Short Story I Did For One Of My Friends

“Goddamnit Ana!” The cacophony of plates shattering onto the floor echoed around the room, tears were streaming down Ana’s cheeks, and the bruises on her arms were starting to throb. She trembled, trying to keep her whimpers down as she hid in the closet, while she watched Derek in a fit of rage. She crossed her arms and prayed that God would rescue her from this beast, this monster of a man. Another plate shattered, some cups too, Ana’s favorite china set, and they all covered the floor. The fragments glinted, reflecting the anger in Derek’s expression, and the horror in Ana’s eyes. It wouldn’t be long before he came into the closet looking for more objects to break. He stormed off into the next room and what was in actuality a few minutes seemed like hours as Ana stayed as quiet as she could, waiting for the storm to pass.

            Derek marched back, throwing open a drawer over where Ana was hiding. She could see the shadow of his figure from the slit she could peer out of. The arched back being formed as Derek bent over, opening a beer bottle off the corner of a nearby dresser. He guzzled it down, then another, and another. She watched as he calmed down, his anger no longer being fueled by the thoughts of Ana running away from him. He sat in his chair, wiped his forehead, and ran his hand through his now greasy hair, made so by the perspiration and dirt from his face. Ana stayed as quiet as she could, her heart racing, refusing to calm as she remained in the same room as him. The beads of sweat on her forehead dripped into the corner of her eye and stung. She watched him sway back and forth as he reached for another two bottles of beer.  Reaching for the sixth, he belched, swallowed it, and threw the bottle against the wall. Ana feels tempted to sob, to let out her feeling of helplessness or to scream. She repressed it. For the sake of her child, she stayed in the closet, refusing to let him harm her and her baby any longer.

            He got up and knocked his chair over. He wiped his hands on his wife-beater, so properly named, and staggered toward the door to the backyard. His steps grew softer and softer as Ana listened for the sound of a creaking door. A slam startled her but calmed her soon after. As she felt it was safe to come out, she lightly tip-toed over to the back door and locked it. With the deadbolt in place, she carefully and ever so quietly made her way upstairs. On the first step she felt dizzy, ready to pass out, but she tightened the laces around her running shoes and made her way to the master bedroom. Ana knew what she had to get to survive the next week on her own. She quickly grabbed the smallest suitcase she owned and threw in the necessities for a long walk to town. Her mother’s wedding band, pajamas, and a few clothes to keep her warm through the cold nights ahead. What little she did own fit snuggly in her second-hand suitcase. Though the house was lavished with luxurious belongings, the only pieces that resembled Ana’s existence remained in a few drawers in her bedroom.

            She tucked her hair behind her ears and head, and as she went to look in the mirror she saw herself for the first time since that dreadful morning. Her eyes were swelling up, red and dried out from the tears shed that day. Pale white skin reflected back from the spotted mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess from being whipping around so often, and the bald spots underneath, near her neck were bright red.  She reached up with her nimble fingers and bruises on her wrists were the perfect shape of where a hand once clasped. The cuts on her temples and cheeks where he hit her so often were covered with dry blood. She brought her suitcase with her into the bathroom and checked outside to see Derek in the moonlight. His body in a drunken stupor as he fell to the ground and was crawling on all fours like the animal he was.  She washed her hands and a moistened a towel in the sink and patted herself dry with no success in aiding the wounds on her face. The numbing effect of the cold water dropped the heat being given off from her skin. Terrified to look in the mirror again, she used her makeup to conceal her injuries, trying her hardest to fix her appearance to the best of her ability.

When she looked up, there had been no difference. The color was flushed from her cheeks, her eyes now swollen in their sockets from the constant rubbing and touching. She had never felt beautiful and felt at this moment, she never would be. She pulled her hair back and wrapped it in a bun.  She looked around on the table, and every now and then she glanced out the window, this time she saw Derek slithering his way to the toolshed. She knew how he was when he was sober; it was even more frightening when he was drunk. He somewhat knew his limits while he was conscientious of what he was doing, but when he drank, there were no boundaries, no difference between something being dead or alive.

            She went back to packing her things; a medicine bottle here, some bandages there, and she was sure to be careful about the way she organized her items, so as to ensure that everything would fit in the small leather case. The feeling of paranoia overcame her. She could sense something was missing as she looked around. She bent down and started fumbling through the objects under the sink, hoping to find anything she may end up needing on the trip. She heard a slight knocking on the downstairs door, but assumed it had been a neighborhood cat. She knew her husband, how slow he became once the alcohol poisoned his mind. She had a sense of control. That everything was going to be okay once she left this morbid excuse for a home.

            Footsteps came running up the stairs, loud thumps progressed and a thud on the floor followed. Ana looked outside and Derek was gone. He was near the top of the stairs, she could feel it. She closed the door and locked it, throwing her toiletries into her suitcase as fast as she could there was a loud rapping on the door. He found her.

            “Ana! Open the goddamn door Ana! I wannaseeyou. Open the fuckin-door!” The bangs got harder as he pounded his fists on the wood. She panicked and threw open the window. She tossed her suitcase out and saw it fall with a dull thud to the ground. The bangs grew into misguided kicks in the door. The sound of a shotgun firing was all that registered in Ana’s mind. She wrapped one leg around the windowsill and then another. She lowered herself onto the garage off to the side, beneath her. She dropped down and then again onto the wet grass. She grabbed her suitcase and ran as fast as her weak body would take her, into the forest that surrounded their Victorian estate. The swampy feel of the lagoon nearby thickened the air and made it worse for her to breath despite her fragile condition. She had the will power to make it to town, at least to seek help from her old friend Mary. She reached the fence when-

SHICK-SHICK… CHOOM!

            She stopped in her tracks long enough to recognize the noise. She knew the sound of that shotgun and the blast it makes before it finds its victim. She hurried. Her mind was racing,

What am I to do? Where am I to go? If I go to Mary’s he’ll find us. What if he hurts her too? I can’t  lead him to her. Who knows what he’ll-

            She tripped over the roots of a tree. Her side hit the tree and she whimpered out in pain. She lay on her side. Grasping her now bruised ribs, she forced herself to get up and keep moving. She could no longer hear the sound of her husband chasing after her. The sense of relief overwhelmed her as she treaded through the night.

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