Page 89 of Poetry By Dead Men
"You expect me to believe that? I'm not a damn idiot. I knew something was up with how you two were acting. Imagine my surprise when I started doing some research on the guy. He has a whole fucking album about you! Fourteen songs, and every single one of them is him begging you to listen, professing his love for you, saying that he’ll wait for as long as it takes to win you back. The last one is fucking calledBeth, for God’s sake!"
I flinch. "Then it was one-sided, because I haven’t spoken to him in six years. I—I never listened to those songs." I’m stammering, but I can’t stop. “N—not a single one until he played at our engagement party. I had no idea when I came here—"
"Youhumiliatedme!" Spit flies from Harrison’s mouth as he screams. He punches the wall, his knuckles coming away bloody, and I back away until my shoulders hit the cabinet doors. “I had your fucking lover sing for all our friends. My clients!"
I raise my hands out in front of me again, hoping it will help keep him from getting any closer. "Listen. You're right. Okay? I should’ve told you the truth right then and there, but I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid, because I loved you so much." The words are slimy as they leave my mouth, but I keep going, scraping the dredges of my feelings for him for anything I can possibly say to calm him down.
Harrison’s still for a moment, and I think maybe I’ve gotten through to him. I slowly lower my arms, reaching toward my back pocket where my phone is.
"Such a good fucking liar." Harrison's on me in a second, shoving me backward. My head hits the cabinet with acrack, so hard that my ears ring and I see stars. He grabs my arm, twisting until I’m certain my bones are going to snap.
"Stop! You’re hurting me," I beg, but my words don’t even touch him.
"This isyourfault." He twists harder, then even harder when tears flow from my eyes. I try to fight back, but he presses his body against me, pinning me in place as he brings his face to my ear. "You’re coming with me, and we’re going home. Do you understand? You’re gonna be a good little wife, and you willneverspeak to Robert fucking Beckett or embarrass meeveragain." He hisses his demands, low and violent, and I nod.
With all his strength, Harrison yanks me forward, and absolute terror runs through my blood. Ican’tgo with him.
I can’t get in the car with him.
He’ll kill me.
I dig my heels into the carpet, resisting.
"Of course. Just let me grab my things, and I’ll meet you at the car. Then we can go home, and it will all be okay. I'll do better." I try my best to keep my voice calm, but Harrison throws me to the floor. My elbow hits the sharp edge of the coffee table, but I barely notice the sticky blood running down my fingers and staining the carpet.
"Stop lying to me!" Harrison roars, and I swear the bus shakes.
“Stop, please!” I beg, but it only fuels his fury. His face is almost purple as he flips the coffee table. It smashes into pieces on the floor, one of the legs flying through the air and slamming into my eye, and I scream in pain, the agony so severe that my vision blurs around the edges. Harrison approaches me, kicking the destroyed table out of the way so he can get closer.
"Please," I sob.
This is it.
He's going to kill me whether I get in the car with him or not.
Harrison rears back and punches me, hitting my right eye, and the pain is blinding. He grabs my throat, his fingers squeezing as he pushes me down into the floor, but a second later, he’s no longer looming over me. Instead, he’s on his back on the other side of the room, and Johnny is kneeling over him, slamming his fist into Harrison’s face again and again.
"Youfuckingtouch her again, and I’ll kill you. I will fuckingkillyou!" Johnny screams, hitting him again.
The room spins, and I fight to stay conscious as Patrick reaches my side, helping me to sit. "Let’s get you out of here."
"Johnny—" I protest. I don't want to leave him alone with Harrison.
"The police are on their way. We heard screaming, and then the crashes. Come on," Patrick urges.
I have to lean heavily against Patrick to stand, my breaths coming in pants and my head throbbing, but I keep moving. More people rush onto the bus as I struggle to stay upright—Bobby’s drummer and his bass player—and a sliver of relief works its way past the pain.
I have to walk past Harrison to get off the bus, but as I approach him, I’m no longer afraid. He’s lying on his stomach with his hands behind his back and Johnny's knee between his shoulder blades.
I pause as I pass him.
He’s taken too much from me, and I feel a desperate need to take a little bit back.
"Ineverwant to see you again," I say. My words are low and forceful, and I’m proud of how I keep the pain out of my voice. "You willnevertouch me again.”
“I’ll kill you for this,” Harrison hisses through bloody teeth, but Johnny shoves his face into the carpet before he can say more.
I move forward, refusing to let his words rattle me, and Patrick pats me on the shoulder.
