It looks like he says something, but it’s quiet and I don’t have the amplifier so I don’t know what.
She says something back and closes her eyes.
He reaches over again and the scene unfolds just like before. Three more times before he gets pissed. He’s drunk and stumbling but he throws back the blanket and comes out of bed, whipping the blanket off her and throwing it on the floor. I watch her grit her teeth and visibly seethe, but he can’t see with her back to him. She closes her eyes again, as if unbothered.
But then the douchebag crosses to her side of the bed. I look to the door, guessing at the floorplan. It wouldn’t take me long to get through the front door, even if it’s locked. A few seconds to get to the bedroom.
Douchebag pounces on her and it’s the scariest fucking ten seconds of my day as I watch her struggle with him, kicking and scratching and finally throwing the motherfucker off the bed and onto the floor where he belongs.
Popping up, he screams at her, and I don’t need an amplifier to hear, “Some fucking wife you are!”
“Go to hell,” she says back, loudly enough for me to hear.
“What the fuck do you want me to do, huh?” he demands.
“Why don’t you go back to one of your dumb fucking whores?” she suggests, and though it’s loud enough I understand what she’s saying, she’s not screaming. And… she’s smiling.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You’d fucking love that.” He’s still screaming. He’s still pissed. Flinging his arms around. Acting a fool.
“I would,” she tells him. “I would fucking love that. Stay all night. She can make you breakfast.”
“You fucking jealous?”
She literally laughs. Not an angry, bitter laugh, but like he actually told a joke.
That infuriates him more and he whirls around, throwing his fist into the wall.
She’s no longer laughing, but watchi
ng soberly to see what he’ll do next.
“You’re a fucking psycho,” he spits at her as he storms out of the room.
She seems to wait until she hears a door slam, then she gets up and retrieves the blanket from the floor. She drapes it back over the bed and then climbs right up in the middle.
I’m about to wait for him to come back and see there’s no room in the bed for him, but then I hear him outside. I lean away from the window and back up against the house. I’m sure he’s heading to his truck, but I brace myself to attack just in case.
The engine roars to life and his tires crunch the rocks beneath them as he rolls out of the driveway. He shouldn’t be driving, but I’m just glad he left the house, to be honest.
I peek into her room one more time but she’s back in bed, seemingly asleep. She’s curled up in the fetal position with her blanket around her and this time she looks peaceful.
Mission accomplished, I hustle back to my car and head in the direction I just saw her husband go. Partially I want to make sure he doesn’t cause any accidents, but mostly I want to see where he’s going.
I follow him to another shitty little house on another shitty little corner. The porch light is on and he stumbles up to the stoop. Door opens and a chubby brunette stands there with her arms crossed at first, but then he throws his arms around her and gives her a desperate bear hug and she softens, securing her arms around him and hugging him back.
He follows her inside and the porch light goes off.
Shaking my head in disgust, I turn around and head back to Brooklyn. I’m not sure yet what I’m going to tell Raj, because I don’t want to tell him what I’ve seen. I’m so disgusted by all of it, I can only imagine what she feels.
I try to shut down my interest in the life of Annabelle Whatever Her Last Name Is, but I find myself hoping I get assigned to keep an eye on her again.
Annabelle
I carry all the grocery bags in one trip, even though the weight makes the plastic stretch thin and cut the circulation off in my fingers. I would sort of rather lose a finger than have to spend even one more minute at my mother’s house.
Well, Pietro’s house.
It used to be my home, long ago, but it’s nothing like that now.