Keychain

I rubbed the bruises on my wrist, my eyes glazed over; I was lost in thought. The heat in the kitchen was sweltering, but I wore long sleeves nonetheless. 

My gaze snapped up at the repetitive beeping of the fry timer going off. I pressed the button and sighed. I was zoning out way too much these days. 

Work had been hard to get through ever since Friday night. I had occasionally found it difficult to get through my ten hour shifts, as any normal person would, but even four hours seemed like a struggle. My quality of work had tanked too. It was normal for my coworkers to thank me for bussing their tables, and for costumers to comment on how busy I seemed, but I received neither the past few days. 

"Hey K," Parker, one of the only line cooks that knew, greeted. 

I smiled tiredly, trying (and failing) to mask how exhausted I was. 

"How's it going?" I asked, half-heartedly. No matter how awful I was feeling, it only made me feel worse to be rude. 

"I'm here, aren't I?" He responded, with a slightly more sincere smile than my own. "You?"

I stared at him for a beat. Then shrugged.

"I'll survive."

Everything was heavier than it once was. The weight of this new reality seeped into every crack of my life. I could be miles away and it would still find me. It would claw and grapple it's way, desperate to find my lungs and squeeze the air from them. Lay it's darkness over my mind like a veil. Wring the tears from my eyes like a withering child stranded in the desert. 

A plate clinked as it was set on the line. I grabbed it, glanced at the screen, and set it back behind me to be ran to it's designated table. I needed to focus.

"Bye!" I yelled, glancing around at the handful of people within eyesight that would bear witness to me walking out the back door. A few "byes" chorused back, and I waved at the few that looked over as I left.

It was dark outside by now, as it usually was at the end of my shifts. I liked the darkness. The quiet. The stillness. It felt more sincere. More genuine than the harsher light and sounds of the day. 

I walked to my car, sighing and fiddling with my keys as I went. Going home didn't sound particularly appealing, but nothing else did either. A handful of my friends would still be awake, I was sure, but I didn't want to bother them again. I'd been doing far too much of that this week. 

I glanced down at my keys and stopped in my tracks. A small, pink keychain stared back at me. I had forgotten about it until now. I'd wished I hadn't remembered. The memories come crashing down on me like the rubble of a demolished building. It hurts about the same, I'd imagine. 

"This'll be the start of you hating me," he had said. I wasn't sure what that meant at the time, and I still wasn't sure, honestly.

"The fuck does that mean?" I had said. I liked to pretend not to notice the strange things he would say, hoping if I didn't acknowledge them, they would go away. 

He rolled his eyes in response. 

I opened the little package after I had finished setting up. I smiled.

I didn't smile now. 

A few days later, I launched it into the Mississippi river. If only the water could wash away the memories lodged in my brain as well.

It all escalated so quickly. It started with little touches, things I thought were normal or necessary. Grabbing my hand to show me how to pull a line correctly, touching my leg to point out a spot on my tattoo that wasn't packed thoroughly. Bumping his head against mine. He'd buy me food, the others too, and made sure I ate. It became a point of contention later, once I realized what was happening and had lost my appetite. I needed the food to keep my hands steady, but the anxiety made me nauseous. It was a fruitless tug of war. 

He'd talk to me and made me feel like a friend. Like he cared. Then he'd text me, send me simple messages at reasonable times. Then later at night. And more leading questions. 

"Can I take you up on seeing you tonight?"

Not exactly something you'd expect a mentor to send to their student. Especially not when the offer he was "taking me up on" was to deliver food. "Seeing me" was a coincidental side effect. But the main point for him, apparently. I ignored that message. 

I left the shop confused most days. He'd clearly hint at one thing, in hushed whispers when others were around, then claim I had completely misunderstood. There's no way I was misunderstanding that frequently, was there? How could I misunderstand an invitation to go to his apartment at midnight? How could I misunderstand "do you really love your man?" 

He had asked me to walk with him to grab food from a shop around the block. I was hiding my arm from him, since I had sliced it open earlier that morning in the shop bathroom. I couldn't stop panicking around him. The last few days had been like that. At work I held bags of ice to calm down, much to my coworkers confusion, but I couldn't exactly hold ice and a tattoo machine in the same hand. I was expecting him to pry about why I wouldn't roll up my sleeve, but he took to a different topic instead. He kept asking about my boyfriend. If I saw myself marrying him, if I loved him, if he treated me well. How he would do things differently, better. I didn't know how to respond to most of it, so I stayed quiet, only laughing in moments that seemed too tense and strange not to.

The day after, he was even more touchy than usual. He told me to get closer to him, to grab his arm. Held my hand randomly, just because he wanted to. I'd catch him staring, then he'd smile as I looked away. It seemed like he enjoyed making me uncomfortable. Though maybe he just thought I was being bashful. He'd call me "kiddo," in the same breath he'd say I reminded him of his ex wife. I never knew what to think.

There was nothing to misunderstand about "if you ever break up with him I call dibs." Though I should've known before that. Should've trusted my gut. 

That night was when it happened. I think, anyway. It's all blurred together now. I tried not to think about it. 

He had convinced me to go outside with him, alone. There was one other person in the shop, so he couldn't talk freely, the way he wanted to. Then we went to my car, since he felt "there was too many eyes on him." 

We talked, and laughed. Then he asked for a hug. I hesitated. But said sure, eventually. I didn't know what he would do if I said no. But ultimately it was harmless, I thought. Then he asked for more. A kiss. 

"Absolutely not," I said. 

"No one would ever know." But I would. And I'd never, ever do that to him. Ever. I wasn't even thinking about myself. I could push myself as far as I needed for my career, my dreams, but I wouldn't hurt anyone else in the process. I got out of the car. 

He followed me back inside though, of course. She had left by then. I sat down and tried to focus on a tattoo. He kept trying to convince me, though. Kept trying to talk me into betraying my boyfriend, my morals. He greatly misjudged my character. 

I cried. I was so frustrated. With him, with the decisions I had to make, with how unfair it all was.

"Come here," he said, holding out his hands. I sighed, staring at him for a few seconds. I walked over and took them, my eyes tired, but glaring, in the process. I don't remember what he said. I just remember him pulling on my arms, leaning in. Trying to throw me off balance. I remember him staring at me, glancing at my lips. I tried to pull my hands free, but he wouldn't let go. I don't think he'd ever seen me so angry. It didn't change his mind though. 

"Let me go," I said, as threateningly as a 5'4" scrawny girl could be. He did, eventually. I don't remember much else. I remember him leaving after a while. And I remember crying as I cleaned up my station. I remember sitting outside, and sobbing into my friends arms as I realized. As my world came crashing down. As my dreams died in my chest. 

I took everything, and left it all behind a few days later.