him reasons to harm me – because maybe I like it, too.

Not as a stare down at his shiny shoes to avoid his blood-stained hands.

There are two types of people in this world: good people and bad people. The good people are usually silenced by humility, and the bad ones are generally arrogant by default. That’s how I’ve learned to spot a wolf in a crowd, even though there are far more wolves than there are lambs.

If I were to meet Liam today, I’d stay clear. I’d probably run in the complete opposite direction. Every mannerism, every word, every action that I’ve glossed over for years couldn’t be more apparent to me now, not only in this moment, but at this point in my life. I keep allowing him back in at my own discretion because I’m a fucking self-loathing masochist, and he’s a narcissist who found the perfect fix.

His self-importance clouds the air, and its suffocating. My lungs can’t expand any further as I hold in the breath, feeling the last of my tears slither past my cheeks to my chin as I become numb again. This isn’t the first time I’ve trampled down my feelings. Probably won’t be the last, either.

I try and hold onto the tiny sliver of pride that I have left; my resolve already weakened in my tearful state. I don’t know why I choke down the tears anymore. He already thinks I’m pathetic, anyway.

“The cat didn’t tear up the couch,” I whisper, watching the remaining tears freefall from my chin to the cold, cracked concrete floor. “I didn’t think you were coming back. I never do.”

He kneels, and I avoid his eyes like the plague. I feel them on me – willing me to give into their spell… to look inside the soul of a charming monster.

His energy builds up around me like an angry tidal wave. It threatens to crush my soul, and I feel the resentment prickle my heart as my small hands ball into fists.

I want to hit him. Make him feel it, make it hurt . I wish that I could grow three feet taller. I wish that I could make him feel small, like he has me for so many years. My heart can’t take the torment any longer. He can’t go and leave as he pleases anymore, and though it hurts to push him away, I know it’s what I need to do. It hurts too much to love him.

Without a word, I press my palms to the cold floor to push myself up to my feet. I don’t make a peep as I walk towards the door, grasping the brass knob in my hand. I hesitate – a part of me gravitates towards him while my stubborn heart pulls away. My mind, for once, is in the wrong. I usually question every echo from my heart, but I think it’s right this time. I’m ignoring my mind. It isn’t the reasonable source, anyway. It’s too fractured at this point, that even my heart seems more reliable. Broken, battered, and bruised – it’s still more dependable than my conscience.

“Get out,” I sigh, standing beside the open door, my arm extended towards the opening like I’m a host, and he’s my guest.

I hate him right now. I can’t stand the sight of him, and it makes me hate myself even more. “Leave! Leave!” I want to scream, but the words are like hardened concrete on my tongue. Every word that I’ve ever wanted to say to him remains in the cage I’ve kept them in for most of my life.

He stays, kneeling on the floor where I left him. He’s vulnerable right now, and to think, I’ve let him control much of my existence. I let him mold me in ways nobody ever should. Yet, here I am, feeling remorse for this man – if you can even call him that.

“You can’t make me leave,” he purrs, his voice yanking me from my stubbornness – but he can only get so far. My cat. My friend. The last straw.

He approaches me, and my shoulders curl in as I cower. I could scream for help – I could hit him, claw at his face, rip out his throat for all the poison that drips from it – but I do no such thing. I stand, frozen, in the face of the man that’s managed to hold my young heart captive since I was sixteen and vulnerable. He used my brokenness for his own gain, and he won’t stop until I give him one final push – though it really isn’t a push at all, but a copout.

A coward’s way out.

He grasps my face in his large hands… the ones that can make me feel safe while they harm me – the unlovable, skinny, sick, sad little girl that requires pain, because any other act, love or otherwise, is lost on me. I don’t know how to feel unless it hurts. That’s why this relationship became such an integral part of my life, because Liam only knows how to destroy me. He’s the vandal of my heart – the loose end that I can never tie off, and the longer I’ve known him, the more unraveled I’ve become.

“Get out!” I squeak, my voice smaller than I’d like it to be.

“No,” he says, malice dripping from his tongue as he mocks me with those black eyes. They dance like fire, his brow furrowed as his fingers sink into my neck. “Not until you give me what I want.” He breathes out, his hot breath against my neck as his lips graze the goose bump raised flesh. His fingers tangle in my hair, and I wince when he yanks my head back, threatening to break my neck clean in half. “Why are you making me beg, baby?”

The fight… I’m not sure where it comes from. I feel like a bag of bones as I’m forced across my apartment - my body banging into walls, tables, and countertops as I’m dragged to my unmade bed. He flings me onto the mattress, and turns, retrieving several scarfs before he approaches me. I sob as I’m tied down. I still don’t scream. I don’t want him to get in trouble; just like I didn’t when I thought I fell in love with him so many years ago.

When bad things happen, I silently ask God if this is what will get me to the next phase of my life. If these misfortunes are a stepping stone, or a ladder, or a beacon pointing me in the right direction. There must be an escape, somewhere … at some point, the bad things have to stop, right?

He unties my bruised wrists and ankles once he’s dressed – his suit not showing so much as a wrinkle. My bruised body remains on the bed, my legs splayed as shame seeps from my broken form. There, he leaves me. Not bothering to clean me up, or to kiss away the tears that he caused. He never bothers looking my way – avoiding the salty sadness that inevitably flows from my bleary eyes. The sobs have turned to whimpers, and just like that, he’s gone.

Loneliness is dangerous. It’s plagued me for most of my life and has caused me to look for love in all the wrong places. My body was made to be used, and my mind was meant to be broken. The universe played a cruel trick on me, and it won. I already gave up long ago, might as well make it official. When the sharks keep nipping at your heels, there’s only so long that you can kick your legs until you’re too tired to fight. The sharks were always going to eat you. It was only a matter of time until you’d surrender yourself.

Some are able to transcend – rise above – defeat everything that pains them, but I’m afraid that I’m too weak. My mind was never strong enough to carry me to the shore, and my heart was too big to ever allow me to become one of them: a shark - paying no mind to my prey as I trap them between my sharp, pointed teeth.

The pills feel heavy in my hand – heavier than normal, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s because this is it. An end to me, and everything that I am.

My eyes flit to the mirror, and I take a moment to look at myself. My white-blonde hair is styled like a pixie’s, and my brown, bloodshot eyes are surrounded with black liner – my lips pursed and blood red. I decided to wear the black silk slip and midnight lace robe Liam had bought for me earlier this year along with the “E” necklace he gave me last Christmas. I hope he finds me, cold as ice and white as snow with my fingers clutched to the letter I wrote him. He’ll come back once I send him the text. Timing , it’s everything, and my farewell, if anything, will have an impact on the man that took a hand in destroying me.

Candlelight is the only thing that guides me back to my bed where Labyrinth is wrapped in a white towel on the pillow.

Several handfuls, and I’m able to get down the sleeping pills. I lie my head down, and watch the shadows stretch across the ceiling. The rain patters against the tin roof, and I pull my favorite Gibson over to me. My fingers clumsily strum my guitar as a tear rolls over my cheek.