swirlsofpurple | Week 10, Title: This Measure

She’s at the sink, scrubbing last night’s stubborn curry off her blue plate, when arms slide around her waist. She smiles, from behind lips press against her neck and she hums happily.

“I miss you,” he says.

“I miss you too,” she replies wistfully.

She thinks about how they should carve out more time for each other.

*

“Am I too boring for you?” he asks.

“No. Come on, that’s not fair, this isn’t about you, it’s about me going to see my friends,” she replies.

“I know, but I don’t see why I can’t tag along, I see you so little as it is, it will be great, us out together with your friends.”

“That does sound like fun,” she admits.

*

“Why do you need to see them again, you only saw them a couple of months ago,” he says.

Her gaze goes to the clock, and back to him, she places fingernails against her lips before swiftly removing them.

“It’s a birthday thing.”

“Why don’t you want to spend time with me?” He asks.

“I do, I love spending time with you, but I can’t cut back my hours, we need the money.” Her glance flickers between him and clock hands throughout the sentence but she still doesn’t know the time.

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just that I miss you so much.”

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry,” she says, the hour hand creeps towards nine, she wonders how it got there, wonders whether her friends miss her too.

“Why don’t we have a nice night in?”

“Okay,” she replies, it’s probably too late to leave now anyway.

*

“Your family hates me, I don’t won’t to spend time with them,” he says. Her eyes flick to the clock, it’s two thirty six.

“They don’t hate you, they’re just overprotective of their little girl. Besides, it’s only a few hours, they’re expecting us.”

“I wish I was enough for you,” he says.

“You are. But I can’t just cut all ties with them.”

“I’m not asking you to cut ties, I’m just asking you to not be selfish,” he replies.

“But…”

“No, I’m talking now, you never let me have my way, you can speak when I’m done,” he says.

The next time she glances at the clock it’s three forty eight and he’s still talking.

*

Her key turns in the door and he’s right there.

“Where have you been!” he demands.

“I stopped for a coffee with some colleagues,” she says, tilting her wrist to peek at her watch, she’s only twenty minutes later than usual.

“Who are these colleagues? You’d rather spend time with some random people than be at home where you should be, don’t you care about me at all?” he asks.

Her fingernails are against her teeth before she shoves her hand down, she looks at the floor, doesn’t know what to say, mutters,
“Sorry.”

*

“I’m worried about you. He’s not good for you,” someone says.

“He’s never laid a hand on me,” she replies. It’s the truth.

*

She receives a text, ‘hey, want to meet up, it’s been a while’.

Anxiety blooms in her chest; it will be a whole conversation with him about going out to see friends, and then another conversation after that, and then another one. And then there will just be angry silence. She doesn’t have time for them, it will take up all her time.

‘I’m busy’ she replies, realising afterwards that she’s sent it too quickly, doesn’t even know which day she’s saying she’s busy on. She wonders whether she’s alienating yet another friend, but doesn’t have the energy to try to fix it.

*

Washing her face she looks in the mirror, she doesn’t remember the whites of her eyes; they’ve been reddened so long.

She startles at the twist of a door knob: the sound unbearably harsh in the quiet. Doors opening and closing seem to bang too hard and feet stomping down stairs echo too loudly. She fears those sounds more than the words, anticipation curling rabid within her chest. He’s coming.

Noise punctuates time, measuring from one hunch of the shoulders to the next. She wanders, going through the motions in a daze. The doors keep closing, her heart keeps beating and the clock ticks on.

She lies in bed staring at the red digits of their alarm clock, thinking about leaving him, not now, she can’t leave now, when they need each other so much, but one day.

*

Grandfather clock hands turn round and round, winding one day into another.

She tells herself she will leave soon, next month.

Clocks tick, shoulders hunch, calendar days are crossed off. It’s a month already. She’s not ready yet.

Another month, that’s all she needs. One more month.

And another and another and another.

Soon. She will leave soon.

*

Fingernails break between her teeth.

She’s writing a shopping list and if she forgets something he will be angry. Her fist clenches at the thought, veins stand out against papery worried skin.

She realises if she doesn’t leave right now she never will.

And so she does.

*

She’s alone: doesn’t have anyone anymore.

She finds a shelter and the people are friendly, supportive and helpful. Everything they should be.

She doesn’t know how she ended up here. She wasn’t supposed to be this person.

She stays for a while, looking at her watch every five minutes, lest the world crumble around her.

*

Sometimes everyone’s voices feel too big and she stays in bed, withdraws. But other days she gets up, tries, progresses. Allows her view of self to slowly twist back into what it once was, incrementally, one step at a time. But of course, even with esteem, she’s different now.

Eventually things get better and it’s time to leave, she finds a good place and fills it with plants to make it a home.

She chastises herself when she still flinches at the postman knocking on the door. But other than that she’s okay.

*

She’s walking to the chemists when he finds her.

“I’m sorry. I need you. I miss you,” he says.

“Please leave me alone. I have a restraining order,” she replies, walking briskly.

He tries to follow but she hurries into a cab.

When she gets home, she packs her bags and leaves.

*

She lives on the road, out of a suitcase. It seems he’s able to follow her trail. He knows people, has resources.

“He’s never assaulted you,” the police say when she complains.

She goes further, quicker, in an attempt to escape.

She manages to stay ahead of him, but she lived under a countdown for too long to do so again.

So decides to settle down.

*

She’s at the sink, rinsing a spoon, arms slide around her waist. She tenses, lips push cloying against her neck and she cringes.

“I miss you,” he says.

She says nothing.

“I will always find you,” he says.

She thinks about the futility of it all.

“Would you like some tea,” she asks, turning around, folding her arms across her body.

“Yes, I would,” he says, eyes shining, grin wide.

She gets the tea bags and he sits at her kitchen table. They’re here again, her back against the wall, his words incessant and vile. He tells her he loves her in a voice most would still think is genuine. So many people think he’s sweet. She puts the bag in the water and adds a little spice.

Then she brings the cups of tea to the table and takes a seat.

“You’ll never get away,” he says.

The words drift inside her, she shifts, tucking her legs under herself. It’s an echo of years gone by, for a moment she’s back in the house with the too-loud doors and suspects his words may hold truth. But this isn’t over yet.

“Here. Drink your tea,” she says. There are two ways to accept a truth.

He drinks. And then begins to cough.

She sighs with relief when his body stills.

The cuckoo clock chirps. And, using fingers adorned with perfectly manicured nails, she checks his pulse.

The ticking has stopped.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

bleodswean.livejournal.com

Very, very, very clever use of the prompt - wasting our time.

Nicely done. I'm still turning it over inside the compost heap of my mind. Hmmmm....

From:

bleodswean.livejournal.com

Not to suggest that your writing is something to be thrown on a manure pile, but rather that my mind is just....heating up slowly before anything becomes fertilizer. This entry....is refreshing in the stale. :)

From:

Week 10, Title: This Measure

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