Running from Dawn chap 5

5
The kitchen was dark, the smell nearing offensive. Her mind, having reached its limit, agonized over each odor. She opened the fridge for the Midori, which Oswald obviously preferred chilled like champagne, and a streamer of light fell upon the counter. It was littered with stains: brown from coffee and red from Kool-Aid. She placed the glasses upon it.

Stella had come into the kitchen to freshen up their cocktails. Didn’t want another sip but had offered it. “Looks like we need another,” she had said, scooping up the glasses, and scooting out of the room. She didn’t want him to follow. Didn’t want to hear reasonable anymore. She understood that she had been too fast to judge him; too slow to change her mind. She had filed his silence under boredom and now considered that it had been quiet observation that had kept his tongue still. She applauded Talia for her find, however, picturing the two of them together, all high fives and laughter, words wet with empathy and encouragement. But she was way past appreciation, and she found the image nauseating.

With Midori still in hand, she turned her attention towards the drawers. Only curious, she told herself as she pulled one open, coughing loudly to cover the squeak. She really didn’t know what she was looking for but was confident it would show itself like a revelation. It was the third drawer she opened, a utensil drawer with mismatched tableware, which contained it. Buried beneath a scrawny selection of butter knives was one frail paring knife; the runt of the litter. The bitter one. She removed it with a trembling hand. What do you want with me? She asked it, like she was begging the question of an ex-boyfriend who had just appeared in her door. What do I want with you? Like she hadn’t been touched since he’d left.

Oswald’s voice broke up the reunion. ”You need help in there?” He was antsy, and the question, if left unanswered, guaranteed his physical presence.

“Uh…” She stalled, pulling away the waistline of her skirt and placing the knife flat against her skin. “No… I just spilled something…”

“Leave it!” He shouted, his command accounting for the stench.

With knife secured by the elastic, she returned to Oswald. Take it slow, she told herself, imagining the sarcastic dispatch. Failed suicide attempt a stifled laugh No, punctured thigh actually. “Here you go,” she said, bending at the knees like a shy cocktail waitress. Underneath black rayon, the knife shifted. Her hand shot down to keep it in place. “I Have to pee,” she said suddenly and headed for the door.

She closed the door hard behind her and threw the lock. “Fuck,” she cursed under her breath. That really HURT. She was removing the knife from beneath her clothes, eyeing the spot of blood that rose from the piercing. She wiped it away and examined the skin. What am I doing? Looking around the bathroom for a safe place to stash her weapon, she found herself in the mirror. What are you DOING, Stella? She asked again, but neither one of her knew. She reached down and turned on the water, hoping the sound would buy her time. It was surprisingly soothing, smoothing out the wrinkles in her mind.

An oversized box sat in the corner behind the sink. It was a decorative tissue holder, bronze. Empty. The fake floral arrangement beside it partially blocked its opening. Stella stuffed the knife inside. Just in case…

5:43. “You alright?” Oswald asked as Stella returned to her seat. “What’d you do in there? Take a shower?” Concern punctuated his sarcasm.

“No, I didn’t shower.” She insisted, her reply too literal for the question. Of course you didn’t, Stella.

“I know. I was only kidding,” he paused, studying the wet spots in her armpits, her pasty skin. “But you were in there for a while… like 10 minutes…” He was probing.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sick. Just needed to splash my face and sit for a bit.” She was scratching the back of her knee. Red tally marks appeared in her flesh.

“Alright,” he said, standing. He stopped and looked at her again, then crossed the room and opened the door on the far end. From where she sat, she could see the corner of a bed, a plant beyond it, a curtain. He turned again before entering, “Hey. It’s been almost an hour,” he pointed towards the charger coiled on the table. “And I’m not gonna lie, Stella, you’re making me a little nervous.” He waited for a retaliation but there was none. “I wish you would check your messages, call your husband, do something. Get it over with. I swear it’s the not knowing that’s killing you.”

Her heart skipped like she had been found out. Then, realizing that he was speaking figuratively, she spoke. “Okay. I just need a minute.”

He turned to enter the room and said, “And, Stella, if you don’t, I will.” He closed the door behind him.

Stella leaned down and opened her pack. Well, there they are, she said to herself, touching the filter of each like she was knighting them. She swiped one out and lit up. She closed her eyes and saw Autumn before her. Why did you do it? she asked the face that was wet with tears. Was it your way of winning? She saw the shotgun between her knees, let herself feel the cold cement against bare neck. Was it your final blow? Let herself hear the lonely leaves scraping across the walk outside, heard the jagged breathing of two people in fear. Or were you saving him? She reached out to hold Autumn’s hand but there was nothing but air. Stella’s skin hung heavy with sadness as her eyes found the narrow window on the wall. It wasn’t light yet, but the color in it was far thinner than black. Dawn was done waiting. Time’s up. She inhaled the last of her cigarette and crushed it in the ashtray.

Stella had reached the doorway as Oswald emerged from his bedroom, a clean shirt in hand. 5:48 flashed beside his ear. In pilled flannels and lightly stained t-shirt, he extended his arm. “I grabbed this for you.”

She quietly nodded, words piling up against her tongue. “Here.” She passed him the last cigarette, “and for you.” She left him with both items in his arms.

It had been so long since she had cut or burned. Ages since she had done anything but pamper the skin that held her together. But here she was again with knife in hand. The years of departure hadn’t stopped her from indulging in the drink, opening her legs to another man, or letting her secrets flow so freely. And with all of those old flames rekindled, what’s stopping you now?

She pressed the flat of the blade against her moon scar. It was cold first, then sharp as she turned it inward and made one small slit. The sting brought tears, and she let them fall onto her arm and dance in her blood. She felt peace.

“Stella?” a knock at the door.

It’s just like bloodletting, she told herself, body aching to purge itself of failure.

“Hey, Stella?” the door shook.

Failed daughter out one arm. Failed wife out the other.

“STELLA!” the door threatened to cave. “Please!”

Her tired body slid down the cabinet.

“I LOVE YOU!” the door throbbed in its frame, promising to unhinge.

She ran the tip lengthwise up a quaking arm. I can’t save us both. The cut segregating virgin flesh from scarred.

“It says ‘I LOVE YOU!’” The door exploded, and there stood Oswald, sweaty from effort.

Stella slumped. Her bloody hand dropped the knife. The bathroom, illuminated in the morning light, was the color of forgiveness.

Oswald dropped to his knees, kissed her forehead. “Oh my god, Stella…” He said, surveying the mess. “One message!” He stroked her hair. “There was ONE GODDAMN MESSAGE.” Took her limp hand in his. “Just ‘I love you.’”




Woozy. Stella let the early morning breeze whisper sweetness into her ear as her cab sped along to the airport. She thought about a lifetime of misery, how happiness seemed only to be an intermission. She thought about the long hours of the night, of how she was wedged between the dread of it ending and the desire for it to be done. She thought about in the course of one short hour, confusion had become resolution, and her decision was made.

With one arm swathed in clean tee, she watched sideways as trees, vacant lots, and signs buzzed by her. Sick. She had never been sicker. Scared? Never more terrified. She caught sight of a billboard that beamed with sandy beach and blue ocean. Are you happy? It asked. Never happier.