The Awkward Love Song of Abigail Archer

Chapter Eight

“Then I’ll escort you—”

She flinched. “No! If you come inside you’ll only make it worse. I’ll get what I need and come right out.”

Another shrill...

“Abigail—”

“Please, Marcus.”

The fragile sound of his name on her lips gave him pause and flamed a fire within him. Still, he didn’t move. Not when, with every passing second, there was another scream, another curse, another slam, another shatter. Abigail meant to appear calm, but her tight breaths betrayed her. Drinking in each of her shuddering breaths, Marcus remained planted, a firm barrier between safety and hell.

Her voice pulled him from turmoil. “I need to go now. I’ll be quick then we’ll talk. Wait here.” It wasn’t a question. Words being of little use, and being physically unable to reach and prevent her from going, Marcus could only watch her slip away between him and the wall.

“Why?”

Abigail slid her key into the lock. “Why what?”

Another curse.

He walked to her. “Why do you stay here? Isn’t there someplace else you can go? Anywhere seems better than here. Surely you can see that. I can’t fathom why you willingly choose to stay in a place where you’re obviously not safe, where you’re scared.” He moved closer to her, closer than what was wise. “You don’t need to go in there. Why not leave them to their hell and find somewhere else? It isn’t that hard.”

She didn’t answer for a while. Then, “You speak from experience?”

Remembering the nights he spent as a boy looking out into the night sky as screams and thrown property resounded from inside his home, Marcus swallowed. Regardless of how spacious the house might have been, his mother’s screams were unmistakable, as were the bruises in the morning.

He raked a hand through his hair as the symphony inside climaxed. His throat dried. “I do, and I stayed only to find that nothing ever changed. Things might get better for a few days before something sets him off, and then it all starts again. It’s almost as if the reprieve was just fate winding the hours back to start the nightmare once more. Waiting or hoping they’ll change somehow—it isn’t worth it. Whatever demented world they’ve locked themselves in, you don’t have to stay.”

Her hand fell away from the inserted key and she exhaled. “You don’t get it, do you? This has nothing to do with them. Call me cold or heartless, but I could care less if they change. They’re not the reason I stay. I’ve lived here all my life. There are too many memories, from before, when…when things were different, better. It wasn’t always like this. Randy and Nancy weren’t always here. Nancy was my mother’s best friend so who better to care for me after—” Abigail cut herself off with a shake of her head. “I stay because when I’m in there, in my room, it doesn’t feel so lonely. When they’re gone, and I can walk around the apartment, it feels like home. I stay because all my memories are here and I can’t bear to leave them all behind.”

“You stay for memories? Well, that’s just ridiculous,” he snapped, unable to rid the edge from his voice as the noise inside wound itself tighter around him. “You’re letting memories, petty recollections, tie you to a miserable existence. You’re putting yourself in danger, all because you want to remember? Memories can’t protect you if that bastard lays a hand on you. Memories can’t protect you from this, from them. Really, memories? That is as foolish a thing as—” Marcus stopped himself when tears glimmered in Abigail’s eyes, reflecting the dim light in the hall. She looked down, and Marcus fought to keep from reaching for her. He couldn’t, and it hurt.