I scratch at my throat nervously. My neckline of my t-shirt feels so tight suddenly.
He lunges at me and I plaster myself against my headboard. He is in my face, not two inches away, yelling.
“Why are you shrinking away from me? Huh?” He hollers this so loud it feels like the room is vibrating.
I shake my head and a sob comes out.
“Quit yer bawlin’. You don’t fucking care if they break my legs. You probably hope they do. ”
“Of course I don’t want that,” I whimper.
He snaps back away from me and starts pacing the length of the bed.
“You won’t shed a tear if I’m found dead, floatin’ face-down in the harbor. Will ya?”
In my head, all I’m thinking is, go away, go away.
This is a nightmare. I don’t want to deal with this. This is why I’m so broken. I should’ve left him a long time ago before he broke me; before he turned me into this cowering person. I have nothing for him, and when he gets in a mode like this, it never goes well unless I solve his problems. I have no solutions. None. And he’s even more unhinged than the last freak-out he had.
Me from before he broke me would’ve yelled back at someone shouting at me, would’ve told them to get out, to go to Gambler’s Anonymous, but right now I’m sure that’d have him being even more aggressive. Breaking things. Doing his intimidation warfare approach.
If only I had a bunch of money and could pay him to go away, I’d throw it at him and tell him to go – take it and leave me in peace. I have nothing. And I’m frankly too scared to even say anything. Besides, if I had the money, he’d just take it and be back to continue the bloodletting until there wasn’t a drop left inside me.
I might already be there. Bled dry.
He storms out and I know better than to think he’ll be gone for long. He comes back with my phone, which was charging on the kitchen counter.
“What about your parents. Can you call your parents and ask them?”
I shake my head. “I c-can’t do that.”
“Why?”
His eyes blaze. He’s that desperate. Beyond desperate.
“They don’t… they don’t lend money. I’ve told you before, my dad has a strict no loans policy.”
It’s true. Dad always told me that money could ruin relationships. He wasn’t kidding. But it wasn’t money that ruined things with Ray and me. It was Ray. I’d given him all the money I had without blinking before he ruined us by treating me like an emotional punching bag.
“So, he’s not willing to fuckin’ help you when you need help? What kind of an asshole won’t help his fuckin’ daughter when she needs help?”
Spit bubbles are gathered in the corner of his mouth as he rants about my father, who’s done nothing wrong.
All this because Ray needs help, not me. I’d need help, too, though. I’m broke and about to miss a car payment with rent day looming.
“This is bullshit, Vi. The fuck is wrong with them?”
I say nothing.
“Answer me!” he screams in my face.
“Stop it!” I shout. I can’t handle it anymore. “Don’t you talk shit about my dad,” I whimper, dashing tears off my face.
“Oh, don’t start that fuckin’ bullshit on me. Tryin’ to make me feel bad because your parents are assholes.”
He whips my phone and it dents the drywall before it hits the floor. And then other stuff in my room starts flying. My alarm clock. A bottle of perfume. A book. My purse was on my dresser and then he throws it and it sails toward me, hitting me in the shoulder before the contents go spilling out.
I’m ducking, using my arms to block my head and thinking that the coffee-stained business card of Killian’s is in a hidden compartment of my wallet and I have the urge to grab the phone and lock myself in the bathroom with it so that I can call him.
Why though?
Could he calm Ray down?
Or would he help Ray with his problem and take the heat off, leaving me with the same problems as before but with a less spazzed-out Ray?
Why would he? The little conversation we’d had this morning left me knowing he didn’t think much of Ray at all. But yet Ray talked about him often, name dropping about the successful buddy of his that owned a couple sports bars. Was he just being polite or was he someone I could really go to for help?
Killian doesn’t know me. He has a history with Ray. Why would anybody who didn’t know me help me?
And with how Killian talked about Ray, why did he even come over last night?
How had my life come to this moment where the first person I think might help here with my problem, my prison, is a virtual stranger?