Page 14 of Werewolf Heart

Sara

Cold water hits her skin and it’s a welcome embrace for her inflamed nerves.

She didn’t expect to see Tom today. Truth be told, she didn’t expect to see Tom ever again. Yes, a naive notion on her part, but since they live in London she thought she could dodge him well enough. Sara should’ve told Robert they had to go. She should’ve realised her ex wasn’t just going to sit idly by while she lived her life. She thought she could handle it. But when her eyes caught on to that familiar face, all she wanted was to rip it clean off.

At least she doesn’t care for him anymore. There was a time in Sara’s life where her mind assaulted her with happy memories of them together: cosy movie nights, early mornings spent eating breakfast in bed, devouring together a whole box of kebab after a long night of drinking. It made her think she was making a huge mistake. People get angry, she would say to herself. It happens. Why am I making a huge deal out of it?

Then she’d have a panic attack in the middle of a classroom. And had to excuse herself for about an hour before she stopped crying. At times, it was like she could hear him behind her. His voice bouncing off the walls. It would fill her with so much dread she could barely speak.

There were many reasons why she left university—chronic stress, pressure from her parents, feeling like she was always on some lousy autopilot—but Tom’s impact on her mental health definitely did not help matters. She’d sometimes catch him on her way to class. Her ex would corner her and push her against a wall. He’d ignore her pleas for him to leave. Tom couldn’t stop saying he was sorry, with his hands wrapped tight around her shoulders—digging deep into her skin.

Sara changed her number, walked with friends to school and back, made sure to file a police report. Yet her anxiety levels were off the roof.

She felt so guilty when Robert would drop everything just to see if she was okay.

He was the one constant in her life. Robert was the one to pick up the pieces. Robert made sure she felt safe in her own home. He was the one who rented a car and made multiple trips up a four story building to help her move all her stuff out of Tom’s flat; without having to be asked.

It was a slow process, but eventually Sara stopped giving those happy memories so much credit. The good moments did not trump the traumatic ones.

The young woman knows her shower is done when she can no longer keep her teeth from chattering. She decides to leave the hair washing for tomorrow morning. Right now, all she wants is to drop onto her bed and have a good night’s sleep.

Why is that so hard to come by?

Sara sees Tom in her living room, feet over the sofa, leaving crumbs all over the cushions. He’s watching TV. He keeps changing the channel, the programs aren’t even on for two seconds before he clicks off. This fills her with immense rage.

“Just pick something!” She snaps.

Tom glances at her, clearly annoyed. “Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Fuck off.”

“No, seriously,” he mocks her with a nasally voice. “Just pick something, anything. A degree. A career. A boyfriend. Oh, wait. My mistake, I forgot how much of an indecisive idiot you are.”

She really really wants to rip his head off.

“Because you were such a great catch,” she says back.

“I was. Till you screwed it up. You really are a fucking idiot. Remember when we were thinking of eating out and you couldn’t decide on a restaurant? Hmm, I don’t know, Tom. Maybe a Chinese place? I’m truly not sure. Jesus Christ, are you serious? When I ask you something, I want a fucking answer!”

He throws the remote in her direction, but it hits the wall instead.

(Memories resurface of this exact scenario: angry outbursts over trivial things, an object thrown in her vicinity, but never at her person. That’s why she stayed for so long. As long as he didn’t directly hit her, it was fine. It wasn’t fine. But it wasn’t abuse. Right?)

“Yeah, I was clearly in the wrong for not picking a restaurant,” she sneers. “Not you, for fucking screaming and throwing things at me!”

“God, your mum was right, uh?” He smiles at her cruelly. “You’re sensitive for no good reason.”

“Shut up!”

“Come on, admit it. You were doing it on purpose.”

“On purpose?” She asks, dumbfounded.

“Yes!” Tom gets up, rage twisting his expression into something monstrous. “I mean, you’re an intelligent girl, aren’t you? You speak two languages. You graduated with a high score. You’re about to finish Uni. You are smart, right? So your little act must be intentional! Otherwise, you’d just be another stupid little girl.”

She imagines pulling his hair till it all falls out.

“God, shut up!”

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