Authors: Isabell Lawless
She splashed some cold water on her face and made sure she turned off the faucet using paper towels and not her bare fingers. Who knew what hands had touched these handles previous to hers? It could have been anyone, from anywhere, with anything.
Realizing she was stalling time in the bathroom she decided to reach into her back pocket to pull out the phone that beeped non-stop while she tried to balance and pee. The screen showed a number she wasn't familiar with, so at least it wasn't Andy pestering her with questions of how long she would be in there.
With a simple rising of the shoulders, she deleted the number, but as she put the phone back in the pocket of her jeans a simple text appeared on the screen. It was the same number that had just called without leaving a voice message. Definitely someone she didn't know, otherwise they would just record a message asking her to call back later.
She swiped her thumb over the screen of the phone and froze.
“Both your cars are home, but the house it dark and quiet. Where are you sweetie? Thought we could go for a little drive together. I'll wait until you get back.”
Her hand trembled violently and the phone slipped away crashing onto the floor. The screen cracked slightly but she was still able to read what it said. She read it again. And again. And again.
'What the hell was she going to do? How did he get this number?'
She thought she had put their cell numbers and the home number under private, meaning they should have been unable to trace. Guess that hadn't worked too well. Obviously.
Too shaken up to stay in the bathroom by herself, she picked up the phone from the floor and walked quickly back through the store in a fast beat and swung the door wide open before heading out in the cool night air to the safety of the car.
Vernon and Jo had rolled down the windows on their car doors and slowly sipped on some coffee, sharing a few jelly croissants from a box situated between them.
Somehow she rather felt like speaking to Jo than Andy, and went around the car to her open window. As Andy rolled down his window looking surprised, they all suddenly stared at her, probably wondering if she was too tired to remember where she was sitting earlier.
She looked at them and held up her broken phone in their faces.
“Brian texted me while I was in the bathroom. He was wondering why our cars were home but we are not, and that he'll be waiting for me to come back tonight.”
Before Jo and Vernon even had a chance to respond, or even swallow their coffee, Andy ripped open his car door and took the phone out of her hands. He quickly read the message, pulled the phone apart, took out the sim-card, and threw the whole phone right across the highway into the night of the forest.
Deprived of words he took out his blue pocket knife he used at work. Using the sharp blade he cut the chip in half letting it fall scattered in two pieces to the ground.
“Get in the car, now.”
Andy stomped around the car to the other side and opened her door, prodding her to pick up her speed and take her seat in the back.
He didn't even meet her eyes back in the car. Jo and Vernon rolled up their windows and put the bag of pastries on the floor by Jo's feet. Andy stared out the window and refused to meet her worried look.
“You don't need to talk to anyone else but me, or mom and dad. Understood. You do not need a cell phone anymore. If he already has your number he can probably find mine and trace us to the cabin as well. As soon as I've made some calls to work, letting them in on the situation, I'm going to have them use Greg's number to ask him questions instead of mine until this blows over. Or ends for all.
Chapter 15
In the early morning of the second day at the cabin, Andy curled up close next to Danielle beneath the thick comforter of the bed, wrapped his strong arm around her waist and pulled her to his body. Like two fitted spoon they stayed there together in silence. The thumb of his hand gently circled the skin of her tummy under the lose t-shirt she had put on before climbing into bed by herself the night before.
She had been too moody and grouchy to stay up late, and to be honest, was still a bit pissed of replaying Andy's stupid comment from home about being “so tired of it all”. All referring to her previous love life before she met him, and of Brian craziness.
'
How the hell could she have known that Brian would become such a lunatic when they had started dating, or that he would refuse to ever leave her alone after she had left him, their dogs, and their house behind?'
She thought.
'It wasn't like she had planned on getting involved with a sexual predator who dominated every part of her life. Her past was her past and she couldn't do anything to change it, and Andy knew that when they met.'
A few months into their relationship, she remembered Andy inviting her over for a home cooked dinner and a movie one Saturday night, and after a glass or two of red wine, she had let him in on her little secret: the craziness that was Brian. They sat across from each other at his kitchen table, having just finished off a nice steak and baked potatoes, when he had asked what her life had been like living together with that ex-boyfriend of hers before they had met.
She wasn't sure how much of her life she should reveal, but since he was still sitting there across from her, and wasn't running away in fear, she figured she should probably go all out and just see what happened. If he decided to leave the table and tell her to go home, so may be it. If they kept on dating she would have to tell him sooner or later anyway.
Not a single word escaped his mouth during her story telling. Instead he simply sipped slowly on his wine, his gaze pinned at her mouth and eyes when she spoke. He looked pained, but stayed quiet. Eager to hear more.
“...sometimes he would call me a whore, and not let me go out to certain events and parties with my friends. Usually I had to ask permission first, and his answer was the law of the house.”
Andy patiently sat with one arm leaning on the table, in the other he held his refilled glass of red and looked at her without as much as a flash of his eyelashes. It seemed as if he was waiting for more.
“He never touched my face. Except for slaps, but he never used his fists. I'm guessing it would have made it too easy for people to notice something was wrong, maybe. One night, though, after he had been out drinking with his friends, he was too tired and too drunk to even make it into the house so he passed out on the grass on the front lawn.
Thinking back of it, I should have just left him there until he sobered up in the morning, but for some unknown reason I tried to take the highroad and show him what compassion was really about, hoping that he would learn from me setting a loving example. Well, that didn't help.
Anyway, somehow I managed to grab his hands and arms and dragged his heavy body through the front door, over the kitchen floor, up the stairs, and into our bed. I should have just left him where he was. He was drunk to the point of unconsciousness so I figured I would just lie down on my side of the bed and go back to sleep.
Unfortunately he wasn't as 'out' as I thought, so to my complete surprise he kicked me, literally, out of the bed. I remember being so empty of feelings, not even rage, at his unbelievable act that I simply rose up from the floor on the side of the bed and stared at him. I couldn't believe he would freakin' do that? Pushing me around, alright maybe, but kicking me while I'm asleep? Just unbelievable. Astounding. Still to this day I replay the event in my head asking myself if it really happened or not, just to give myself the same answer, that yes indeed, he did thrust his foot in my back.” She took a quick breather and another sip of her wine before she continued her story.
“Anyway, it looked as if he was half-asleep in the bed, but still having that awful grin plastered on his face. Then, without opening his eyes, he told me to get the 'fuck out of the bedroom'. So, I grabbed my pillow and went downstairs to sleep on the couch. I was too embarrassed to drive over to my parents' and tell them what happened, and I was still in shock, I think, of what he had actually done, so I just stayed at home and tried to calm down enough to go back to sleep downstairs.
Not even ten minutes went by and suddenly I noticed him standing on the landing of the second floor. Leaning over with his upper body he started yelling. Screaming profusely. He was so freakin' drunk he couldn't even keep his balance, not to talk about keeping his eyes fully open. I just remember thinking, '
damn it, I have nowhere else to go now
.'
I heard his tumbling steps coming down the stairs and into the living room where I sat waiting on the couch not knowing what to expect at that moment. Bracing myself. When he finally reached me he shoved me into the back of the couch with his hands on my shoulders and screamed profanities and accusations one after the other into my face. None of them even made any sense!”
The memory of the night made her twist in her chair, fiddling with her fingers through her hair, but was determined to keep on telling Andy the rest of it as well.
“In the middle of it all he tried to put his hands under my shirt and grab my boobs, but at that point I was able to get him off of me and push him back hard enough to make him land on the floor next to one of the recliners. He was such a mess. His body was even spinning when he was sitting on the floor.
I figured he might pass out again and decided I had to take the opportunity and go somewhere else to hide from him until the morning, so I grabbed the blanket from the couch and the keys to our car. I came to the conclusion that I could sleep in our old, multicolored, car for the next few hours of the night before the sun came back up. But damn him for not leaving me alone. I was trying to sneak out of the house quietly so he wouldn't figure out where I was staying for the night, but somehow he caught up with me in the hallway on my way out.
He squeezed himself between the front door and the blanket that I'd wrapped around myself and moved his finger in my face, waving it in a '
no, no
' kind of way. I was at my wits end, desperate to get out, and from somewhere my hand slipped out of from the blanket and landed hard on his cheek. I had slapped him in the face. Shit.
As soon as it happened, I regretted it deeply. I remember thinking I had just signed my death bill, and instantaneously took a small step away from him. He leaned his drunken body against the door, rubbed his cheek with a smile, and simply said,
'is that all you've got?'
before he pushed away from the door and slapped my face way harder than I had slapped him. I stumbled backwards and the car keys dropped from my hand. I saw them sliding under the desk in the hallway, but luckily he didn't notice it in his drunken rage.
At that point his legs couldn't hold him up anymore and he slid his body down the hallway closet door and ended up half laying, half sitting in the middle of the walk way. And then he started crying. Like a little boy. He even called out 'mommy'. It was one of the most disturbing scenes I've witnessed in my life, but I knew he just wouldn't let up on me that night, so instead of sitting down next to him and hold him, I grabbed the keys from underneath that hallway cabinet and fled out the front door and locked myself into our car.”
A deep breath escaped her lungs and she took the last sip of her red wine before holding the empty glass up to her lips, contemplating what Andy might do with all this new information about her.
'Did he still want to date her, or did he want to run for the hills and far, far away from the crazy life that had been hers?'
He still sat there, across the table. Holding his half empty glass the same way she did. Not really knowing what to say next she raised her eyebrows and gave a quick tilt of her head as in a 'that's that” response, put her glass down and let her fingers fiddle around its foot.
His warm hand suddenly covered hers, and his fingers gently stroked the skin on the top of her hand. His touch alone ignited something inside her that spread hot wild fire everywhere it went. From her toes to every strand of hair on her head.
Without releasing their bond he grabbed the wine bottle on the table and filled up both there glasses before putting it back down.
“Thank you.” She stuttered and with a slight sip the tasty liquid went easily down her throat. On the table between them their fingers were slightly entangled and the tip of their fingers played an erotic touching game, circling around each other. She felt every little hint of light hair on top of his hand.