Divergence

Safe House

Somehow, through the thug's craftiness and by the grace of God, you've evaded the police and made it to his apartment in one piece.

Physically.  Your emotions are still jumbled.  Your heart still aches.  The vision of Gabriel, eyes wild and bloodshot, still haunts you.

He lives in the near West Side, where all the college students, the Greek, and Italian immigrants live and where the sport spectators, the clubbers, and market goes play.  He's got a loft in one of the many condo complexes built to attract the burgeoning group of young (well-to-do) professionals to the area.  You wonder how he can afford such a place - they start at $175,000 and the sky's the limit from there.  You want to ask, but you think better of it. 

You've made another good choice.

You wonder if you'll ever see him again.  When you figure out that he's not the type to give up so easily, you wonder if you'll ever be able to truly escape him...if he'll allow you to live peacefully.

He said you belonged to him...that he'd put you in your place.

You sigh, wondering why you arrived in the middle of this waking nightmare.

To distract yourself, you drink in your surroundings.  This apartment...doesn't seem like much of an apartment.  It's sparsely furnished - there's a couch, and a tv on a stand, but that's it.  You get the feeling that he doesn't come home very much.  Whenever you walk, the sound echoes everywhere.  You sneeze much more than you should.  Gray dust bunnies devour your shoes.

You can't help but wonder about this thug's lifestyle, but still, anywhere is better than that platform.

"If I knew you were coming, I'd have cleaned up."  There is no mistaking his sarcasm.  Still, you wince at how direct he is.  He pulls no punches, and you remember that it's a point of contention between you two.  "You'll just have to deal with it."

You are in no position to argue.  You're still disoriented and in need of a quiet moment.  You just want some rest.

You make your way to the couch.  You hesitate before sitting down.  You're still unsure of everything.  Yes, you may be safe...but the thug still frightens you.  You know he won't hurt you, but there's something about him that keeps you on edge. 

Maybe it's his forcefulness. 

Maybe it's the fact that he's dressed like a thug.

Or maybe it's the feeling you have that his not exactly a squeaky-clean individual, and he definitely had reason to avoid being seen by the Police.

As valid as those reasons may be...your mind is kind enough to tell you that you are completely off.

He stands over you, looking straight into your eyes.  Your heart won't stop fluttering.

He clearly has an affect on you.

"You look like shit," he tells you flatly.  "He had something to do with it, didn't he?  That fucking bastard.  He better be glad I didn't fuck him up right then and there. But the police would have been on my ass if I did that.  The last thing I need right now is another question period."

You don't look at him.  Tears brim around your eyes, but they do not fall.  You feel only emptiness and despair.

"I told you he'd do this to you!" he spits out, voice caked in disgust and bitterness.  "I told you he'd put his hands on you again.  He has no fucking shame.  He may carry himself like he's a disciple of the Pope or some shit, but really, he's fake.  It was only a matter of time before he'd pull off some crazy shit like this.  What did he do this time?  Smack you?  Shove you against the wall? Punch and kick you in the stomach?"