AUGUST 30
1 YEAR
As his footsteps ascend the stairs—getting louder with each passing moment—I find myself scooting back until I'm pushed up against the bed with nowhere else to go.
I listen as he tries the door. It doesn't budge.
He takes his keys out of his pocket. I can hear them shaking and jingling as he slides them into the lock, even over the rain pounding on the roof.
I lean back against the bed frame, waiting. Does he know I'm still here? Maybe he will think I locked up and left.
And yet another part of me is desperate for the door to open, for him to rush to me and gather me in his arms and make this pain disappear. I need him. I want to bury my face in his chest and cry and let him wipe away my tears.
He gets the knob unlocked, and I can see it turning, but the door doesn't move. He stops trying and stands there in silence. He must realize I've locked the deadbolt. "Tris?"
With one word, I can determine his mood. The anger is gone, melted away as fast as it arrived.
"Sweetheart?" he says, his voice tentative.
He doesn't deserve to call me sweetheart. The fact that he would makes anger mix with the bitter sadness that keeps choking in my throat.
"Honey, I know you're in there. You car is still here." Damn.
"Tris, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was doing." His voice is shaky, childlike. He knows he went too far. He was so big an hour ago and now he sounds so small.
I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my forehead on them and start humming to myself.
I can't get up and open the door.
I can't.
So why do I want to so badly? How can I be that girl, over and over?
I'm not his equal anymore. I'm his doormat; his punching bag.
It happened in pieces, tiny little turning points. I'll never figure out when it all turned, because it wasn't a single moment.
It doesn't matter how many times I look back, how many times I try to figure it out. There is no before and after. Just a year of choices.
And now I'm here, sitting on the floor, afraid to open the door to the person I love most.
Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he'll leave, and I won't have to choose.
Maybe I'll just stay here for eternity.
YOU ARE READING
Captive - FourTris
FanfictionI lie in pieces on the floor. A hundred different things surround me: shards of a destroyed wooden jewelry box, some cracked CDs, a few ripped books, a shredded picture of Tobias and I. I think my insides must look like they do, all churned up and c...
