I couldn’t so much as hum a response before the blonde swung open my door and stepped out.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated, the slightest wave as he rushed off my porch.
“Alright.”
The door slammed shut before he could turn his head again, before he could give me that disgusting once-over that made me feel like I had to shower. Mostly, though, I slammed the door before the guilt tried to force me to keep it open. All three locks clicked into place before I sucked back another breath. With my back pressed against the door, I wouldn’t open my eyes until I heard the sound of his car disappear down the block. Not that opening them was any better. All I could see were the broken stems poking out of the trash.
I didn’t need to read the card attached to memorize the message. I’d gotten one every Tuesday for three months now, signed from a ‘secret admirer’. Six years later, six agonizing years without him, and Michael still felt the need to flex over what was his, still felt the need to remind me he was watching me. He promised me that if I lied for him, if I covered up the assault on my ex-boyfriend Joshua Warren, that things would go back to normal, but that wasn’t true.
After Michael, things were never the same.
* * *
Four days.
It took four days of ducking every call, of disappearing into the back room when Tristan was on his break, but finally, I’d made it to the weekend. Another late night was the only way I could avoid him on my walk to the company parking lot, but the dark didn’t bring much peace at all. My phone had been buzzing in my purse for nearly three hours, and now that I was finally in the quiet, it seemed to burn a hole through my bag. As I unlocked the doors to my coupe, I scrolled through the ten missed calls and two dozen texts I’d received since I stuff the damn thing away at noon. Any other night of the week, the seven missed calls from Tristan would have set my skin on fire. Instead, it was the three missed calls from Civic Hospital that froze me entirely.
Shaking hands wouldn’t stop me from shutting the damn thing off entirely. It also wouldn’t stop me from getting behind the wheel and turning the ignition over. Those quiet drives were one of the few things that calmed me anymore, but as that name burned into my head, not even the hum of the radio would drown it out. The last time I’d seen Josh was when I was lying under oath— the night I saw the side of Michael I prayed I’d never have to see again, the side that haunted my every memory. Not even the dark would drive out memories of the disappointment in his eye, the sheer disgust that came when I told Michael that the bloodied lump on the floor still had a heartbeat.
Sheer will pulled me back to reality. A puff of air, a frustrated trill, loosened my tightened muscles, and I relaxed back into my seat. “You’re just tired, Birdie.” For a while, the excuse would calm an erratic heart. All I needed to do was get home. Then, I’d be able to have the first restful sleep I’d had all week. Though, maybe that wasn’t entirely work’s fault. It wasn’t work that jolted me awake in the dead of night. It was that tie, wasn’t it? That bond that couldn’t be broken.
I shook my head before the thought could settle into my bones.
Wherever he is, Michael’s in trouble.
Wherever he is, Michael’s not sleeping either.
If it hadn’t’ve been Friday night, the drive home would have been easy enough. With the college kids back in town, taking the downtown route was a distant dream, and with the light of the full moon overhead, I found myself gravitating towards the route I craved. Friday nights were the only nights I took the road through the forest, the only time I allowed myself to remember the trails my dad and I used to hike.
The chill helped me stay awake more than the music. The radio had been stuck on the oldies station since I bought the clunker, which meant most of my nights were filled with off-key hums and mangled lyrics. Still, there was something peaceful to be found on those spring nights. With the windows rolled down, my hair finally free from the painful bun it’d been sitting in all day and a warm travel mug in my hand, I found the only peace I’d really need. For a while, at least.
At one time, my senses had been so fine-tuned with the world around me.
That night, I didn’t sense anything at all— not even as I entered the corridor of tree cover.
In the years, weeks, hours that followed, I’d try to dissect exactly what happened. I’d try to remember if I was holding the travel mug when the figure first appeared or whether I’d had both hands on the wheel. I’d try to remember if I’d paused to look at the clock or if I was worried about my phone on the passenger seat. I’d try to remember if the shadow was as large as a deer or as small as a cat, and most of all, I’d try to remember if the thing really did walk on two legs like I thought it did. Every memory I’d ever have of the crash, though, would be tainted with the sound of my tire popping, with the strangled cry before I slammed into a tree.
When the world started to fill in, I didn’t feel like I was in my body anymore. My limbs were too heavy to move, and the cry of pain that lived in my throat was too weak to crawl out. I screamed a prayer to open my eyes. An awful sound brought me back to the world, and while I thought it was the full moon that blinded me, the voice that accompanied it told me it was a flashlight— a saviour that brought no relief. Sadness blurred the pain because in my weakened body, I was certain it was him.
I was certain Michael had broken his promise, that he’d come back to finish the job.
When hands pulled me from the wreckage, my soul made the pained cry that left my lips. My body wouldn’t react until I felt the cold ground beneath me, the frost from a late night. If there was any hope of clarity, it vanished with those awful hands, with those disgusting palms along my hollow body. I wouldn’t be able to understand the sobbed confession being whispered in my ear— not when every piece of me was trying to forget the way it felt to have those icy hands slip under my shirt, grope at my chest. The man on top of me pried my thighs open with his knees, and as the world grew darker, a new truth gnawed at the back of my head.
The last time Michael touched me, it wasn’t like this.
It wasn’t like this at all.
Tears blurred my vision, and when my eyes finally opened, all I could focus on was the moon above us, the moon that watched those awful hands. My hands jutted forward, and when I found the chest of my attacker, I slammed my fists down with whatever strength I could find. When that threat of violence came, when those hands pinned my wrists above my head, I prayed for my legs to jerk. Everything was still too heavy, and when I felt my attacker’s knees spread my thighs completely, the last ounce of strength left my body.
One touch was all it took to bring the darkness back, to leave me alone with the moon. I could hear myself begging him to stop. I could remember my hands so desperately trying to cover my body. I remembered the sounds of anger, of betrayal, but my attacker’s words would never find their way to my head. It wasn’t until I was alone in the darkness that I finally felt the pain. The frozen ground was soaked with the same warmth that leaked out of my side.
Then came the quiet.