He’s there every time I close my eyes, whether it’s for a few brief seconds in between classes and work, or when my head hits my pillow for another restless night’s sleep.
I can’t escape him in daylight, either. I see him everywhere — strolling through Fort Washington park when I’m on my morning jog; on the other side of the restaurant window when I’m grabbing dinner with Felix.
It’s never him. Just another broad dude in a leather jacket.
It’ll pass, I remind myself, my optimistic side is getting stronger each day. You can’t be sad about him forever.
I slip on my uniform and tug my hair back into a neat puff, take one last sip of the lukewarm coffee on my kitchen counter before heading for the door.
Just another day working front desk at the hospital, before spending the early evening at the local library going over class notes.
Just another day post-Donnacha, in this new stage of my life.
I swing open my front door, but something is blocking me from crossing the threshold.
Something.
Someone.
One look into those cold eyes, and I know it’s going to be anything but a normal day.
“Hello, wife. Did you miss me?”
29
Violet
They say that when humans face danger, they have either a flight or fight response. Some people are fighters, some are flighters. It’s just human nature.
But I’ve got nowhere to flight to except my tiny apartment behind me.
And I’m too shocked to fight.
He looks at my slacked jaw, a smug smile spreads across his lips like a rash. Clearly, I’ve given him the reaction he was hoping for.
“How’s it going?” He asks, leaning against my door frame as if he’s waiting for a bus. He has no reason to be on high alert. He knows I’m no match for his six-foot-six frame and his mean right hook.
I wasn’t then, and I’m not now.
“J-Johnny,” I stammer, half-expecting his face to contort with confusion and tell me he’s not Johnny. That he’s not my estranged ex-husband, who, even though I haven’t seen him in over a year, still manages to pop up in my daily life one way or another.
“Surprised to see me, huh?” He cranes his neck to peer past me, before brushing me out of the way and striding into my apartment.
“Yes, I’m surprised to see you,” I hiss, “I assumed you were dead.” Not entirely true, but it had crossed my mind a good few times.
“Yeah,” he shrugs off his tatty bomber jacket and slips in onto my couch. Making himself at home in my apartment, just like he’s been doing for the last six months in my head. “Sorry about that, doll.”
Even in my stupefied state, I can’t help but wonder what I ever saw in him.
When our eyes met across a dive bar in Brooklyn all those years ago, I was mesmerized by his sandy blonde hair, emerald eyes, and cheeky grin.
But now his hair is flecked with stress-gray, his eyes are swampy, and when he smiles, I notice his teeth are chipped and stained.
He’s a million miles past the man I married.
“What do you want, Johnny?” I snap. The surprise has worn off just enough to give me my voice back.
“I wish it was to say I was here to sweep you off your feet, princess,” I shiver at the use of his nickname for me. “But that ain’t quite so.” His eyes are frantically scanning my apartment. He’s looking for something. Has he stashed something here when I wasn’t home? I wouldn’t put it past him.
“Well what, then?”
“There’s uh, a little rumor on the grapevine that you’ve wiped my debt.” He scratches the scruffy hair around his mouth, eventually settling his heavy gaze on me.
My ears burn hot. “Well, I didn’t have a choice. Your debt collectors have been knocking on my door ever since you walked out of it.”
But he’s not listening. He’s picking up cushions now, looking under them and slinging them back on the couch. They he moves to the kitchen counter, runs his filthy hands over it. “Yeah, sorry about that and all, princess. But, uh — you see, I owed quite a large figure.” His hand drops off the surface like a dead weight and he saunters in my direction. I instinctively take a couple of steps back. A habit hard to break, I guess. “To the tune of a few million dollars, if I’m to be more exact.”
Donnacha must have kept his word then, and paid off all the outstanding debts piling up on my coffee table.
“So? Is that why you’re here? To pay me back?”
His laugh comes out in a little wheeze, like he’s been smoking forty a day ever since he left. “Nah. I’m here to ask you how you could afford it?” He sweeps his unsteady hands around my apartment. “You’re not exactly living the high life.”
“What’s it got to do with you?”
“Well, you see, uh — you’ve obviously hit the jackpot, princess. What was is we said when we got married in that little church up-state?” He pretends to scratch his head with a mud-caked fingernail. “Something about for richer or for poorer—?”
“I filed for a divorce, Johnny,” I snap, “it took me ages because you weren’t around to co-sign any documents, but we’re officially no longer married.” I decide not to mention that I’m technically still married to Donnacha.
News of the divorce doesn’t wipe the smirk off of his face. “Okay. I guess we’ll call it a divorce settlement then.”
Rage burns in my gut. I want this man out of my apartment. Now. “Get to the point. What the fuck do you want?”
“I want a slice of this money, princess. Sounds like you’ve got quite a lot of it now. And I know you wouldn’t have spent it all on my debts. There’s must be plenty more where that came from.”
“Go to hell, Johnny,” I sneer. “Even if I had the money, which I don’t, you wouldn’t be getting another penny off of me.”
I storm towards the door, fling it open and clutch onto the handle for dear life. “Leave,” I bark. “Now!”
My ex-husband stares at me in silence for what feels like forever. His heavy footsteps eventually interrupt it. He’s getting closer and closer, until he’s so close I can smell the cheap beer on his breath. “You should know the drill by now, wifey. You give. Or I take.”
The blood furiously pumping around my body turns cold. He’s right. When we were together, anything I wouldn’t give him, he’d take. My money, my stuff, my body…
“I don’t have anything to give you,” I whisper, fighting the panic in my throat. “So just leave.”
Hot air hisses out of his nostrils, just like it always used to do, right before he blew up.
I just about manage to brace myself before it comes. I’m just not quick enough to get away.
His hands fly around my throat, his callouses rough and scratchy against my larynx.
“Johnny,” I gasp “Stop—”
“Last chance, wifey,” he growls, his yellowing teeth baring into a snarl. “You gonna give me some this cash or not?”
“I don’t—” Johnny’s fingers squeeze around my vocal chords, cutting me off.