Monday, September 19, 2011

Monster.

This is a continuation of a story I posted a couple of weeks ago.  Remember this is a work of fiction.  Mostly.



I quickened my steps. So did he.

My hand shook as I unhooked my keys from the strap of my purse.

He got close enough to need to slow down in order to match pace my speed. He walked about a foot behind me and just to my left. He stepped in front of me just before I reached the door to my car and leaned against the driver's door. There was no way I could unlock it, let alone open it to get inside.

I briefly considered running to the passenger side and sliding over, but he had always been much faster than me. Especially when it counted. I was trapped in the bar parking lot with him.

“Where the fuck do you think you're going?” he asked, his arms folded across his chest, the neon of his Avenged Sevenfold t-shirt showing above and below his brown skin.

“Home,” I answered shortly.

He laughed. It was the evil laughter of the maniac he became every time I crossed him. I had known this would happen. Why did I intentionally trigger it? Of course he cared. Even if he didn't care, he still attained some sick pleasure in torturing me.
“You're not going anywhere, you stupid bitch. You brought out the Monster and now you have to deal with it.”

“Why are you even upset? I thought you said you didn't care.”

“I just like to see you suffer, idiot stick. Now I'm not going to stop until you feel the pain I went through for you.”

“You put me through worse that I could ever imaging doing to you. I told you I was sorry. And I meant it. But there is nothing you can do to make me feel or act the way you have. For two reasons. One: you've already done worse. And two: I am not a crazy bastard. Unlike you.”

I know how to push his buttons just as well as he does mine and I can't stop myself from inciting him. Every time I speak I wish I would have just held my words inside me. But they fly out as if they have wings and minds of their own.

“I am not crazy. But if you want crazy, I can show you crazy.” His eyes no longer held any trace of the chocolate brown I was so accustomed to seeing glow with the embers of warmth and love. Now they only held blackness. Blackness and hatred and death.

I was getting too used to seeing these eyes. Yet somehow I didn't find myself getting used to the fear that accompanied his turning into the Monster.

I tried to swallow my fear. I was tired of the constant anxiety of having him in my life, but I didn't know how to live without the non-demonic side of him.

“I'm going home, Bamb.”

“Fine, bitch. I'm going with you.”

“No. You're not. I don't trust you enough to come home with me right now.” I measured my words very carefully, lest some unchecked tone-of-voice drive him over the edge. There was no one else in the parking lot. I knew from experience that no one would come if I screamed and someone would be unlikely to help when he hit me. If there was no one in the parking lot when he did it, I had a zero percent chance of being saved from his wrath. I had let my anger and frustration to get the better of me before, but I was on ice too thin to allow a show of emotion now.

“I don't care. I'm coming with you. Give me your keys.”

“No. Even if I felt safe letting you come home with me, I am not comfortable letting you drive. You've been drinking and you're upset.”

“I'm not upset. And I had two PBRs. I'm fine. Give me the fucking keys.”

I wrapped the key to my Honda as tightly in my small fist as I could. I knew he would ultimately get it out if he tried hard enough, but my hands were strong and it would take him a few minutes to pry up enough of my fingers the pull the keys out of them. That might buy me enough time for the two bikers that had looked as if they might be packing up soon to come out of the bar. It seemed unlikely, but I was grasping at any straw I could conceivably reach. Even biker straws.

“No. It's my car. I pay for it. I pay for the insurance. You've never paid for any bit of it. Plus you already have two DUIs. And you're girlfriend is going to start wondering where you are.”

“That retard is probably so high right now she won't even realize I'm gone for another three hours. Give me the fucking keys.” My ring finger and pinkie were both up already, his right hand keeping my left out of the way with minimal effort.

“Why do you stay with her?” I asked with genuine curiosity. I'd asked this same question many times before, but he'd always managed to somehow avoid it.

He sighed, agitated that I wasn't giving up already.

“Maybe because she actually wants me around? Because she's not you? I don't know.”

“It's not that I didn't want you around,” I said quietly. “It's that I didn't, and still really don't, trust you around me. For good reason.” He managed to get under my middle finger and push it away. Only my index finger and thumb were left. It would be seconds now before he was pushing past me into my car.

“Bamb.” He ignored me. I fought against him. “Bamb!”

“What?” He said, exasperated with me.

“You're too drunk to drive, honey.” I didn't even mean to say it. I didn't want him to drive my car, especially not right now. I just didn't mean to be so... Sweet about it. “You had shots earlier. Then some Sierra Nevada. Then you had the two PBRs. And you haven't been here that long.”

“Fuck,” he said, releasing his grip on my hand and leaning against my car beside me. “Fuck. You drive, then.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don't fucking know. Somewhere. Anywhere.”

“Okay.”

I unlocked the car and he held my door for me and closed it before walking around and climbing into the passenger seat.

“Let's drive to Reno,” I joked. The last time he kidnapped me he had planned to drive to Reno and marry me so he would have me forever.

“Whatever, bitch. Just have me back by two when the bars close. Where's your fucking iPod? I want some Avenged.”

I sighed and turned on the heater so the warmth would help me stop shaking, then handed him my old silver iPod. He plugged it in and chose a song as I turned left out of the parking lot. He chose the one song I never in a million years would have guessed he would put on.

Our song.

He crossed his arms and looked at me as a teardrop slid down my left cheek.

“I guess you can still feel something in that icy heart of yours,” he said.

I guess I could. More than I ever wanted to feel again.

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