Chapter 17 – This Love I Have Is Pulling Me To Death

Saturday, April 26, 2014 – Little Rock, Arkansas

Quiet.

Seven in the morning, and it was finally quiet. Mel had been waiting for this all night.

Derek had left early for work this morning because he had a meeting – thank God. She had made his lunch, packed a thermos with coffee for him, and as soon as he walked out the door, she loaded her own cup of coffee with extra sugar, just to ensure she would stay awake. Then she had headed here; outside, on her deck, at the patio table, with her mug and phone in hand.

She wished she was dead right now. She felt dead inside.

The night had been Hell. She knew going to see Chris would be bad for her. She didn't blame him for the way the confrontation had gone down; as a matter of fact, she was grateful. It finally made her feel like shit, the way she knew she should feel – the way she knew she deserved to feel.

She wished she could have at least explained the situation better to him, but unexpectedly, when she was confronted with him, she couldn't form the words she needed to make him understand that she didn't leave because she didn't love him. She couldn't tell him what happened and she knew that, because she'd be putting herself and him both in danger. But she at least hoped that he could understand, by the time she left, that it wasn't his fault. Nothing was his fault.

The concert was amazing, as she had expected it to be. She expected nothing less, knowing how big the tour was, being there during most of the planning stages. It had been the best three hours of her life for the past two months. It was no surprise that when Celine hit the stage and sang with the boys, she couldn't hold back and was bawling by the end of 'My Heart Will Go On'.

She thought she saw Chris sneak peeks her way during the song, and imagined that he was belting his heart out for her – but it may have been just wishful thinking.

She knew she shouldn't have let Gina keep her out so late. They both had smiles on their face so huge, and adrenaline pumping through their bodies so much, that by the time the show was over and they left the venue, they knew there was no way they would be able to go home and sleep, despite the fact it was almost one in the morning.

Against her better judgment, she let Gina convince her to drive the strip and go “parking” where all the high-schoolers now gathered on the weekends to drink without their parents knowing. Even so early in the morning, it was nearly empty, all the reckless teenagers dispersed to whatever house was missing parents for an “after-party”, and the two of them sat in the car with the windows down and the breeze cooling them, talking about the show and anything that crossed their minds.

She didn't walk through the door until 3:30 in the morning. And the moment she stepped foot into the house, she knew it was about to happen.

She was greeted with a push, her head banging against the wall so hard it made her ears ring and she couldn't hear right for three hours. That wasn't a problem for Derek, though; it just made him yell louder. She could smell the alcohol and stench of cigars on his breath as he was in her face, screaming so hard he spit on her.

The lamp in the living room was broken, crashing to the floor as he threw her into it and the table, all three of them landing on the floor. He wasted no time rearing back his foot to kick her.

She reached down and pulled up her t-shirt, looking at the bruise that covered her entire left side from the bottom of her breast to her waist. She winced as her stomach bended slightly with her unintentional movement.

Twenty times. That was how many times he had kicked her.

When he was done, he grabbed her arm to harshly pull her off the floor – she had a couple nice bruises in the perfect shape of fingers on her arm because of that – even as she lost her balance over the broken porcelain of the lamp and the overturned table and stumbled, landing face first against the wall.

That was when he had grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him, and only a second passed before she felt his palm land across her cheek. She heard the scream come out of her mouth, and the hit was so hard that she fell to her side, knocking her head against the bookcase.

She still had blood matted in her hair, because she was in too much pain and too scared to step foot into the shower without his approval.

The final blow was the punch to her face. It was enough to knock her unconscious.

By the time she woke up, on the living room floor, and made her way to their bedroom, she found him passed out in bed – cold, dead drunk.

She collapsed by her side of the bed on the floor, leaning against the bedside table, and cried. Her tears burned her eye where his fist had landed, but everything hurt by then. One pain was no greater than any other. Besides, the physical pain was numb compared to the emotional pain.

She only discovered the voicemail after she plugged her phone in, before she planned to carefully crawl into bed.

She had erased Chris's number from her phone a long time ago, but she couldn't erase it from her mind. The boys would be on the bus headed for Shreveport, so Addy wouldn't have their phones on her. There was a fifty-fifty chance he would be awake and answer the phone, and she didn't know if it was a chance she wanted to take – but it was a chance to tell him how she felt that she couldn't pass up.

She never expected him to return the message.

She had to carefully walk into the bathroom, shutting and locked the door behind her, in order to listen to the message.

The minute she heard “Here Without You” start to play, she collapsed to the cold linoleum floor and started to cry. It was a song they had connected to, together. And now it applied to their relationship – or lack thereof.

After crying herself to sleep, she had managed to get two hours of sleep before the alarm woke her up for the morning “routine” - make sure his clothes were laid out and he was awake, make the coffee, endure a berating for laying out the wrong clothes, endure any number of complaints about how the dishes weren't done or the laundry was backed up, make his lunch just the way he liked it, and see him off to work before finally reaching a place of peace.

She had cried a few extra tears this morning, but today she had decided to take everything out to the patio, where she sat sipping her coffee, writing in her journal, and drying away the tears.

'Seeing him again last night at the concert, how he reacted...just cements the fact that we can never be together again. What I did to him was absolutely unforgivable. I guess deep in my heart I always knew it was, but at one point I hoped he was stronger than that...we were stronger than that. We were stronger than one really big mistake and wouldn't let it come between us. I guess I was wrong.

And who doesn't think their relationship is strong enough to withstand one really big mistake? Everyone does. But it's naïve. Completely naïve. But then, I'm naïve.

Stupid and naïve.'

“Hey there.”

Mel looked up from her book to see a brunette-haired man, with the same bedhead hairstyle as she remembered Lance always having, leaning against her porch railing, his arms crossed.

“Um..hi,” she said, looking back at her journal.

“Nice morning, ain't it?” he said. “Not too hot, not too cold, perfect breeze. Nice and peaceful.”

“Sure is,” she said quietly.

“I'm your neighbor,” he said, holding an outstretched hand towards her over the rail. “Name's Eric – Eric Rowe.”

She hesitantly looked up, holding her hand out after a few moments, which he shook with a firm grip.

“Sorry to disturb ya,” he said, pulling his arm back. “I've just seen ya 'round here several times, but never got a chance ta introduce myself.”

“It's not a problem,” she responded quietly, looking back down at her journal.

He was silent a few moments.

“So what's your name?” he finally asked. “I figure, if we're gonna be neighbors and all...”

“Mel,” she said, interrupting him. “My name's Mel.”

“That short for Melissa?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Ya live here with your boyfriend?”

She looked up, leaning the cap of her pen against her cheek.

“Yeah,” she said. “He's my boyfriend.”

“I've seen him around,” Eric said. “Workin' on his truck, mowin' the lawn.”

She sighed.

“Well,” he said after a pause. “I guess I'll be goin' then, and let you get back to what you were doin'. I jus' wanted ta introduce myself, get ta know ya, let ya know if there's ever anything ya need...I live right next door, so...”

“Thank you,” she said.

He nodded, stepping away from the railing and walking off toward his house.

“Can I ask ya somethin'?” he said, turning around.

Mel looked up again.

“I guess,” she said softly.

“What happened ta your face?”

She lowered her head, ashamed of the ugly bruising. She had taken a week of personal time off work because of them; they were beyond even her makeup skills to cover up, and she didn't want to face the multiple questions she knew she would get, not only from Gina and George and Victoria, but from the customers – both regulars and curious wanderers. But she couldn't hide away all week until they healed, so she had already come up with a safety excuse for grocery stores and questioning strangers.

“I was in a car accident last night,” she said.

“A pretty bad one, from the looks of it,” he responded. “Ya got a pretty good shiner, there.”

“Yeah,” she said. “My, uh...my face hit the dashboard. I...I'm an idiot. I wasn't wearing my seatbelt.”

“That's weird, I didn't hear sirens go out,” he said.

“I was in the city,” she said. “At a friend's house. I...I didn't bother going to the hospital. It's not that bad, really.”

“I don't know, it looks that bad.” He paused. “I didn't even hear a report on the scanner. Did ya call the police?”

“No,” she said. “It...it was nothing. Exchange insurance information, make sure everyone's okay...you know. Nothing to bother the police with.”

“Hmm, looks like something perfectly suitable ta bother the police with,” he said. “I'd know since I am the police.”

She felt her heart race, and she looked up.

“You're a...cop?” she asked.

“Detective, really,” he said nonchalantly. “Investigator with the Department of Missing Persons, so I guess traffic violations really aren't my area.”

He slightly laughed as she felt her heart race even more.

“Still, seems like something ya should have called the police for,” he said.

“No one was seriously hurt, it was late,” she said. “Everybody just wanted to get home and put it behind them.”

“Well, if ya say so,” he said. “Hey, it's not like I can arrest you, right?”

She tried to smile as he chuckled.

“Yeah,” she said with a forced laugh. “I'll have to watch what I say around you from now on – self-incrimination.”

She closed her journal with a loud smack just as she heard a car door close in her driveway. Panicked that Derek had come back, she turned in her seat and looked past the bush blocking her view of the driveway, only to see Gina in her work uniform coming up the driveway.

“I'll go,” Eric said. “You got company. I'm...I'm sorry if it felt like I was pryin' into your business or anything.”

“It's okay,” she said, gathering her journal and her coffee mug up in her hands and standing up.

“I'll see ya around.”

He stepped away from the railing and putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, walked back into his own yard, up the porch, and opened the door to his house.

“Who was that?”

Mel turned around, seeing Gina on her patio.

“My God, Mel,” she said, her eyes widening. “What the hell happened to your eye?”

“What are you doing here, Gina?” Mel asked.

“Comin' to ask why ya called to say ya needed to take a week's worth of sick leave, and to tell ya that Vic's beyond royally pissed,” Gina said. “But I don't think I have to ask anymore.”

“I told Vic, I had an accident last night,” she said, walking towards the door with her belongings.

“An accident,” Gina said. “I'm so sure.”

“I told her I would work some extra shifts next week to make up the time,” Mel said. “I took care of it. You have no reason to be here, Gina. Go back to work.”

“Alright, so I lied,” Gina said. “I haven't been to work yet, but Vic texted me that you were takin' a week off. Ya had a 'car accident'. Ya think she believes you?”

“I'm sure she doesn't,” Mel said as she opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside, Gina following her. “It doesn't matter if she believes me, as long as I bring in the doctor's note saying that's what happened. It's my time to take.”

“Ya think I believe you?” Gina asked.

“Ya think I care if you believe me?” Mel asked.

She was caught off guard while walking away when Gina grabbed her hand roughly, pulling her back toward her. The force stung her sensitive wrist, still feeling the effects of Derek's assault from the night before, and her hand started to shake.

“Melissa,” Gina said roughly, inches from Mel's face. “This has to stop.”

Melissa felt tears sting her eyes.

“He's going to kill you,” Gina said.

Mel sighed.

“Some days,” she whispered, letting the tears fall, “I wish he would.”

Gina released her wrist slowly, disconnecting her eyes from Mel's. She looked away as Mel took a seat at the kitchen table.

“Those cuts need cleaned,” she said softly. “And your eye's swelling. I'll go get the peroxide and an ice pack.”

Mel watched as Gina sat her purse and keys down on the table and walked away towards the bathroom. Slouching in the kitchen chair, she buried her head into her arm, propped on the wood table, and finally let the tears roll freely.

It finally hit her – with Chris out of the picture, indefinitely now, there was nowhere to go from here. There was no better to hope for; better was gone.

This would be her life until it ended – somehow.