Work Text:
Late Spring - A Short Story
When the show’s resounding and dramatic credits song rolled, my boyfriend abruptly shut the TV off, preventing it from continuing to the next episode. He looked down at me, his smile gentle, but there was something in his eyes, something I couldn’t discern. I suppose he could see it on my face—I was confused(and naive, but I’d find that out later). I assumed Netflix and chill was just that: Netflix and just hanging out, y’know, chill.
He spoke quickly, but not urgently, as if he couldn’t wait to get it out, but he had all day to do it, “I want us to hang out and just be together, maybe have a little fun. Screens are detrimental to that.”
I nodded, stretched out on his expansive couch, relaxed in a way of known romantic intimacy and trust, almost ready to fall asleep. My boyfriend pounced from his gaming chair, suddenly, as if he couldn’t control himself. His body was pinned against mine, his warmth soothing to my lizard-like, ice cold skin.
I laughed, “What are you doing?”
Eccentric and goofy, my lover had his moments where I could never guess what he was up to, or what he was thinking. The eerie, early darkness shining in the windows, the hail pattering the ground viciously, in hindsight, they were warning me of what was to come. Stubborn and obliviously ignorant as always, I didn’t even listen enough to recognize it as a warning.
“You like this, right? It was on your list,” he said in a soft voice, his hands saccharinely caressing mine.
I cocked my head, confused, “What list?”
He deadpanned, “The one you wrote down.”
I blinked, even more lost, “Bae, I write a lot. As a kid, I had a yearly personal diary. You could be referring to a list of movies I wanted to watch that my parents wouldn’t let me or my favorite books at that time.”
He sighed, “Your bedroom list. You listed things you were into in one of your diaries. When we were moving, I found it.”
My heart jumped, my list of…whatever I made as a hormonal teenager was the least of my concerns. I had way worse shit in there.
“And you thought to read it?!” I said, my voice bewildered and shrill.
To me, this was a deep betrayal, one I never saw coming. Some of the things in there I already told him, we’d been together for a year, some I was planning to tell him, others…I had never told anyone or was planning to tell anyone but the innards of those journals.
He smiled slightly, reassuring, “Babygirl, I didn’t read any further. Once I found they were your diaries, I snapped it shut. It just caught my eye as it was at the top of the list. I’m sorry,” he chuckled exasperatedly, shaking his head, “I’ve ruined the moment, haven’t I?”
I hummed in thought, then asked, “You really didn’t read further? You just happened across that page?”
My boyfriend, his eyes shadowed as the lamp behind us worked overtime to illuminate the room, nodded assertively, declaring, “You have my word. Scout’s honor.”
“Really, you were in the Boy Scouts?” I questioned skeptically, an eyebrow arched towards the ceiling.
He laughed, “No…but you know what I mean.”
“Ok, then, you’re fine, I forgive you,” I decided, shrugging.
“Mmm, good,” he whispered in my ear, “Now I can do this.”
He kissed my cheek, moving down slowly to my neck.
Barely audible, he continued, “I know you love this, my body on top of yours, your inability to escape…”
I chuckled nervously, “Um, babe, can you hold on? This, uh, type of thing requires a deeper conversation, y’know to keep it safe, to discuss safewords, etcetera.”
He shook his head, annoyed by the mere idea, “We don’t need that. Besides, you can just say no any time you want.”
“No, that’s not how this one works. There must be an emergency safeword, one not used in everyday conversation. It’s basic consent, love,” I explained, my heart palpating like the classical song “In the Hall of the Mountain King,” slowly rising as my brain rushed to grapple with what was happening, the pit in my gut growing heavier by the millisecond.
My mind screamed warning bells while my heart simply ran far enough away so that it couldn’t hear them. It didn’t want to, the idea that the man we loved for almost a year was…it hurt too much. Besides, I didn’t want to accept that possibility--there was still hope He’d do the right thing, he had, for months.
He smiled jokingly, “What, I need consent now to hug my babygirl?”
His face flashed for a second, taking the form of my ex, blood spilling from the lips from the knife I was forced to put into his abdomen. Quickly, my eyes flickered, my body shaking, taking in his apartment, calculating an escape.
My voice wavered, but held firm, “Yes, love, you do. You promised me, swore to me, that you wouldn’t be like my ex,” I softened my tone as my hand searched for the knife I has stashed here long ago - just in case, as a security measure, and I prayed that I didn’t, wouldn’t need it, “I trust you, my love,” I smiled shakily, hands gripping the blade, tears threatening to fall, “You’ll do the right thing, I know you will. I love you and-”
He laughed, without humor, his hand smothering my mouth, “Shh…”, his other hand snaking down my torso, “You don’t need to overthink anymore,” salty water breaking through, my thoughts screaming, don’t do this, don’t make me hurt you, DON’T, face flickering between his and my ex’s, “I can do the thinking now for you, isn’t that right, babygirl?”
All I saw was him, h i m, him. I broke the rules again, I saw a girl friend. But I was bi, so the rules still apply. I was an idiot, wasn’t I? She was straight and had a boyfriend, but he didn’t care. I had broken the rules, so I took my six bruised ribs and bruises on my face in silence. Thank god for concealer. Thank god for concealer were my only thoughts concerning the matter in the following days. Suddenly, my vision cleared. It wasn’t him. I still had time to stop this before it turned into that. My tongue resisted in the only childish way I knew, licking his sweaty palm.
His recoil in disgust allowed my screaming, sobbing, “Red, red, RED, stop, please, red!”
Usually, he stopped at that, but not my current love. Not the one who I thought I’d love forever. Not the one who I thought might treat me better, treat me right, respect me, never hurt me, the one I considered even having kids with. Not this one.
His narrowed eyes, his hands grabbing towards my neck, they grabbed my neck…I couldn’t breathe…I had to…black spots…use the knife…black spots…black spots…I had to use…wheezing breaths…blurry, it’s all blurry…the knife…Eyes shut…my eyes…want to shut…I HAD TO—
The blade flew, raced towards his neck. Metal, glinting against skin, his skin, but not his. He glanced towards it, a slight flicker of betrayal, hurt, and confusion washing over his face, but the wave receded from shore as soon as it went out. My love, the person I trusted the most, pushed his hands deeper, his fingers squeezing, wanting to be meeting. I fought, I had to, I did not want to, pushing the knife in, blood dripping. Just a drop, a warning. A bluff. I could not kill, even if it were my killer. I even specifically stabbed him through muscle, avoiding all internal organs, as a skilled medical professional as I was.
He believed it, letting go, his neck bleeding red, red, red, stop, please, red. I jumped up, my screams only coming out as sharp, painful gasps, knife in front.
It took all the power of my lungs to force the words out in a barely audible whisper, “I am leaving, and you won’t stop me.”
“Princess, you misunderstand. You know I’d never hurt you. You had one of your attacks again. It’s ok, baby, I’m here for you. I’m not like him, I’d never hurt you,” he said softly, the thin, shallow cut slowly dripping red, red, red, stop, please, red.
I shook my head, exasperating the pain, “No, I’m leaving and I’m not coming back. My brother will…pick up my stuff. Goodbye.”
“Bae, you can’t just leave, you’re not ok, clearly you’re very confused right now. Remember? Your brother died ten months ago. Just let me take care of you, please.”
I smiled grimly, backing away towards the door, “I see clearer now than ever.”
Immediately, he got up to follow, “Sweetheart, you’re scared, I know. This cut, it’s small. It’ll heal in a few days. I don’t care about what you do to me when you have an attack, I know you can’t control it. Instead, I’ll love you even more, because I see more of how strong my babygirl is to have survived that. You’re not there with him anymore. I don’t care how long it takes, but I’ll be here for you, reminding you every time.”
“You’re right, I’m not there with him. I’m here, with you. All the same, I’m leaving.”
I couldn’t speak the words because my vocal cords were too damaged, but I had experienced nonverbal communication episodes several times with me. I knew he could read my lips, it was one of the things I found attractive. It took every ounce of my soul to say the last two words, but I did.
I could sense his gaslighting was working, slowly, but surely, so I put my headphones on, turning on my music, not picking a song, but letting the algorithm do it for me. I put the keys on the mat, as his lips continued to form new words, I turned away, not letting my brain read his lips, and walked down the stairs.
One, two, thirty-nine.
“Here’s to the no’s, to the keeping on my clothes, to the no man can demand my body, my spirit, my love. I’ve had enough.”
The song changed as I put the key in ignition, pulling out of his apartment parking lot. I blinked, exhausted, I had to change the key code for my door. “First love/late spring” played as I pulled out quickly, before my (ex?) boyfriend could reach the bottom of the staircase.
Speeding down the road, I took turns sharply left and right, as only a native could in this city. He went to college around here, and simply stayed. So, I was confident he couldn’t and wasn’t following me, and I entered the interstate, parking quickly in a near exit’s park ‘n’ ride close to the bridge that connected the two sides of the city separated by imaginary state lines and a real river. The hail had stopped but rain continued to fall in buckets.
Looking at the bridge from my window, I considered it, as I had more casually before, years before. Did I? Did I want to end it all? God, I was so freaking tired of this, of this life. I wanted to go, I wanted to leave this life, the fucked-up hand life dealt me. I didn’t want to play anymore, no, I wanted to flip the table over. This was what, the third, fourth time now? I sighed, shaking my head, I was so done with it all, it seemed the only ones who wanted me, in the end hurt me more than the man before him.
Interrupting my spiral, my phone vibrated in the cup holder, a notification, from YouTube. I picked up the device, unaware of my shaking hands. The title: Don’t do it, baby. I’m here.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, my hands trembling, my fingers reaching to tap it, my mind echoing: How did he know? How did he fucking know?
Finally, my unguided fingers clicked it, found it. The voice was from one of my favorite channels, I never listened to his spicy audios, they were too triggering(as were all spicy audios, regardless of voice or channel), too much, but his comfort audios were top-notch. The few he had, I’d listened to each of them dozens of times over the years. His voice was soft, deep, and instantly comforting. The sound of a door opening, hinges squeaking through my earbuds.
“Oh, baby, what’s going on? You’re crying, oh, pumpkin, what’s wrong?”
I didn’t hear what came next, because the air was filled by my anguished screams, my mind needing to get it out rather than protecting my voice from further damage. It burned my throat, but I didn’t care. It was like a dam breaking, the water spilling out, covering the entirety of the valley below. The cry wasn’t pretty either, as a truly deep one never is. Snot ran down my face, into my lips, and tears soaked my hands, so much that they were shriveling from the expansive amount of the salty liquid.
My hoarse, barely audible voice, “Please…”
“Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Hey, shh, shh, it’s ok, it’s ok now, you’re ok, I’m here now,” The voice said, as my sobs slowed.
“Mmhmm,” he continued, “I’m here for my good girl. Yeah, you came to me, and that makes you the best little girl in the whole wide world. Shh, it’s ok, Daddy’s here. Daddy will save you from yourself. Daddy wants you to stay, ok?”
“Please…make me stay,” I whispered, numb and tired from the energy I spent crying. My vocal cords were so damaged, it only came out as air, but it felt like he heard it, all the same. Daddy continued his reassurances, his soft whispers of praise and lullabies, and in five minutes, I was asleep.
The last thing I heard before blacking out was, “I love you, pumpkin. You are wanted here on this Earth.
I
want you here. I will always want you here on this planet.”