M A D I E

October Twenty-Seventh

Five

"She went and stood at an open light window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below.

All of the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage.

She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet, half-darkness which met her moods."

-The Awakening, Kate Chopin

—

"Bren, what are your demons?" I whispered.

I'd bared my soul to this boy, and now I wanted to know his. We'd already dived deep into unknown territory—which I honestly wasn't letting myself think about at the moment—and I didn't think there was any going back.

He rested beside me, wearing my Highland High School soccer sweatshirt and loose black shorts. Soft music played in the background. Bren had tossed one of Nessa's records on her turntable before crawling in next to me. I recognized the melody, but I couldn't place it. It was soothing, though.

He was soothing. He was...God. I didn't have words to describe Bren Hadaway. But I knew there was no denying my attraction to him any longer, no denying the intensity of my feelings when I'd seen him walk into my room earlier. I'd acted with abandon, but I didn't regret it yet.

I knew I would.

His eyes were on the ceiling, but Bren was listening. I stared up as well. To be honest, I could nearly imagine there were a thousand stars above us, and we were far from this place. Because that was how magic worked, right?

I thought he wasn't going to answer. But then he said, "I watched my parents die."

My breath extinguished, and the air between us stilled. Bren said the words so quietly, so softly, but his expression was hard. I didn't see grief or sadness, but I saw acute loss and real pain. Part of me understood, and the other part of me broke for him.

He whispered again into the darkness. "I was sixteen and pretty alone. I didn't have a lot of friends because we moved a lot growing up. I knew a lot of people, but not a lot of people knew me. I played soccer, of course, and sometimes I hung out with the guys from the team. But it wasn't the same thing as having true friends."

He paused. I didn't want to interrupt, didn't want him to stop talking.

"I think some people thought I was weird. You know, being that kid with dead parents and in special ed classes. But even though I wasn't the smartest, I think I knew more than any of them. I think I know more than a lot of people, honestly."

He twisted his head to the side, looking at me. His hair was dry now, and I longed to push it out of his brown eyes. But I didn't, tucking my hand closer to my own body instead. When he spoke, his voice was flat. "You learn a lot about life after you see it leave someone's eyes."

"What have you learned?" I didn't think I've ever wanted to know something more.

"Nothing good."

"Bren," I urged. "Tell me."

He sighed, turning back to look at the ceiling. "Let's see...I learned how to survive but not how to live. I learned that only the lucky people get to do both. I learned that cigarettes only kill you if you don't want them to."

I was quiet for a long moment before whispering back to him. "Do you think maybe we could be lucky, Bren?"

"I think you could be anything you wanted, Madie."

"I think you could, too."

His lips drew into a line. It was faint, but I saw it. I didn't say anything else after that. The room was quiet, and at some point, I drifted into a state of semi-consciousness.

The only time that Bren touched me during the night was when he thought I was sleeping. His arms wrapped under my back, lifting me from the futon to carry me to my bed. A finger brushed against my cheek. Then he covered my bare legs with my daisy comforter before laying back down across the room.

The only time that Bren touched me was to move me further away from him.

When I woke in the morning, he was gone. Nessa never returned either, which was undoubtedly for the best. She sent me a text not to worry, and so I didn't.

A part of me had been worried about what would happen when Bren left. I was concerned that my awakened state would fall dormant without his burning presence. But the fire—the thousands of fires within—didn't leave.

I needed to talk to Quinton. Last night had created an urgency within me. What happened between Bren and I was perhaps the worst form of cheating. I should feel guilty, embarrassed—any number of feelings—but I didn't. Because I realized what Quin had been keeping from me.

And I wanted it back. I needed it back right now. Nothing else suddenly mattered.

"Hey, baby," he said as he opened the door to his room. His blonde hair was tousled from sleep, and his eyes were laden with it as well. I slid inside and watched his muscles flex through his white t-shirt as he closed the door behind me. "I've been worried about you," he said as he ran a hand over his tired face.

I took a deep breath and looked about the room, happy to see that Max was nowhere to be seen. I threw my purse and phone on Quinton's bed and turned toward him. "You have?"

'Yeah," he said, lifting a hand to cup my face. His touch and the look in his eyes comforted me, tugged at me. I tried to push that feeling away. "I feel like you've been distant, Madie."

"I think we have been distant, Quinton. Not just me."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Somehow I managed to look him in the eye when I replied. The nostalgia that used to overwhelm me when I caught his gaze was still there, but I felt detached from it. "Things have been different for a while. You know this."

Quinton shook his head and rubbed his thumb over the corner of my mouth. "It's just a rough patch. It'll get better, Madie. I'll get better."

"You've..." I drew a breath—and so much more—from within. "You've hurt me, Quin." I rubbed my wrists absentmindedly.

His face broke, and he dropped his hand. "You know I never meant to hurt you, Mads. I know I have to be better for you. I just...I just need help."

"You do," I agreed, briefly closing my eyes to shut out the look in his. "But I don't think I can help you."

He stepped back abruptly. "What do you mean?"

Moisture made my vision blurry. "I don't think I can do this with you acting the way you have been. I loved you, Quinton. But I can't love this version of you. It's been months now that you've been this way. God—" A hand flew up, covering my mouth to catch a sob as I realized, truly realized, how long he'd been breaking off pieces of me.

"You mean after four years, you're just going to leave me? You're going to leave me when I need you the most." He said the words in a deadpan.

"Don't," I muttered lowly. "Don't do that, Quinton. You need professional help, someone to talk to about your anger."

"No, Madie," he pleaded with his whole expression. "I need you."

I shook my head, not being able to say anything. In the silence between us, my phone chimed. Quinton's face abruptly twisted.

He lunged around me, grabbing the phone before I could stop him. I stared, horrified, as Quinton read whatever text had shown up on the screen. Quin's stillness was hard to interpret, but the look on his face when he lifted his head to mine was not. He shoved the phone into my hands.

"Read it."

I hated that my voice shook as I read Bren's text. "I'm sorry, Madie," it read.

The tears that had gathered in my eyes fell, and I wasn't sure if it was because of the betrayed look on Quinton's face or the betrayed feeling that flooded me from the next part of Bren's text. "Last night went too far."

Quinton grabbed the hand holding my phone, his fingers pressing into the fading bruises around my wrist.

"This is why you're trying to leave me, isn't it?" he spat. He was seething now, and I supposed I couldn't blame him. I was equally mad when I'd heard about that girl he'd kissed.

I couldn't lie. "Partly. But not because of what you think, Quin," I pleaded with him.

His grip twisted, and I dropped my phone with a gasp. It might have cracked on the floor; I couldn't be sure. My gaze didn't leave Quinton's face and the tortured, twisted look that I had put there.

"Quinton, please." My voice was strained—as broken as Quinton's expression. "Just listen to me."

"No," he snapped. I fought for breath as his other hand flew up and grabbed a fist full of hair. His fingers seized my roots as he jerked, yanking my head back so I was forced to stare up.

I'd never felt a pain so intense, never felt so immobilized than I was. There was a ripping sensation, tearing down from my scalp and through my heart. More tears sprung to my eyes.

Quinton didn't care. "I knew I couldn't trust him," he said through gritted teeth.

"Quin." I winced with the pain. I knew it was on my face; I knew he could see it. Quinton was separating the skin on my head from the bone. I was sure of it. And yet, with the pulling, there was also a pressing—a pressing of a thousand tiny needles into my scalp. "You're hurting me, Quin," I gasped.

"You're hurting me, Madie," he breathed in a disquieted voice, and I thought he might let me go from his grip. But no. The excruciating tightening began to worsen, and I cried out, instinctively flailing out at him, pushing at his face, pulling at his hand to get him to let go.

But it was no use, the pain only worsening with every movement I made.

I was forever in his grip and at his mercy.

"Did you honestly think you could leave me like this, Madie?" His mouth twisted in the harshest grimace.

My head hit the wall.

And a thousand tiny stars turned into a thousand fires that were extinguished into nothing.

—
October Twenty-Seventh

Zero

"But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars.

They jeered and sounded mournful notes without promise, devoid even of hope.

She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro down its whole length, without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her.

Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there, she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture.

Not a mark upon the

little

         glittering

                     circlet. "

-The Awakening, Kate Chopin

🖤

To release the hands on someone pulling your hair, you actually need to press their fist into your scalp. This will force their knuckles to open and release, and their grasp should lessen. Or at least try to grab your roots to stabilize them. Not what Madie did, obviously.
Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Ps the most dangerous time for a victim of partner violence is when they tried to leave.

The fact that Madie seemed to believe she could just walk away says something, I think.

Should she have lied about Bren having something to do with it?