Life Interrupted (27 page)

             
I sit there thinking for a minute and then nod, knowing what she said makes sense.  “You’re good, Ms. Flynn.  It’s funny, I used to hate coming down here.  Now, I’m not only glad I came, I’m kinda wishing you were going to be where I am next year.”

             
She smiles again and this time there might be something more in her eyes.  “What a beautiful gift you’ve just given me.  You’re a good girl, Rae, and I know you’ll be okay next year.  Maybe just remember to count down from ten before you act, you know, to avoid punching people or saying things you can’t take back.”

             
“Or getting pregnant again,” I add for her and nod when she gives me an amused look.  “Roger that, Flynny, counting’s good.”

The hallways aren’t passing period busy, but because they filter so many of us in and out, there are kids who aren’t in class right now sitting on the floors, walking in and out of side doors to go to lunch, skip class, smoke.  I walk by all of them as I leave Ms. Flynn’s office, and because I’m not ready to go back to class, I take out my phone and start texting Tripp, ducking into the bathroom just around the corner.  I pause halfway through the door and stop texting, my eyes meeting Lauren’s as she primps in the mirror. 

My first reaction is plain curiosity.  What’s she trying to improve? Her skin is flawless, her hair is smooth and shiny, that reddish blonde that makes her appear to have some sort of glow in her short summer dress and sweater.  Behind her I’m a dark mess in boyfriend cut jeans,
Rainbows, and a short sleeve navy half-zip hoodie with my bangs pushed to the side and my hair falling out of its ponytail.

Of all the gin joints… 

Her eyes stay steady as we assess one another and I wonder if she’s doing the same thing I am and noting the obvious contrast between us.  My self-esteem isn’t low, but I’ve never been one to delude myself either (save that one time I thought sleeping with a stranger was the best course of action for my broken heart.  My bad.).  Lauren is gorgeous, and there’s a vengeful part of me that wishes she would get acne and maybe gain a few pounds.  The other part, who I’m trying to fucking ignore, knows that her looks are only part of the reason she bothers me; the real reason I hate her is because Tripp chose her first, and each time I see her, I can’t help but remember that.

We stand there staring at one another long enough that she rolls her eyes and looks back to her reflection to finish brushing her hair over her shoulder and touching up imaginary specks of make-up.  Ignoring the sudden desire to adjust my shirt, brush my hair and get an overall makeover, I lift my chin in acknowledgement and walk the rest of the way in, going to a stall to pretend and pee. 

              “I’m over it, just so you know,” she says and I smirk to myself while I stand there locked in the stall.  Of course she would wait until she thought I had my pants down to be tough with me.

             
I don’t answer, and for another few seconds I stand there and listen while she fiddles with whatever case of tricks she has until I finally hear the zipper closing.  “Good talk,” she finally snaps, and I laugh as she leaves the bathroom.  When I’m sure the door is closed, I unlock the stall door and step out, taking my phone out of my pocket.  The text I was in the middle of sending Tripp when I walked in is still there, so I begin typing again.  I hit send and tuck my phone into my back pocket, hoping Tripp breaks the rules and checks his phone in class.  Sometimes he can be such a goody-goody. 

Figuring I’ll give him five minutes and then go back to my own class if he doesn’t show, I lean against the counter and stare at my reflection, my eyes curious instead of critical.  It’s been sunny and Gracie and I have been spending time outside, so my skin is dark and smooth, my eyes brighter because of it.  I stare at them now, thinking that I might need to start wearing mascara, maybe some lip gloss, glam up the structure that’s already there.  And yes, I know this is because I just faced down Lovely Lauren who’s always so put together I can’t help but envy her.  And then I try to imagine myself wearing summer dresses and sweater sets, uncomfortable shoes and micro-minis and I laugh, realizing that lip gloss or no, I’m never going to look like her.

And I don’t want to, not really.  She’s an insecurity, one I hate admitting that’s there, but one I recognize and will eventually deal with—like, now.  I’m not Lauren, but she’s not me, and somehow, I have to get over that she was once Tripp’s.  I give myself a little pep talk and get ready to walk out of the bathroom, cursing slightly when I realize Tripp won’t be joining me. When I hear the door open and close, I smile, wondering if he’s finally broken those rules and has come to see me, and then my eyes meet Marcus’s in the mirror and everything leaves my body until I’m standing there wide-eyed and frozen, panic clawing at my throat as he flips the small lock and leans back against the door.

It’s funny, you watch this scene a thousand times and you think of what you’d do if you were ever thrust into your own horror story.  I certainly did after the first time this happened.  I imagined it would be dark, a lonely house with no one in it except for me and my nightmare, and a set of convenient stairs and tons of windows, allowing me to run or jump out.  I’m a fighter—I’d find a stick, a rock, anything to make a weapon and then I’d be ready to defend myself if I couldn’t run forever.  I’d face my attacker and let him know he’d fucked with the wrong person.

This scenario is nothing like my glamorously imagined horror story. Somehow, the lack of everything traditional in a scary movie makes this much, much worse, and very real.

This is no deserted house with creaky floors and multiple staircases, no crafty nook where I can squeeze myself and hide out; no, I protected myself from that scenario when Tripp made me stop going places alone.  It’s been a month since I went anywhere without a babysitter, anywhere that Marcus could corner me and hurt me, and because of that, I’m here in the bathroom with the harsh overhead lights blazing, illuminating the dark nightmare in black
behind me.  His cheekbones and chin are sharp, almost lethal points that jut from a face that has been shaved down to nothing but angry lines and dark circles around sunken eyes. His expression is cunning, almost amused as stares at me, his body so still I wonder he’s not made of stone.  But no, there’s a small movement of his chest and his shoulders, and another, his breath coming as rapidly as mine though he hasn’t moved since he first walked in.

“Flow, it’s been a while.”

              The panic that gripped me a moment ago is now working its way to full blown terror when he speaks.  A shiver runs through me and I stand in frozen silence and wait for him to make his move, my mind unable to focus on anything except for him.  I want to think, to break free of the fog that rolled over my brain the moment he walked in, but all I can hear is his breathing, the unsteadiness of it, and all I can see are his eyes, dark sunken pools of black that look at me as if I’m already dead.  If I was scared two years ago when we were in this exact same position, it’s nothing compared to what I am now as I stare at the person I made a baby with and know he isn’t letting me go with a warning this time.  Whatever Marcus has been running from his entire life has somehow become my fault, and he’s decided it’s time I pay my price.

“Marcus—” I say and turn toward him, but no words follow because he’s there, in front of me, grabbing my upper arms, squeezing so tightly that my breath whooshes out in one long hiss. 
Goddammit think, Rachel
, I scold myself mentally, but it doesn’t work.  Everything in me cowers, recoils away from him and like last time, I’m frozen, terrified, immobile and staring at him as he takes my control. 

“I warned you,” he says and his voice is breathy, speedy, as if he’s been running for the past hour and can’t get enough wind.  “I told you to get rid of it, I told you not to bring it around here.  I told you to leave my fucking family alone but you didn’t listen.  Why the fuck didn’t you listen?  She’s taken everything,” he yells, bringing me to my toes as he grips my arms and pulls me closer.  “I have nothing, Flow,
nothing
, because of you and that fucking baby.  Why didn’t you listen?”

His fingers tighten and he shakes me this time, a hard yank that has my teeth snapping together and my joints popping.  The stunning motion brings me back out of the fog and into reality and I shake my head no as the fear bubbles to a boil inside of me.
Talk, tell him, make him see.  Instructions swamp me and I take a breath, trying to calm myself enough to speak, to buy some time and try to reason. “Marcus, I told her no, I took full responsibility for Gr—for everything,” I say, remembering that he doesn’t know or care what her name is, and I don’t want to say it right now, not while the man who fathered her has me pressed up against the bathroom wall while he rages at me.  “There are no rumors anymore, you have no responsibility or right to her.  You’re free.”

Is that my voice? So small, so breathy? I try to swallow and realize I’m shaking, small shocking trembles that course through my entire body and make it difficult for me to act. 
Breathe, you have to breathe, Rachel
, I think and focus on finding my center, on getting myself together and finding a way out.  Because I know one thing: Marcus is gone, so far gone that he isn’t letting me out.  “Marcus, let me go,” I croak out, but he shoves me against the wall, pushing his forearm securely against my throat.  Spittle flies as he speaks next.

“She threatened to cut me off.  Said the only way she’d acknowledge me was if I got clean and stopped embarrassing her.  Thinks I can get that baby back if I go to fucking rehab.  I don’t want a baby.  I don’t fucking want a baby, do you hear me?”

              I nod because he’s pushing up into my throat now and the pain along with the awkward arching of my neck has made it difficult to speak.  My brain is scrambling to find a way to cope, to put something between me and him, to get myself away, but right now all I can feel is the blinding pain as it feeds my terror. 

             
“I hear you,” I rasp, grasping at his arm.  “I hear you, Marcus.”

             
“It’s too fucking late!” he screams and his forearm presses even harder against my windpipe.  I hear someone outside of the door banging on the wood and saying my name, but I can’t yell out now that he’s cutting off my air.  “It’s too fucking late,” he says again, only this time his voice is low, and I know he’s made his decision.  His eyes are dark but they blaze into me as he chokes me, his intent as clear as if he said it aloud. 

All of a sudden I’m thrown into the past and
I’m in this bathroom, pregnant, alone, scared, and he’s holding me against the wall threatening me.  Tears roll down my cheeks as my hands cup my belly protectively.  I wonder how long it will be before someone finds me after he kills me. 

Another sound at the door, someone shouting my name, and I snap back, my vision blurring as I blink back to the present,
trying to clear the spots from my vision and find my center, find my fight instinct.  Focusing on the burning pain in my throat, I use it as an anchor to keep me here and now.  He’s screaming and pressing on me and I want to collapse, to just let him do what he wants and be done with me, to not be scared anymore, and then I think of Gracie.  My sweet girl who interrupted me and showed me what life could be.  My blonde angel who taught me how to stand on my own and live.  Live, not die.  Something about her wouldn’t let me die, even when I wanted to for all of those months.

No.
  No, not like this. 
My adrenaline surges and I shake my head, my eyes watering from the lack of oxygen, my throat burning as I try to breathe in.  I will not go out like this, crying, trembling, letting him win…leaving Gracie and Tripp and everyone else.  Fuck that.

             
The person outside of the door starts screaming and I hear a loud thud, like someone else is kicking at the door.  The sound startles Marcus and he glances over, his grip loosening just enough that I can move.  Clasping my hands together, I gulp air into my burning lungs and muster every bit of strength I have in reserve as I bring them up in a reverse hammer motion, snapping him under the chin so his head whips back and his grasp on me falters.  I grab his shoulders and bring my knee forward, putting everything I have behind it as I meet his groin.  I feel the breath whoosh out of him, but I’m already shoving him away as he collapses on me, yanking my arm from his grip as he attempts to hold onto it.  My breath is pounding in my lungs and my vision is spotty as I fumble my way to the door, but I don’t stop.  I can hear him moaning behind me and I think I hear him shift, but I don’t look anywhere but forward as I reach for the door. 

             
Gripping the lock, I cry out when my fingers slip off of it, the panic I battled back only a moment ago seizing up and causing me to shake even more.  I can hear people on the other side of the door and I want to call out, but I my throat is raw and clogged.  I grip the lock and start to turn it just as he grabs my hair and yanks it.  I scream, bringing my elbow back with enough force that I hear a crack as it connects with his rubs.  He barely grunts, just keeps screaming.

             
“Fucking bitch.  You don’t listen.  Why won’t you listen?” He’s crying now, tears streaming down his face as he yells at me.  I hear the door crack the rest of the way and slam against the wall and with everything I have left, I ram my elbow back again, this time the pain causing him to release me so I can spin and follow it with a solid left hook to the jaw. 

             
People are everywhere around us, some coming at me, some going for Marcus.  I think I hear a familiar voice as someone hauls me up by the shoulders and shoves me toward the entrance, and then shouting, but my head is spinning and the world around me is threatening to go black.  As much as I want to walk through the doorway and get out, I have to lean my shoulder against the wall and blink several times. I suck air in an out, trying not to heave as my vision keeps swirling. 

H
olyfuckingshit. 

Someone takes my hand and I glance down through slitted eyes to see Lauren, her eyes wide and wet, her lips moving.  I shake my head side-to-side trying to clear the dots blinking in front of me, but the movement only makes them worse.  There’s a roaring in my ears that’s making it difficult to hear, and when I stumble, Lauren takes my arm and we slide down the wall to the floor together.  I bring my knees up to my chest and lean my forehead on them.  I can feel my head pulsing where it rapped the wall, and my knuckles are throbbing just like my throat.  I breathe in tentatively and it feels like I swallowed fire, but I’m here.  I’m here.