The Wall

He lurched backwards and I flipped onto my stomach, scrambling to get away, heading to the corner where all my tools lay, my fingers pressing into the sawdust, sending clouds of it into my eyes.

He jumped to his feet agilely and was walking towards me slowly, his footsteps sounding heavy, pulsing through my chest and supplementing my heartbeat. My own body felt light, like I might blow through the crack under the door.

What was left of me?

“Don’t run, darling.” His voice was a menace, a dark-tinted scratch in the air.

I couldn’t tell where he was, the floor stretched out for miles in front of me, a looming threat behind. This was not the time for things to move in slow motion. I urged time to speed up. I was nearly there, a foot of space between me and a possible weapon. I felt rough hands clamp around my ankle and yank me backwards sharply. My chin grazed the rough floorboards as he brought my head level with his boot. In a final violent action, he brought his boot down on me like he was squashing a cockroach. It made a crunching sound like a cockroach would too. Could my head burst like a berry? No, it was more like an acorn.

My vision darkened, shadowy spots appearing and dancing before my eyes like puffs of smoke. Orry. Oh God. I had to protect him. I had to hold on long enough to protect him. Tears were stinging like acid. I sniffed, and the familiar taste of blood ran down the back of my throat. The blow had brought it gushing from my nose and somewhere else I couldn’t pinpoint. Was I broken apart? Bits of me were not responding. Some parts moving fast, some slow, some not at all.

Cal walked away from me again but he left the shadow, it lay across me like a lead weight and I couldn’t move. Tearing at his hair, he yelled, “I’d rather you disappear than see you with him. I could be a good father, a better father than that guy.”

Help me.

My cheek pressed to the ground; I tapped my fingers on the warm, wooden floor lightly, each finger taking an immense amount of energy to lift, the drumming giving me something to focus on. I couldn’t feel any pain, or maybe my whole body was pain, there was no distinction.

White canvas shoes spattered with blood were coming at me from a weird angle, tilted like the world had sunk sideways. I blinked.

Imaginary arms linked with mine.

Help yourself.

I can ’t.

HELP YOURSELF.

I’m not disappearing.

I ignored my fear, quickly folding it up for later. My eyes focused on the glinting metal a few feet away from me. Don’t count. Just go. I dug in my heels and darted at the only weapon close to hand, my body soaring at it like a low-flying paper plane. I was as thin as paper, sharp as its edges. Could this really be happening? A hammer.

I hugged it to my chest violently, the metal reassuring my heart with a thump. Every footstep he made pounded in my brain like it was attached to an amplifier. Orry’s crying broke through.

I stood. I don’t know how I stood but I did, legs wobbling, one arm hanging like a dead weight.

“Get out!” I screamed, waving the hammer wildly in front of me. I couldn’t see anything but blur and red. I felt the end co

“GET OUT!” I sounded like a shrieking bird, my wings flapping, beating the air and creating a powerful wind. My voice was not my own. It was Clara’s, Apella’s, Mother’s. Their strength in me. Like gravity, the words were solid, thrown at him with force. He took steps backwards, staring at his hands like they were not his own. Then I heard the door slam.

My broken body collapsed to the floor. I heaved myself towards the bedroom door, using my very last bit of strength. I got there and relaxed. I was cold. Curling myself around the hammer, I embraced it, convulsing once, wrapping around it like an old guard dog.

My body was slipping away, slipping into the floor.

My home. Not in my home.

I’d make myself small. Turn my body into a knot in the floorboards. Hard. Impenetrable. Strong.

The clock swirled before my eyes, the ticking u

7:55.

In my dream, Joseph came home at 7:45 PM.

I run to the door and he tells me to cover myself up with a wink. It’s violating our agreement.

In my dream, I’m not trying, unsuccessfully, to lift my head off the floorboards or even open my eyes.

In my dream, my eyes are bright and my hair is pulled back the way he likes it. It’s not matted and soaked with blood, my head feeling like a hardboiled egg that’s been stepped on.

In my dream, I am safe. Until I wake, I can pretend I am safe.

Because the truth is, I’m never safe.

I never was.

~Joseph~

As I approached the house, I could hear Orry screaming. But I didn’t think much of it. He was probably fussing. I imagined Rosa ru

Deshi walked next to me. It was cool and he rubbed his hands together to warm them. He’d left Hessa in town with Apella and had agreed to babysit for me. I think things were easier for him now. He had his own place, a family. But I always felt bad for him. I understood more than most how it felt to love someone and not be able to do anything about it. I hoped he would find someone here, but if he didn’t, there was Hessa. Now it felt more like it did in the begi

“So what’s the big plan?” he asked. Although, I was pretty sure he didn’t really want to know. He didn’t hate Rosa, in fact, I think he respected her, maybe even liked her, but he didn’t understand the two of us together. In my mind, there was nothing to get. Whatever we had—it just was. It worked and would always work. There actually couldn’t be anyone else.

I shrugged at his question, downplaying it. I didn’t want to flaunt our romantic escapades in his face. “Just di

Deshi rolled his eyes. “Sounds boring.”

I shoved him gently. “It won’t be to her.”

I kind of wished I could talk to him about it but I couldn’t, not yet anyway. I wanted to explain how she made me feel. She was this force of nature. At any one time, she was a storm, a sun-filled day, a tornado, and I was willingly caught up in her weather. When she laughed, the air around her moved and changed. When she was angry, lightning threatened the sky. She was unpredictable but I liked to think my presence was calming to her. I felt like I provided her with balance.

We walked up the steps. The door was unlocked and creaked open eerily. I had warned her to keep it locked.

Pushing it open, Orry’s screaming hit me like a warning.

I didn’t see her at first—the pulled-over furniture and streaks of blood drawing my focus. But following the tracks of blood to the origin of my son screams, there she was.

I froze.

“Oh my God,” Deshi gasped, as he ran towards the tiny, curled-up mass of dark hair and blood. He approached her slowly, kneeling down, blood soaking into his khaki pants.

I threatened myself to move, but when I saw her lying there, curled around that hammer, she wasn’t moving. I thought she was dead. She looked impossibly small, her hair fa