Page 21 of To Have and to Hold

I was caught in a loop of memories, seeking the warmth of my mind and all the softness it held. It was better than a blanket, more soothing than a hot towel straight from the dryer. That was what I told myself as I wrapped my hands around my legs, curling into a ball until my forehead touched my knees.

In that space, Spence sat beside me, pulling me close and murmuring into my ear. “Stick with me, kid,” he’d say, kissing my hair.

He was always able cure any angst simply by being present. When we first met, when he became my tutor for a class I was so utterly failing, I was almost afraid to touch him. I thought it was because no connection should be possible simply by looking at someone. I was fresh off a cheating ex-boyfriend, Spence was a playboy mystery, and that should’ve been enough of an answer as to why I wanted to keep my distance—and keep staring at him. A rebound, a one-night-stand full of passion, and he could be out of my system. I approached Spence with that goal, ready for some no-strings reciprocity. Except…he exchanged my wiles for kindness. Attention. Flirtation. I found myself inching closer, wanting to know more than just how his skin would feel. He was studying to become a lawyer, and as soon as he said it I finally understood why I was drawn near. The drive in him, the ebb and flow of his decisions were both determined and strong. He acted like he was simply waiting for me to realize that, while he’d be an amazing romp in the sheets, he’d be an even better boyfriend.

Cue one year later and I was yelling at him for clogging the bathroom sink with his face hair again, but I’d used up all available space in the DVR with already-watched reality shows. He would throw his jacket on the kitchen table every evening after strolling in, rather than put it away in the closet. I took the best pillows. He always left dirty dishes in the sink instead of using the perfectly empty and functional dishwasher. I told him if he wanted me freshly waxed and bare on a bi-weekly basis then he’d have to come get pruned, too. Needless to say, I won that round.

Dave was the opposite, scheduling weekly sex regardless of our hair situation, nudging me into a routine of career and culinary exploration and a full eight hours of sleep each night. I was—am—content with him, accepting of stability and the idea that we’d have children in 2.3 years. He never fought with me, not that impassioned scream-wail that Spencer would pry out of my throat for being so infuriating. Dave never left me sitting alone at home, wondering what the hell he was up to after I stormed off and ditched him in a restaurant.

Dave didn’t arrive back at the apartment, lift me against him and crash furniture around until I was up against a wall, legs wrapped around his waist as he bit at my jawline and sucked near my pulse, replacing anger with pleasure in one finger-stroke.

Dave was not Spence.

And that was the point.

I wondered what was happening out there in the world I was walled off from, what Dave was doing. He would’ve called the police hours ago, showed them my calendar on his phone which he’d synced to mine and pointed them to where I should’ve been. My struggle would be discovered by now, the detritus of fear that I left scattered along hardwood.

Did Spence know? My fingers curled against my elbows at the thought. While Dave would be calm and rational, Spence would be like a bull just released from a pen. I thought so, anyway. In this room it was easy for time to blend, to pretend that I was with Spence only yesterday. I had to remind myself that he was years ago. He’d moved on, was doing other things, dating other people, working toward becoming the district attorney he was determined to be. There’d be no reason for him to explode into action, no sense in thinking anyone would’ve informed him. I was gone, theoretically, from his life a long time ago.

Only now, I was really gone. And I wished with all my heart he knew it.

“Help me,” I croaked into the cave I’d made for myself, all limbs and cold skin.

The doorknob turned.

My palms smacked to the ground as I crab-walked backward. Even with nowhere to go, my body still demanded I move, stand, pick up and hold the mattress in front of me—do something—other than wait for what was coming.

The Skull stepped in, and while I did not cower, I gripped the mattress tighter. It was between him and me, all I wanted at that moment. It was a move of a child, to pretend to disappear when punishment was coming, to think that no one in the world could find the best hiding place even when parents had seen the scurry to the obvious destination. If he can’t see me I can’t see him.

“If only I were in the mood to play games,” he said.

I quieted my breaths, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing me hyperventilate. Tears pooled at the corners of my eyes.

I heard the drag of something, made more ominous because I couldn’t see it. I’d pissed him off last time, very much. He was coming back to teach me a lesson or kill me.

Control.

Then came the crunch of something, packaging of some kind. Or a whip? Was it a riding crop?

I tasted blood. I’d reopened the wounds on the insides of my cheeks.

“You think you can take me, show me who’s boss,” he said, his voice becoming stronger the more he committed to his words. “Well, I have a tip for you, darling.” Pause. “Don’t try my temper.”

I cringed, my knuckles aching, the whole mattress trembling. In seconds my barrier would be torn away and—

SLAM.

A few hitching inhales and exhales passed, and I was the only one making those sounds. The room felt emptied of his presence, the tension in the air decompressing into a gaseous thickness that was breathable, if I went slow.

I dropped the mattress, nearly sagging along with it when it turned out to be true. He was gone.

But…but so was everything else.

The metal bucket, my latrine, had disappeared. The packages of Twinkies he’d left discarded beside it were also removed. The jug of fruit punch was nowhere to be found.

There was nothing but me and a soiled mattress.

The door opened again and I choked as I stumbled back and almost tripped onto the mattress. But the Skull, though appearing to look at me, study me, moved with surety, his body angled for purpose and not intimidation.

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