Every Breath You Take (26 page)

Natalie. Running for the phone on top of the rickety card table, gasping as she realized it was dead, knowing Joey must have cut the wires. Realizing the only way to save them was to leave, to try and get to a neighbor for help. She ran for the door, halted by the grisly pas de deux unfolding in front of her.

Joey and Dennis. One thrusting forward, one dipping back.

Joey. Getting the upper hand.

Dennis. Screaming.

“N
at, you ain’t been having your monthly, have you?”

She froze as he hovered above her, momentarily forgetting the cold that had been creeping up on her the past few days. She tried to think of something, anything to say as he stared at her, poised to test out whether he’d sufficiently rebounded from his injury. The past few weeks had been tranquil, providing her mind and body with a much-needed respite from the relentless pounding, the grunting, his sweat sliding across her cheekbones, pooling in her collarbone.

He’d announced that morning it was time to resume their normal “lovemaking.” She’d wanted to choke on the biscuit he was feeding her, wanted to hurl a blob of that wet, pasty flour out of her mouth and straight onto his face. Instead, she’d simply nodded and murmured “okay,” bracing herself for the tears. None came. Perhaps she had no more tears to give.

The befuddled look on his face as he stared down at her sent her into a panic. It was true she was steadily gaining weight, which didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Shirt buttons strained across her engorged breasts, the snaps of her pants dug into the fleshy part of her stomach. Joey was priding himself on “fattening her up,” and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up this charade. What would he do if he found out she was pregnant? Lately she’d begun to hope if she could at least get far enough along, she could avoid his trying to force a miscarriage; she certainly didn’t see him carting her to the doctor’s office for prenatal care.

“What do you mean?”
Play dumb
.

He rolled away from her, temporarily distracted. “It’s just that all these times we been together, you ain’t had your monthly. How come?”

“Yes, I have,” she said quickly. “Why would you think I haven’t?”

He rubbed his bottom lip, his eyes narrow. “You sure?”

“Oh, I may have missed a period or two, it happens when you’re stress—” she stopped herself.

“What you been stressed about?”

“I was just talking about the days when you were sick, that’s all. I was worried about you.”

He smiled and latched on to her once again. “Missed me, huh? Missed me making love to you like a real man. Not like those pretty boy bastards.”

“Yes, Joey. That’s right.”

She winced as he nudged his scaly lips against her neck and pinched her nipples, praying the white liquid she’d been seeing the past few days wouldn’t come squirting out. They behaved and he pushed into her with wary precision, seemingly satisfied with her explanation. She slid out of her body and huddled in the corner.

She wouldn’t be able to keep him in the dark much longer.

S
he was sleeping.

He stared down at her for a few minutes, listening to the soft flutters of her breath. He caressed her cheek for a few minutes, but she never stirred, drowning in a deep sleep.

He walked into her bathroom and flung the cabinets open, his eyes immediately falling to the box of tampons and pads he’d put in almost as an afterthought when he was setting up the house. You didn’t grow up with two older sisters and not hear the hushed, embarrassed giggles about “cycles” and “cramps” and “bloated” once a month.

He ran his finger across the top.

The seal was unbroken.

She hadn’t been missing any periods. She hadn’t been
having
any periods. Why wouldn’t she tell him? Why would she keep something like this from him?

He wandered into the bedroom and stared down at her sleeping form curled beneath the beige
doo-vay
, as he heard her call it once. She’d always been skinny like a toothpick, his mama used to always say. Daddy said not to worry; once she started having babies, she’d fatten up.

Babies.

Could she be. . .?

He was about to flip the covers back to check for himself when her eyes popped open. She shrank away from him, her eyes wild for a second, before slipping into blankness.

“Joey. What are you doing?”

He crossed his arms and started to pace, never taking his eyes off her.

“Joey?”

“You pregnant, Nat?”

“What? No, I’m not pregnant. Why would you think that?”

“You ain’t been having no monthly. I checked, Nat. I checked the boxes. Those boxes ain’t been used since you got here.”

“Joey, I—”

“Why you lying, Nat, huh? Why?”

“Joey, please—”

He lunged for her but for the first time, she was able to outrun him, flinging herself into the bathroom and locking the door.

“You can’t hide from me, Nat. I know you’re pregnant.”

“Go away!” she screamed from behind the door, her voice muffled. “Leave me alone.”

He raised his hand to pound the door once more when he stopped and stepped back, his palms facing away from him. He knocked against the door with his knuckle.

“All right, Nat. All right. That’s how you want to play this, then okay. That’s how we’ll play this.”

I
t was quiet.

Growing up in Zach and Cheryl’s house, she craved quiet. The clatter of smashed bottles, drunken ramblings, and strings of incoherent expletives would play on a broken loop from morning to night, all day, every day. An uninterrupted thought was a luxury. The chirp of a bird outside your window was a foreign, though lovely, sound. Living alone, she got the peace and quiet she’d so desperately desired.

This was a different kind of quiet. This was creepy, maddening quiet. An uncertain kind of quiet that kept her locked in the bathroom for who knew how many hours now, afraid of what she might find on the other side of the door. Would he be standing there, ready to dig his fingers into her windpipe? Would he lunge for her, a sharp, shiny knife glued to his hand, ready to plunge it into her baby?

Natalie shuddered and continued to rock back and forth on the cold tile, her knees crammed into the crooks of her elbows. How long could she wait him out?

Her head flipped up at the soft knock at the door. Her heart was banging against her chest. She started to inch backward.

“Hey, Nat. Nat? Baby, I’m sorry I lost my temper. You been in there most of the day and I just . . . I shouldn’t have done that. Really. Why don’t you come out and talk to me. Please?”

She sat still, her breath filling the room.

“Okay, listen, I’m gonna go out and get on the treadmill for a little bit, so you just come out when you’re ready, okay? I’m just gonna leave you alone.”

Natalie stayed in her position, wishing she could hear the retreat of footsteps or the beeping of the door to indicate his exit from the room. Keeping her breath slow and steady, she started to crawl across the bathroom floor until she reached the door. She pushed herself up, opened the door a crack, and held her ear to it.

Silence.

She took a few more deep breaths and opened the door all the way before stepping into the room.

Nothing.

Natalie tiptoed toward the closet, pushing it open with one hand while jumping backward in case she needed to bolt for the bathroom again.

Empty.

Her breath slid away from her in a long, silent stream as she looked around the room, still expecting the boogeyman to leap out from the corner.

H
e set the breakfast tray down in front of her and smiled.

She rubbed her forehead and stared at him. She looked tired. Dark half-moons ringed the bottom of her eyes, her mouth was rimmed in a feathery white ring, and a few wiry sprigs of grey jutted out from one temple.

He didn’t say anything as he stirred the lumpy, steaming bowl of grits before holding up a spoonful. He blew on it, then held it to her mouth.

She resumed staring at him, her face drooping with the hint of a scowl. “What is that?”

He just smiled and pointed the spoon toward her mouth. Reluctantly, she leaned forward and took the mound of white grains into her mouth, chewing carefully before finally swallowing. He kept feeding her, not saying a word, still smiling as he spoon-fed her every bite.

He let her slurp down the last of the orange juice before taking the cup from her and setting the tray down on the floor. He leaned forward to let his chin drop into the palm of his hands and stared at her.

“What is it, Joey?”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“So, Joey, I don’t think you told me what movies we were going to watch today.”

He continued to stare at her.

“Joey, is something wrong?”

He smiled and leaned even closer. He could see she was getting frustrated, which made him laugh.

He could do this all day.

She started to edge her way out of the bed, and he sprang up to block her. “I have to go to the bathroom, Joey.”

He smiled and stepped aside to let her pass. She started to scurry in the direction of the bathroom, and he ran after her, throwing his hand up to keep her from closing the door. She stood in front of him.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she said, her teeth clenched.

He leaned against the doorjamb and gestured toward the toilet. She looked at him, the toilet, and back at him again before she crossed her arms over what he suddenly realized was her ample chest.

She was so beautiful.

“Go away,” she said.

He pointed to the toilet again.

He could see the anger churning inside her as she contemplated what to do. Use the bathroom or try to run past him back into the bedroom and possibly wet (or shit) herself? Which humiliation would be worse?

She let out an anguished cry, plunked herself down on the closed toilet lid, and started to rock back and forth. “Why can’t you just go away? Why won’t you leave me alone? For the love of . . . I can’t . . . I can’t. . .”

She trailed off into hiccupping sobs, her face burrowed in the crook of her arm as she refused to look at him. He, however, never took his eyes off her. He wanted to comfort her, sweep her into his arms, shower her with kisses and love and affection.

That would have to wait. She had to learn to tell the truth.

She cried for at least twenty minutes before she finally pulled down her pants and went to the bathroom, a mighty rush of water pouring out of her. She finished and washed her hands, never looking at him as she mashed crumpled balls of tissue against her face to dry her tears.

He allowed her to brush past him back into the bedroom and he followed her as she sat down on the bed. He resumed his perch on the folding chair, calmly crossing his legs and watching her.

“What are you doing, Joey? What the hell are you doing?”

She let out a soft grunt and flopped down on the bed before popping back up. He followed suit as she started for the closet. She changed her mind and dove for him.

“Stop staring at me, stop following me, just stop—”

He let her beat her fists against his chest, trying hard not to laugh at her agitation. She was so cute when she got all riled up like this. Just like a little girl having a temper tantrum after losing her lollipop.

Natalie finally stopped her assault on him and dropped back down onto the bed, turning her back toward him. He lifted up the chair and moved it around to the other side of the bed until he was looking into her eyes once again.

She burst into tears.

He followed that Jason dude once.

Two Saturday mornings in a row, he tried to follow him, only getting as far as the coffee shop down the street and the dry cleaners around the corner. He’d return home, emerging a few hours later from the underground parking garage on the side of his building, leaving a fuming Joey with just a glimpse of him through the grayish tint of the window of his blue BMW.

But this particular Saturday morning, he was ready for him.

He tailed them the night before to a bowling alley attached to a movie theater. She was terrible, not being any kind of an athlete. Smart, but no athlete. Not that he was one to talk with the floppy spools of fat and hambone thighs he’d carried around for the better part of his twenty-eight years. He was the Kid Picked Last: dodgeball, kickball, softball. His balls would probably go in the gutter, too.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them together. There’d been dinner dates. Lunch dates. Movie dates. Drink dates. Dates, dates, dates.

But this . . . this told a different story. That dude was always snatching at her: pulling her in to kiss him, slapping his hand against her booty, rubbing her neck or her back. Like a goddang octopus. And she let him. Every single thing he wanted to do to her, she let him. He’d never seen her let any man grab all over her like that, not even that Dennis dude. What was so m-effing special about this dude? And that nickname. Scotty. That was about the most damn ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

She wasn’t with him as he bounded out the door early the next morning to the coffee shop. A grand-ay something or other for him (four orange and white packets of sugar, one coffee creamer cup), a grand-ay green tea for her (no sugar), and two flaky, fruity pastries.

It wasn’t until mid-morning that the familiar blue BMW barreled up the ramp. This time, he was ready and waiting in his rental, not wanting to take the chance of anyone seeing and remembering his car. He raced to keep up with the BMW as it maneuvered through the clogged veins of the city. He dropped her off at her apartment but not before getting out of the car to slobber all over her before letting her go, a gooey smile on his face as he watched her disappear behind the glass doors of her building.

He got on the Edens Expressway, exiting at one of the suburbs and stopping into a decrepit barber shop for a haircut, which was really an hour of trash-talking with the crowd of men about “the game” and “the players” and “the president” and “the economy” before swinging back around to “the game.” Then he stopped at a nearby dilapidated basketball court where he met with his buddies for a game of two-on-two. Joey sat in his rental car watching the effortless way he interacted with these other men. He was popular. People wanted to be around him. Not like him. He never had friends. Flynn had been the best friend he ever had, which wasn’t saying much.