All the Things Between Us

Chapter 13

  I don't know why he hasn't done it yet. He's just been standing in front of the bed. I know he's going to do it. He must be drawing it out to prolong my dread. He must be enjoying me shaking in his arms. Right now, I don't care if he's getting pleasure from this. I'm so scared I've buried my face in his chest because I can't find it in me to meet his gaze. My mind has made plenty of versions of the malicious face staring down at me. I wonder whether his eyes are black or green right now.
I flinch when I feel the hand on my back start to move in slow circles. Normally this would be a comforting gesture, but I shake even more. My face and his shirt are both soaked by now.
"Please don't cry", he says. I don't miss the way his voice cracks. His words do nothing to soothe me. Why does he insist on drawing out my pain?
Without warning he turns and drops onto the bed. I'm so surprised by the suddenness that I look up to his face. His eyes are green right now and this is further emphasized by how red his eyes are from his crying. I notice the way his chest is quaking with sobs. His face is skewed in pain. Choked sounds I hadn't noticed before keep leaving his lips. Why is he crying?
"Please stop crying", he begs. My breathing calms slightly from surprise more than anything. I'm sure he can still hear my desperate whimpers.
"I want to tell you everything so badly, but I can't yet", he says, "please don't try to leave me again". I lack the strength to ask him how he knew I was leaving. I still don't believe that he won't throw me under his bed. Somehow though he must know what I'm thinking.
"I put an alert out on your name so that I would be notified if you did anything". I'm completely horrified by the invasion of privacy. It makes me wonder how much else he knows.
Before I can think any further, he roughly pulls me closer to him. My face now is resting in the crook of his neck. I seem to be finding myself in this position a lot lately. Despite the situation some sick part of my mind is delighted by him inviting my closeness. I hate it. I hate myself.
"Please don't leave", he says. I notice his chest heaving even more. His breath is coming out in gasps. His grip tightens on my shoulder in the small of my back.
"Why are you-", my sentence breaks off as I realize he's having a panic attack. I'm not sure what the protocol is for when the man who's kidnapped and beaten your multiple times is having a panic attack is, but I'm guessing the answer is run.
I want to run so badly. I feel every muscle in my body twitching with the need to do so. Anticipation is running through my veins. He's weak enough right now. Maybe I could get away from him and out of this nightmare. Somehow something's keeping me rooted in place.
I want to get away from him so badly, yet something is keeping me here. It's like a block of some sort. Like how I know that I'm fully capable of biting off my own finger, but my brain would never let me do that. I swear I have Stockholm syndrome. The weird ache in my neck that has decided to make itself known again and it certainly isn't helping.
So instead of running from room I sigh and make the worst possible decision in this scenario, I start gently smoothing his hair and whispering kind words in his ear. I hate this. I hate myself.
He wraps his arms around me and rests his chin on my head. He starts to rock us both back and forth.
We do this for a while, me murmuring soft kind words and him holding me. Even after he calms down.
Eventually though I pull back a bit. His eyes are closed tightly, and he seems to be holding back his tears. Then look down to where he's holding me and see his arm. He's dug his nails so deeply into the crook of his arm that he drew blood. Shocked to see how much he hurt himself without me noticing I can't help my gasp. Hearing this his eyes dart all around the room before coming back to my face.
"What did you do to your arm?", I ask. He looks down ashamed. I'm surprised that he could even understand me. All the sweet words I spoke to him were strenuous on my throat and I sound terribly gravely.
When he doesn't answer me, I sigh and finally get out of his lap. After taking his hand lead him to the bathroom where he once gave me a shower, I shudder at the memory. He lets me sit him on the toilet lid.
Turning away from him I see my reflection in his mirror, and I'm stunned by it for a second. My dark skin is gaunt against my cheek bones and my once thick curly hair hangs thin and lifeless. I'd known I had lost weight and I had more hair falling out than usual, but this is my first time noticing how truly terrible it had gotten.
I decide that this isn't the time to worry about my malnourishment and open medicine cabinet. The first thing I notice are a couple of bright orange pill bottles. The labels say Risperdal and Lexapro. They're antidepressants. I know Lexapro is an SSRI, but I can't remember what Risperdal is, after all I haven't taken them in years. It looks like he's taking big doses too.
Pulling my eyes away from them I grab his gauze and some rubbing alcohol. Closing the door, I turn back to him where he's staring at me and holding his arm.
I kneel beside him to get a better look at his arm. Surprisingly the bleeding has already stopped, but there are still three angrily red half-moon shapes carved into the crook of his elbow. I tear off a piece of the gauze and pour some of the alcohol on it before using to clean the wound. One I'm done, all the dried blood and potential bacteria has been cleaned off. I wrap the gauze around the wound.
Once I'm done, I look back up to his face. He's looking at me with some strange emotion. He looks calm, but there's something else too and I hate it. I hate that he's looking at me so warmly. I hate how it makes me feel. I hate myself and I wish I hated him.