I hear him cursing in the other room.
My eyes are closed; I imagine him pacing like a bear, bashing his shoulders heavily against the wall and dragging his huge feet across the dirty carpet. Size 11 desert yellow Nike sneakers. Bought them myself. This was back when we were happy and I didn’t have to flinch when he lifted his arms or when his blue eyes locked on mine.
The thin walls vibrate as he grunts and throws something across the room. The noise makes me flinch; like three hundred china plates crashing onto a tiled floor at the same time; or a chandelier glittering its last dance as it collapses to the floor and billows on itself like a sparkling plume of crystal dust.
Enough imagining. I’ll have to clean it up later; sometime around midnight, maybe, when he lumbers drowsily into the bedroom and slams headfirst onto the bed. He’ll be done for the night and I would be free, at least until the morning hours will wear thin and the sun will traitorously peek from behind a musty couch and laugh at me.
***
“He wasn’t always like this, you know.” She doesn’t look at me as she flips her red hair to her other shoulder and tilts her head to the side, examining the plastic green basket bulging with bright strawberries. I sigh and a smile plays at her lips.
“It doesn’t matter how he was before, Ly. He’s who he is now, and he’s hurting you.” She sharply averts her head like an owl and throws the basket into my cart. “He isn’t hurting me, Fin. Honestly, he’s a good person. He just has these…”
“Violent moments?” Another glare as she steers me to the refrigerated vegetables. Her thin fingers wrap around a jagged broccoli stick and she examines this as well, taking in every leaf and branch of it. She’s avoiding me. Think, Fin, think.
“Maybe you should leave him, Ly.” Shit. Too early. She puts down the broccoli and directs me with a full glare. Her hands are trembling. “August… is a good man, Fin. A good… man. He’s kind to me… and given me a place to stay... and I love him.” She nods her head dramatically, affirming her decision. “Yes. I love him. I love August.” She drifts away to the tall rusty refrigerators and I slowly follow her ankle- length skirt, pushing the cart in front of me
***
It was my fault. It really was. I got in the way, that’s all. I wasn’t supposed to be there, and I was. Simple. It’s all my fault.
He limped back home stinking of beer and whore sweat and I quickly grabbed a washbasin and filled it warm water to clean up his face a little bit; he must’ve gotten into another fight.
I woke him up. I wasn’t supposed to wake him when he was sleeping.
He roared. He pushed me and the washbasin overturned as I fell back, my foot catching on the broken leg of the chair. Blood splashed onto the floor from the soft underside of my foot. I’ll have to clean that up later.
He laughed and grabbed my hair and smacked my back and threw the washbasin at my face. I didn’t say anything. It was my fault, remember?
My foot stung and my head stung and my back stung and the floor was bloody and wet. He stood there, debating what to do. Then, suddenly, he fell into the chair. In milliseconds, snores escaped from his beat- up nose and his chin was pressed to his throat. I fell to the floor and pressed my fists against the dirty carpet and screamed. Then I cleaned up. It was my fault. No point in crying over spilt milk.
***
“What happened?” Her eyes are rimmed a sickly purple and pink and her hair is stiff. “Was he drunk again? Lyra, what happened?”
“Fuck off.” She pushes the menu aside. Puts her head heavily on her thin arms. I want to hold her so much, pat her hair, whisper to her, brush away her hurt. But she’ll only start screaming. I tip over the salt shaker and watch the beads slip onto the table. She remains still.
“Lyra.”
“Mmmmf wommf.” I look at the floor, at her ripped jeans and the delicate curve of her thin- boned knee, at the white string curling like spaghetti from the tears in the denim. Why can’t I help her? You fucking coward. She needs help and you’re just sitting there looking at her legs.
***
It’s true, August wasn’t always like this. And sometimes, he’s nice again.
For my birthday, he buys me a little chain with a harp pendent, because my name means harp in Latin. He’s special like that, he really is. We quietly eat the crumbling cake I made and then he hugs me round the waist and pulls me into the bed and we finally make love and not hurried hate. The next day, Fin invites me to celebrate with him at his home so I drag August with me, just so they’d meet, you know?
But Fin is so horrible. He glares at August the entire time until August almost overturns the table with his big hands and I flinch and Fin watches me as I jump in my seat a mile a minute. Their yells are muted in my mind. Fin stretches a thin arm in my direction and his mouth turns ugly as he curses at August, and August shows the finger oneteothreefourfive times to Fin and smacks the table. I jump again, because I imagine my face under that heavy palm. SMACK. I grimace. SMACK. My chair screeches as I lurch back. SMACK. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fists to my temple. I hear Fin as a whisper. “… afraid of you… jumps… what’re you doing…to her?”
I jump from my seat and grab August’s livid hand and pull. He doesn’t budge so I pull harder. He doesn’t move. I slap his back.
They freeze. August turns in my direction but my eyes are dull and I look at my shoes. “Let’s go.” I mumble, and I wrap my fingers around his hand and walk. He follows me. Fin stays behind.
“Happy fucking birthday.” I say, and I’m angry. I close the door to shut out the pain in Fin’s eyes.
***
“You’re my best friend, Fin. I love you, you know that?”
She’s drunk again. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be talking to me.
I can hear her liquor stained breath as she giggles and I sigh in response, twiddling my pen across the smooth surface of the desk. “Is that right.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re the best friend a girl can have!”I cringe as she squeals and tighten my fingers round the smooth plastic of the receiver.
“Lyra, maybe you should go to bed. Sleep it off. I promise you’ll forget about your love for me tomorrow.”
She giggles again and I imagine her silky red hair as she throws her head back, ribbon lips revealing a perfect row of icy white teeth.
Stop imagining.
“Ly, come on. Don’t make me worried.” She stops laughing and I hear her breathe again. “What will you do if you’re worried?” Her voice is taunting; inviting. I shift in my seat.
“I’ll… uh... stay on until I hear you snoring. “
Another laugh. “Oh, silly, I don’t snore.” A pause. “What religion are you?”
Huh?
“Um. Catholic. From my parents. I’m not a believer though.”
“Hm…. Catholic. My mom was Catholic. My dad was a Jew. Catholicism has way too many rules for me. Too many laws to abide to be sure that I’m going to land in a place I don’t even believe in when I kick the bucket. I’ve been bad.”
“Well, I’ll send you letters from Heaven then.”
A laugh. “It’s alright, babe. I’ll charm the Devil himself, and we’ll dance together under the fiery skies beneath the black iron gates of Hell.”
I open my mouth to say something but I hear a muffled gasp and a swollen, deep voice. My blood boils. Anyone can recognize that voice.
“Lyra? Lyra, is it him?”
I hear yells and I stand up in spite of myself. “Lyra!”
The connection dies.
***
I pretend to be drunk so I won’t have to think of reasons for why I’m talking to him again, or why I want to say what I say. He’s afraid for me, I hear him, and I try to tell him that I’m alright but we end up talking about religion. Then, August breaks open the door.
“Who’re you talking to, Lyra?!” And I drop the phone. He enters the room and I flatten myself against the wall. “No one, baby.”
“Is it him again? That asshole?”
“No, honey, it isn’t. It was my sister, Julie. Remember her? Julie?” He does, apparently. Good, cause I don’t have a sister.
He turns around and seems ready to collapse again when suddenly he flashes back and pounds me hard as a hammer across the face.
“You think I’m fucking stupid?” He bellows. I fall to the floor and press my palm to my blistering cheek. Somehow, I manage to shake my head.
There’s a silence. He says nothing. I throw my face onto the floor and just breathe in the dust and he breathes his beer air. I cringe as he puts a hand on my back.
“Ly, I’m sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…” I watch him from the corner of my eye as she shoves a beefy fist into his mouth and his face turns miserable. How can I not forgive him?
How can I?
I shove my face deeper into the carpet and he moves his hand away.
“Why are you doing this, Lyra? Why can’t you support me? I love you more than anything and you treat me like a load of shit!”
I want to cry, I’m so sorry, I forgive you, I know you didn’t mean, I’m sorry, sorry, hush. But I remain crouched with my face in the floor. He leaves.
I lift my head and breathe in clean.
***
“This can’t go on anymore, Lyra.” I almost cry as I see the angry blackened bruise eating at her eye. “How can you love him still?”
“Oh, I don’t.” My heart flutters. She smiles. It’s fake. “I just like how he makes my body feel. Alive, and beautiful. Like a butterfly. ” She’s being ridiculous.
I shake my head. “I don’t understand you, Lyra.”
“No one understands me. Melancholy of a butterfly. Haha.”
I place my hand on hers and she shivers but doesn’t move it away. “I want to, though. I want to understand you.” She stares past my shoulder for a while, eyes squinted. Then she moves her hand away.
“You know I can’t do this, Fin. And anyway, pain is cool. At least he isn’t leaving me or anything. I should be grateful, right? Pain helps me forget that I don’t love him.”
She’s going mad.
“Skeletons... they- they need coffins.” She explains. “I want to be a skeleton.”
“You are a skeleton. You’re thinner.”
“No, I mean a real one. Genuine.”
I shake my head. Her eyes are so dull. She’s given up. We stare past each other for a while longer until her phone starts to ring.
“Oh. August.” She whispers. “I have to go.” She flashes a small smile and leaves. “Bye, Finnie.” I watch her silent walk as she crosses the street and disappears.
Skeletons need coffins. Yes. Even if they don’t fit.
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