Fighting for Arielle (22 page)

                           
Me:
I love you to the moon and back.

                           
McCrary:
I love you to infinity
.
 

                          
 
Me
:
I love you to infinity, plus one.

McCrary:
You can’t have more than infinity.  That never ends.  It is impossible to have more than infinity.

Me:
And I’ll always have one more on top of that.  Quit arguing with me and get to having fun.

McCrary:
Ok…but I’m right you know.  I love you the most.

Me:
And I’ll always have one more on top of that.
 


C
loaked in the warmth I feel when I think of being in his safe arms, looking into his sincere eyes, listening to his captivating brain, and basking in the warmth of his loving smile, I literally dance to my car and back to my apartment.  

What I didn’t expect is that all
of the hope, feelings of peace, and joy that combine to provide me with such heavenly warmth, would cease.  My stomach drops into a boundless pit and is replaced with a harsh coldness as I come face to face with a monster, whom I have never in my life encountered.

McCrary

M
y small group of buddies and I chat about various things- the military, where we’ve been stationed before, life before marriage, life after marriage, and what we will do upon retirement.  Most of these guys are married and guys that I’ve either met at various points in my career or through mutual friends.  I am not really close to any of them, but I do have a great deal of respect for all of them.  They’ve been leaving their wives and, for some of them, their children behind for various assignments and deployments for years.  Prior to now, I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to love someone so much that it physically pains me to leave them.  There is a tacit rule among fellow sailors and service members alike that you don’t talk about how much you miss your family and loved ones; however, the pain and difficulty shows in everyone’s faces as the vessel pulls away from the pier or as the plane begins to taxi away from its gate.  Now, I know I will be one of those same men and women with the strained look on their face, swallowing down fears and sadness, and focusing on getting their job done so that they can return back home to the loving arms they left so long ago.             

I smile as I listen to them talk about the milestones their kids have reached.
 I laugh as they tell of outrageous rants and fights with their spouses, but the love and respect they have for their significant others is evident in both their facial expressions and their tones of voice.  Since I’ve met Arielle, I finally understand the mutual respect and unspoken rules that people hold for their significant others; how you can laugh at seemingly ludicrous things you’ve argued and fight over, such as which way to put toilet paper on the roll.  Even when retelling these events, the married men convey a certain love and appreciation for wives’ idiosyncrasies, as opposed to putting them down or holding them in contempt.

I take my phone out of my pocket and realize that Arielle never responded to my last text.
 It’s not a totally foreign concept that she doesn’t get in the last word, but not highly probable.  

I type out a pun to make her smile and press send.

You set my heart ablaze and now it’s toast.

I chat and sip on my beer some more, trying to ignore the sinking feeling that has been lurking aro
und all day.  After just a few minutes, I still have not received a response.  

I decide to ask a direct question.

Are you still in the bath tub?
 If so, I imagine you’ve shriveled up into a prune by now.  You might want to think about getting out, because if transforming into a soft, wrinkly mass was the surprise you had planned, you might be a little disappointed in my response.  :)

It is unlike her not to respond, but perhaps she’s playing the piano or listening to loud music.  

After a few minutes, I text again.

Ok, I give...  What are you really doing?

When I do not hear from her, yet again, I begin to worry.
 I’ve never been one to jump to conclusions or become easily disturbed about much.  I tend to look for logic in all situations.  Perhaps she just fell asleep.  Just in case, I excuse myself, pay my tab, and try to call her phone on my way to my Jeep.  It rings and goes to voicemail.  Keeping my head cool and logical, I decide to text one more time as I head over to my house, driving a little more swiftly than normal.

I’m on my way home.  Can’t wait to climb into bed with you.  I love you and I’m so proud of you.

I open my garage door and see Arielle’s SUV is not there.  The worry I’ve been trying to still is presenting itself, growing in intensity with each passing moment.  Just to be sure, I walk through the house and don’t see anything out of the ordinary.  I am startled when I hear Arielle’s phone chime and light up on my bed.  Picking it up, I see she has some missed texts and a missed call from me, a couple of missed texts from Macy, and a missed call from Brody.  

Reading those letters makes me realize some of my worst fears.
 My throat feels constricted, as if tons of bricks are laying on it.  My mind begins reeling with worst-case scenarios, and for a few seconds, I am lost, almost in a panic.  I have extensive experience in high-pressure situations, but right now, I am a ball of confusion, worry, anxiety, and guilt.  I mentally slap myself and gather my wits so I can think quickly on my feet.  

I call Macy from Arielle’s phone.

“Hey hooker!  Are you ignor-”

“Macy,” I interrupt with urgency in my voice.
 “Have you seen Arielle this evening?”

“No.”
 Sensing my concern, Macy sounds worried.  “What’s wrong?  Did something happen?”

I don’t have time to e
xplain, so I get to my point.  “No.  I just got home.  She stepped out and left her phone here, but didn’t tell me she was leaving.  Do you know where she may have gone?”

“She said something about going back to her apartment really quick to grab something and pack some stuff so you could help her move them tomorrow,” Macy explains cautiously.

It is worst-case scenario time in my head.  

“Fuck!” I don’t know if I growled that or yelled it.
 “Do you know her address?”

“Yes.
 It’s 21A Radford Dr.”  She pauses.  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

I know exactly where that is.
 Elkins lives in the same complex.  

“No.
 Yes.  It’s just-,” I say quickly as I get back into my Jeep. “Look, I’m sure everything is fine, and she just forgot her phone here, but I’m going to go over there and check to see if she needs any help.”

The worry in Macy
’s voice is easily discerned.  “Do you need me to go over there?”

“No,” I shoot back quickly.
 “Like I said, I’m sure everything is fine.”

“Let me know,” Macy pleads.

“I will.  Thanks, Mace.”  I tear down the street toward Arielle’s house, telling myself the entire time that I am overreacting.

I
turn into Arielle’s neighborhood, and there are no signs of anything out of the ordinary, anywhere really.  I drive slowly and look at all of the typically uniform military housing units.  Even in the dark, I can still see the various cars, children’s toys, and lawn decor that are the only things that set each dwelling apart from another.  Radford Drive is the first street you turn on to come into the neighborhood, and it has a stillness that any other person might find to be peaceful.  I find it gives me more unease.  I drive by the unit of apartments that houses 21A and study the building’s facade carefully.  Arielle’s SUV is parked in the driveway of her unit, and I see no signs of other cars, but her garage door is closed.  The lights in the apartment are off, except for a dim light coming from a back window, as you would expect at night, or as far as I can tell.  I want to respect Arielle’s privacy and not just barge into her house, but I also need to know she’s safe.  I drive to the end of the street and turn around.  

I approach
, this time, from the opposite direction and observe no change or movement in her apartment.  I place my Jeep in park across from Arielle’s apartment, roll down my windows, and kill the engine.  Looking at her apartment and knowing that she is making preparations to move on with her life, should make me feel happy and optimistic.  Instead, I cannot shake the uneasy feeling that has been pooled in the pit of my stomach since I first heard her husband speak in my office.  If I’m being completely honest with myself, it’s a feeling that has been lingering ever since I saw the pain that he caused in Arielle’s eyes.  Because I have had this unease and protectiveness over her for quite some time, I dismiss my current worries as an overreaction to seeing first-hand the blatant disrespect and lack of appreciation that Brody has for Arielle earlier in the office.  Someone definitely needs to teach him a lesson, and I know that someone will be me when the time comes.  

I think about how Arielle is easily the most won
derful person in this universe, and I ask myself how anyone can see her graceful smile, the wonder in her eyes, and experience the fascinating way her brain works and not immediately know that she is someone who deserves more than any mere mortal can offer her.  The fact that she asks for no more than I have to offer her, makes her even more endearing.  

My thoughts of her are interrupted when I think I hear the muffled sounds of someone crying.
 My breath halts, my body stills, and I listen more intently.  Trying to hear over the sound of my heart pounding in my chest, I am almost positive I hear sobs coming from somewhere.  Although my ears cannot pinpoint the exact source of the sounds, my heart knows.  

Quickly, yet quietly, I retreat from my car and begin to stalk down the driveway toward unit 21A.
 Heat begins filling my body, traveling outboard from my sternum, only this is not a comforting heat.  This is rage.  The cries get louder as I approach the door to the unit, and I work to keep the furor coursing through me at bay.  

*****

Arielle

C
ontinuing to stand my ground and gathering my belongings, I say, “There’s nothing to talk about Brody.  We are not working.  I am miserable.  You are miserable.  It’s time for us to move on with our lives and be happy.”

I know Brody understands
my actions are serious.  I can see in his face that he recognizes he has lost control over my emotions- Over me.  In that moment, he becomes desperate, falling to his knees, crying, and telling me how much he needs me.  He tells me how sorry he is for mistreating me.  He tells me he loves me.  He pleads with me to stay, in a desperation that is not one that garners sympathy.  This is not out of repentance.  This is the final act of a man who is desperate to recalibrate his world- A man who will do anything to keep control over his life the easiest way he knows how, which is controlling me.  His overtly melodramatic actions and words make me ill and garner a response of ire as opposed to the positive one he was going for.

.
               “This is for the best,” I mutter and continue on with my task.

Brody moves into my space.
 

“What are you going to do without me?
 Do you really think you can do anything on your own?”

His statements sting a little, and I begin to cry, but I keep my resolve.

 “Move out of my way,” I say, standing up for myself.  “You don’t need me.  You don’t want me.  And I don’t need or want you.”

In quick succession, I feel the palm of his hand on my left cheek, and before I can register the pain that lingers from that, his hands are on my throat.
 He is not completely cutting off my air supply, but grasping me tightly so that I understand his physical power over me.  

“I could snap your neck in two.
 I could fucking choke you easily.  You know that?”   

Terrified, but takin
g in the reality of his words, a certain calm washes over me.  It’s an eerie sense of peace.  I know that even if he decides to do what he just threatened, I would be ultimately be okay.  I wasn’t living life before.  I know that now because I finally began experiencing life with true, unconditional love, and it’s absolutely wonderful.  I now know that even if things go awry in this very situation, Brody no longer has control over my emotions.  I no longer crumble at the sound of his voice.  Never again will I do things out of fear of his retaliation.  I know someone else wants me.  Accepts me.  Most importantly, I know that Brody doesn’t deserve me.  

Instantly, that little fire that was ignited
, so many months ago, by a small connection with someone who, at the time, I could have never imagined would become my very being, swells into an inferno.  Outmatched physically or not, it is time for me to fight back.  

“Get your hands off of me,” I say in a voice as cold as steel.
 

Brody is shocked and eases his grip some.

“Get the fuck off of me and get out of my room,” I command with a razor sharp tongue.

Brody steps back, speechless, as he is silent for what seems like an eternity.
 

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?
 You think you’re so tough and so brave?  This is all your fault, Ari.  All of this.”  

Brody’s voice is venomous.
 In the darkness of the apartment, the tone, speed, and inflection of his voice is pure evil, and something that I know I will never, ever forget.  

“I did you a favor.
 I didn’t have to marry you and give you a chance to leave.  I could’ve had much better.  You piss me off and won’t leave me alone, so I get angry.  Then, you cry like a baby because I’m so mean to you.  You’re an ungrateful, ugly bitch who deserves to be unloved.  And you know what, Ari?”  

Even through the dark, his eyes pierce me.
 

“One day you’re going to be fat, and nobody is going to love you.”