A Writer's Death

two

"All right, talk to you later, D. Love you," Arilyn hung up her phone and shut the apartment door behind her.

"Talking to Daveed again?" Gabe asked, startling her as she took off her shoes. She took a breath and centered herself, trying to keep from falling over as one of her feet hovered in the air. She gave a hesitant chuckle as she finished pulling off the tennis shoe.

"Yeah. He hates me taking the subway, always wants to make sure I make it home okay."

"Mm. That's my job, worry about you." He said point-blank as he flipped through Netflix.

"He just cares, Gabe."

"Maybe too much, though."

"What's that mean," she crossed her arms, eyeing the beer can on the side table. It was almost guaranteed a safe bet that it hadn't been his first, even though it was hardly six o'clock. Gabe put down the remote and looked back at her, challenging her gaze.

"It means you're my girl and I want him to back off. And what the fuck's this," he gestured at her before grabbing the can and pressing it to his lips. After swallowing, he continued, "Are you wearing his shirt," Gabe stood, walking toward her with slow, intimidating steps. Every pace he took, she matched backward, until she was a step away from the door. He grabbed at the sleeve of Daveed's shirt with disgust in his eyes. Arilyn could smell the beer on him. He probably hadn't even shown up to work during the day.

"I spilled on mine. I'm gonna give it back to him tomorrow. It doesn't mean anything, Gabe." She told him gently. Maybe she still had time to talk her way out of whatever trouble was brewing. "Look, I can go change right now, okay?"

"Nah, you don't tell me what's gonna happen, Arilyn. You can tell me it doesn't mean anything as many times as you tell him you love him," he spat, shoving on her shoulder. Her body slammed into the door, and she winced, her hand going up to rub at her head. He grabbed her wrist, holding it tight.

Just breathe, she told herself as she closed her eyes.

"I don't mean it that way, Gabe. I've never felt that way for him."

"Shut up," he yelled, and before either of them even had time to blink, his fist contacted her skin.

"Ah," she gasped, her fingers curling in, her nails pressing into the skin of her palms. "Please, Gabe -"

"You're sleeping on the fuckin' couch. And I better not hear one word from you for the rest of the night. Go shower and change."

The rest of the night passed slower than molasses. When Gabe finally went to bed, Arilyn finally felt like she could breathe, but that didn't make the minutes pass by any faster. It was a sleepless night. Every noise in the building seemed a hundred times louder. Had Mrs. Goranson upstairs gotten yet another cat to run around and disturb all her neighbors?

Finally, seven-thirty came, and she could justify leaving the apartment. She snuck into the bedroom to grab some clothes (and a spare set, she made sure of it) and then went to the bathroom to change. It was in her favor that Gabe had blacked out. Though she was gonna be pissed if he skipped work, rent was hard enough to pay as it was. In the bathroom, she looked at her bruises – not only the big one around her eye but also the purple fingerprints on her wrist. Her hoodie could cover those, thankfully. She went to work with her makeup, slathering concealer, foundation, and eyeshadow on to hide the mark.

She texted Daveed after locking the apartment door and starting down the hall.

'U up yet?'

'yeah.' He replied quickly. She was surprised – had she really accidentally altered his schedule that much?

'coffee?'