Vicious Cycles

             

              Although it is only eight-thirty in the morning, the hot June sun is already beginning to beat down upon her. Sweat is running down her face and matting down her black hair. Through the heat she persists. Keeping in mind what her mission is. She is determined. Taking large strides down the sidewalk, she is confident in herself. 
              For once in her life, she is going to stand up for her self. Tell her over controlling boyfriend to go to Hell. Tell him that she isn't going to put up with his bullshit anymore. She refuses to shed another tear over his stupid ass. She is going to tell him what's up. A smile spreads across her face at the thought of it.
         She passes houses with manicured lawns, and well tended gardens. It's a beautiful day. The sky is clear, and so is her mind. She's ready. Life is going to be beautiful.
         Approaching his apartment with every step, she begins to hear the commotion of the local carnival starting up even this early in the morning. The parking lot directly outside of his apartment is filled with hot dog stands, and carnies that call to anyone passing by, beckoning them to throw a dart at a balloon to win a crummy, little prize.
         She wishes that she could take part, but, no, she has no time for that nonsense, she has a duty to carry out first. With this thought she opens the door of a building. The heavy glass door reflects the smiling faces of children eating caramel corn across the street.
          More of the plaster from the ceiling is falling off, she notices on her way up the stairs. It's not surprising, considering that the building is over a hundred years old. Everything looks old and decrepit.
         It has a Gothic feel to it. The wrought iron railings and black lattice on the walls hold true to this description. She has even heard that the building is haunted, although she doesn't believe in such silly things. 
         Her heart begins to pound as she reaches the top floor. Almost hard enough to make her sick. The hallway seems endless. As though she will never reach her goal. Like a never ending journey.
         She walks with legs shaking, and head cluttered. Thoughts are flying through her mind. All at once. 
         Somehow she arrives at the door with a large golden “three” labeling it. His door. She is terrified. Hands shaking, she opens the door. A rush of adrenaline goes through her body. She is no longer scared. It's fight or flight mode.
         Immediately following the door is the living room, and the faint smell of cigarettes. Everything is just as it was when she left last night, after she had cleaned. There are a few extra ashes strewn about the ashtray. As though it was too difficult to aim.
         She's still sweating from the heat. Even indoors it feels as though the sun is beating down upon her. There is no comfort.
         It's Friday morning, but she knows that her boyfriend will be asleep in bed. Opening the door of the bedroom she sees him. The thought runs through her mind to simply gather her belongings that are there, leave a note, and just never return, all without waking him up. She decides that this was her plan. She'll choose flight over fight.
         She walks toward the dresser. Stained crimson. She helped him get that dresser.
         The floor creaks, “Damn old buildings”, she thinks to herself.
          The noise wakes him. He rustles and lifts his head. His blond hair ruffled in an almost amusing, yet very unflattering way. It doesn't look like he has shaved in the past week or so either. 
         She simply approaches the dresser and begins taking clothing out that belongs to her. In hopes that he will get the message without any verbal communication.
         “What are you doing?,” he asks. Half asleep. Half awake.
         “It's over. I'm leaving you. You treat me like I am your property rather than a person.” She continues to collect her items.
         “Fine. Go.”
         She's shocked. It shouldn't have been this easy.
         After she gathers everything, she heads for the living room to leave.
         He leaps out of bed, with a speed that she had never witnessed before. He runs into the living room and tackles her. Her things fall to the floor.
         He stands up. He begins kicking her things. Stepping on them. Throwing them. Attempting to destroy them as much as possible.   
         She brings him down to the floor with her. He begins to cry. Loud, hard sobs. An avalanche of bullshit comes spewing out of his mouth. Apologies after apologies. He tells her he'll change. He promises. He loves her. Forever and ever. 
         Shaking her head to all of this, she says, “It's over”.
         Still crying, still sobbing, still weeping, he stands.
         “So you're leaving then, huh?”, he asks.
         “Yeah, I'm leaving.”
         “That's not going to happen. You're not going to leave me.”
         She stands. Turns for the door. He picks her up. Kicking and screaming and yelling. He carries her back into the bedroom.
         He places her down onto the bed, and closes the door. He sits on the bed next to her.
         “I love you”, he tells her. His lower lip quivering. “We can fix this. I know we can.”
         “No.”
         He recoils as though hurt. Looks down at his hands, then glances back up at her.
         Inside of him, something horrible has been growing. Deep and dark and twisted.
         He looks her directly in the eyes. He stops crying. His blue eyes become empty, as though there is no longer a person inside. Like looking into the eyes of a rabid animal. No living soul, just an empty shell filled with anger and hate. He looks the kind of deranged that you only see in movies.
         His mouth tight and his brow furrowed, he cocks his head to one side and asks, “What did you just say to me?”
         She knows what is going to happen next, but decides that her dignity means more to her than her safety.
         “No.”
         Prepare for impact.
         The blow comes straight on. Right dead center on her nose. A blinding white light. Pain. Through her entire head. Her entire body. The white light clears just in time to see his fist coming again.
         She turns her face away. Instead of his intended target he hits her in the left cheek. Suddenly, the taste of blood fills her mouth. Her white teeth are covered in crimson.
          His fist meets with her face, again, and again, and again.
         He begins to cry, again, and again, and again.
         He begins apologizing, again, and again, and again. Vicious cycles.
         Crying, again.
         Fist, again.
         Crying. Fist. Apologizing. Crying. Fist. Fist. Fist. Apologizing. Crying. Vicious Cycles.   
         “Let me get you some ice,” he pleads with her. “It will make the swelling go down.”
         She nods her head without even thinking. She can't think.
         It suddenly occurs to her that her cell phone is in her pocket. Peeking her head around the corner of the door frame to make sure that he is still in the kitchen, she makes a grab for her cell phone. Glancing through her contacts, she finds her step-father, he'll help her. She pushes send, and without even seeing it coming, white light. Pain. All over her body.
         She begins screaming for help. As loud as she can. Instead of help, she hears the neighbors television set grow louder. 
         Her screams are quickly muted by his hands around her neck. It's a good thing too, now the neighbor can enjoy “The Price is Right” in peace.
         She can't breathe. She is suffocating. She is going to die. She is sure of it. Yes, this is it, and then, release. He lets go. Large gasping breaths. His eyes shed more tears. Vicious cycles.
         He is crying. She is crying harder. Sobbing, weeping, dying, crying. Now she is curled into a ball. In the fetal position. Crying. Just wishing for it to end, but unwilling to give in.
         He begins rationalizing himself. Telling her the reasons why he has done all of the horrible things he has done. He gets up to get her some ice.
         He takes her phone with him, and walks out to the kitchen. She hears the cracking of the ice trays. She looks at the clock sitting on the window sill. It's been six hours of this.
         He comes back with the ice and places it on her face. The ice is cold against her skin, but it soothes the ache. She listens to him talk again. This time, she just keeps quiet, and looks down.
         “You know, I know that I'm right for you. I treat you well. I treat you better than anyone else ever will. I will never hurt you again. I never want to see you cry ever again. I love you.”
         She is calm, and listens. Doesn't say a word. Just listens.
         “....so, will you stay with me?”
         She isn't going to give in. No matter the consequences. “No.”
         He seems to accept. He remains calm. It is almost disturbing how calm he is.
         He gets up. Walks to the kitchen. He returns with a pair of sewing shears. Closes the door behind him. He sits down in front of the door, blocking it. Her heart is pounding, and her mouth is agape as he begins to  raise his arm.
         He brings the shears down to stab directly in the center of his chest. His body lurches forward from the force of it. Quickly, he stabs again, and again. She can hear the scissors slicing into his skin. His shirt is now a deep crimson rather than white.
         Something inside of him decides to move from the chest to his thigh. He plunges the shears in deep, and his whole body rears back in agony. He lets out a loud scream. The shears are firmly planted in his thigh.
         He is shaking. Whether it is from adrenaline or pain, she doesn't know. Hand still secure around the handle, he beings to pull. She hears a loud squelching noise, and feels sick. 
         He looks at his wounds, and then looks at her. Directly in the eyes, and still calm he says, “You are doing this to me. This is your fault.”
         He then asks for her hand. Whether it's because she is in shock or because she is sympathetic, she doesn't know, but she holds out her hand to him. He places the scissors in her hand and says, “You can't leave until you kill me.”
         She begins crying hysterically, again.
          Her whole body convulsing with every tear, again.
         Vicious cycles.
         This doesn't happen to people. This is something that you read about in the newspaper. Something you'd see in a horror film. This doesn't happen for real. This isn't happening.
         She doesn't harm him. Rather, she puts down the scissors and says, “ Can I help you, and then we can talk about us?”
         He nods, without really thinking. 
         As resourceful as she is, she turns a sock into a tourniquet and places it around his thigh. A wave of nausea overtakes her when she sees the protruding muscle from the wound. Popping out. Falling out.
         With that wave of nausea, she realizes, he probably can't walk.
         She helps him off the floor and onto the bed. The carpet turned crimson.
          Blood covers her clothes. Crimson.
         Blood covers her hands. Sticky and warm. She has never seen that much blood in her life.
         He is sitting upright on the bed, but is crying out in pain. A constant cry. More and more blood pouring out of his body. She dresses his wounds as well as she can.
         She lies him down in the bed. In the bloody sheets. Crimson red.
         “Let me get you some ice. It will slow the bleeding,”she says to him.
         He nods without really thinking.
         She walks out of the bedroom, and glances at the microwave clock in the kitchen. It's past six o' clock. Nine hours. She's been going through this for more than nine hours.
         Not looking back, she walks through the living room and out the door. She walks away from his apartment. From her possessions there. From her past. She walks away. Down the stairs and out the door. She walks away.
         Leaves him bleeding crimson red, she walks away.
         Outside, it is down pouring.
           She heads for home. His blood is running off her hands due to the rain, and she cries. She cries until her insides hurt and her head aches. Until her throat feels raw. Hard and painful, she cries. Soaking wet and covered in blood, she cries.
         She cries and hopes to God that she'll never have to endure anything like that ever again. 
         Vicious cycles.