Page 95 of The Sound Of Us

I’m almost sick with hearing this.

“I still have a say in it,” I argue. Anything to keep him away from asking me about my whereabouts.

“Fuck you and your say. Where the fuck were you?”

He scratches his head again with the hand that’s holding the gun. And just like that, all my courage and plans to run away with Eli in the middle of the night, to tell Frank that I was not just leaving, but that I was leaving him for someone else, that I’d found someone who makes me feel so safe and who lets me be me… everything goes up in flames as I track the gun in Frank’s hand.

“If you don’t start talking, I’m going to blow out your brains, Axel, I swear to fuckin God.”

“You’ll go to jail.” I have a death wish.

“This ain’t my gun. Whoever it belongs to will have to answer some mighty uncomfortable questions.” He laughs and turns the gun over to his other hand, admiring it.

Then he points it straight at me.

“I—I was just outside, thinking.” I don’t know if it’s true that just before your moment of death, your whole life flashes before your eyes. It isn’t like that for me, unless Eli is my whole life, because all I can see, while I stare down the barrel of Frank’s gun, is him.

His care. His love. His groundedness. His gentleness and the strength entwined with it.

And it’s thoughts of Eli and my refusal to accept that I will never see him again if I don’t survive this moment that gives me courage.

“I was worried about us,” I lie. “I wanted to clear my head so I can figure how to make us happy again. How to make you happy again.”

“I checked the fuckin’ windows. I didn’t see you.” He lowers the gun slightly.

“I was down by the flowerbed. Pepper was restless. I didn’t want her whining to wake you.”

He saunters over to me with the beginnings of a make-up smile. A smile you could call kind. And although I knew Frank’s kindness came at a devastating price, I still leaned so heavily on it for so many years, calling it hope.

Before, when we reached this point during a fight, I’d feel a sense of victory. That I’d gotten him over to my side even for just a little while.

That thing about couples who fight do so just for the make up afterward? It’s true for abused spouses too. Before Eli, I’d look at the fights with Frank as nothing more than paving the road for him to show me that he cared about me, that I meant enough to him for him to feel remorseful over what he’d done. That his efforts in making it up to me was his way of showing his care or his regret for what he’d done.

I held onto the hope that those few moments of kindness would turn into something more and the abuse would stop. It’s possible for someone to break you, destroy your spirit, and still offer you enough kindness to keep you in a constant state of confusion and hope. This has been my life for nearly ten years.

But now, as Frank approaches me from across the kitchen, ready to make up, all I feel is disgust and anger. Anger like I never felt before. Because I finally see this for what it is.

Not just Frank. Me too.

I too perpetuated the cycle of abuse by not recognizing these terrible, harmful patterns.

Frank pulls me into his chest. “You make me crazy, Axel. It’s that pretty face of yours, I swear.”

Fuck you, I scream internally.

He pulls my head back. “You know what you can do to make me happy?”

I shove down the lump in my throat.

“Wear those nice panties for me. I’ll let you wear them. How’s that?”

“What?” Never. I’ll never wear them for you.

Frank laughs and runs the tip of the gun across my cheek. I stop breathing. “I’m giving you permission, Axel. And you want to make our marriage better, right?”

Oh god. No.

“That’s what would make me happy, Axel.” Another trail of the gun over my shoulder.

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