The Wall

I fed him, realizing I should have done that before I got dressed as I had to unbutton my shirt. He wasn’t very hungry, nuzzling into my breast and falling asleep quickly. So I dragged the cot into our room one handed, the still-greenish legs screeching and scratching across the floor. It would have left scratch marks, if the floor wasn’t already so scuffed and worn. I liked it that way; it gave the place a sense of history, other families, other lives had been lived here. I put Orry down, closing the door after me. I barely had time to sit on a chair to start stressing about the night when I heard a knock at the door.

I was flustered. Was Joseph early? I opened the door wide with my shirt open just as widely. When I saw who it was, I quickly pulled it closed. “Cal!” I exclaimed with an unexpected mix of relief and anxiety.

He looked happy, relaxed, his eyes looking me up and down like I was a stick of candy. He didn’t lick his lips but he might as well have.

“Can I come in?” he said with confidence, like asking was merely a formality.

I wasn’t sure—a network of interlacing wire grew up in front of my face like a barrier, warning me. “Um, I’m just about to go out,” I lied, as I fumbled with my buttons, doing them up wrong and having to start again.

“This won’t take long. Please.” He pushed his way through the door before I could answer. He was forceful and the door slammed against the wall with a bang.

A slinking, dark shadow followed him.

He walked to the middle of the room and turned towards me with purpose. “I just wanted to say, I understand now.” He seemed so earnest, his face bright and hopeful.

I’m sure my face was a mess of confusion. “Understand what?” I asked, my hands balled in fists, squeezing and relaxing. Instinctively, I walked towards my bedroom door, closing it softly but fully. The latch clicked into place.

“Why you said you couldn’t work for me anymore. It’s your feelings for me. I wanted to say that of course I feel the same way. Now we can be together and you don’t have to worry.”

I laughed hard like I was expelling a wad of cotton wedged in my throat. Realizing my tactlessness, I quickly covered my mouth. But it was too late. He saw it. He heard it. He took a step towards me and I mirrored his movements, taking a step back, standing between him and the bedroom door.

“Are you crazy?” I said, barely able to control my surprise. “You’re delusional. I’m with Joseph.”

He shook his head violently, his expression tightening. Putting his head to the side, he crooned, “I know you don’t want to hurt him but I heard you last night. You’re trying to back away from him. I know you feel obligated because of Orlando. But you love me. I’m sure he will understand.”

The word Orlando crept up and bit into me. No one called him that. That name was left back in the mounds, under dirt, rocks, and kisses that never should have happened. He was crazy.

The air in the room suddenly felt oppressive, like an electric storm was brewing above my head. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My stomach turned in on itself as I realized he’d been watching us last night and who knows how many other nights. Why had no one warned us he was unstable?

I looked back and forth, my eyes ru

Cal’s eyes darkened. He tucked his hair behind his ears, a normal behavior, once comforting, now filled me with dread. Sweat was clear on his brow, despite the cold. The sheen reminded me of slime and my disgust at him deepened. I hoped it didn’t show on my face. I don’t know what my face looked like to him. It felt contorted, pressed in at the wrong places. And his face was flicking back and forth between wild and calm. I didn’t need to worry. He wasn’t reading my face. He didn’t seem to be aware of himself, let alone my expressions. Be careful, I told myself.

“I’m not leaving until you admit the truth,” he said determinedly, thumping his fist into his thigh, edging closer. Each movement dragging with it a clawing, dark shadow.

“That is the truth. You’ve invented the rest in your head,” I said softly. Trying to ease my way out of this like I would lever a nail out of timber I didn’t want to damage. Gently.

He stopped and hit his forehead hard with the heel of his hand. An angry red mark appeared between his eyes. “Oh yeah, I’m the crazy one!” My eyes widened, the tempo of my heartbeats quickening as I felt the danger, the menace of him, swelling in front of me.

I considered how long it would take for him to reach me. It was only a couple of meters. How quickly I could grab Orry and run? How fast was he?  I didn’t know. I knew he would be stronger than me. He wasn’t much taller but he was broad, and wiry, his arms bulging at his shirtsleeves. But I had to try.

I put one hand over the doorknob, the metal comfortingly cold against my burning skin. I turned it slowly, millimeter by millimeter, while watching him. His head was down as he talked to himself. “If he’s the one in the way, maybe we should do something about that.” My ears pricked and a boost of adrenaline surged at the mention of harm to Joseph.

I turned away from him while he was distracted, inching myself forward. I would do it swiftly. Open, grab, run. I counted… on one, two, three as sweat dripped down my neck and under my shirt.

Crack! His arm chopped down on my wrist, the bone splitting pain shooting up my arm. Broken. I screamed long and loud.

He clamped his hand over my mouth; it was sweaty and mixed disgustingly with the smell of handmade soap.

“Sh!” he spat “I don’t want to hurt you. Just admit the truth and we can work this out.”

He put his spare arm over my chest, his forearm tight, the veins popping over the skin like it could barely contain his energy, and dragged me away from the door. My legs kicked frantically, trying to push off something. Orry started crying. Cal’s mouth was close to my ear, his breathing fast and uneven, and his lips wet. I strained away from it, saliva touching my earlobe. What could I say? If I lied and said I loved him, he wouldn’t leave. I had tried the truth. He didn’t believe me.

I struggled but his grip was too tight. He slammed me down on the floor on my back, knocking the wind out of my lungs, and straddled me. His knees pushed into my elbow joints, the bone-on-bone contact made me cry out in pain. Blood was not moving, oxygen had stopped. “Please. Let me go. You’re hurting me.” Begging. Begging could work.

He laughed hysterically, his voice strained, his eyes like hard, amber rocks, gleaming. “Look what you made me do,” he said, his teeth clattering, gesturing at the mess around us. The blood. Then he wrapped his hands around some of my hair, leaned down, and held it against his cheek. I tried not to cringe; I tried not to look at where this might be leading. My fear encompassed so much.

Begging wasn’t going to work.

In all of this, my thoughts were heading off in a strange direction. As I looked at his eyes, which started to swirl in front of me like pinwheels, I thought of my mother. I thought, This is what it must be like for her. Every day. Paulo would never lay a hand on her but the threat was always hovering. And in some ways that was worse. This was what it was like to feel powerless… to be less than a person. It angered me. It threatened me. In that moment, I knew exactly how she felt and it was horrifying.

Cal relaxed for a second, the fury slumping out of him, his eyes hungry. He leaned into my face like he was going to kiss me and the force he was applying to my elbows lapsed. It was all I needed. I brought my knees up and pushed backwards. I could hardly breathe, my chest constricted, forcing air in and out like bellows. Panic was setting in. But I kept telling myself, Don’t let him do it; don’t let him do it.