Eleven

The phone rings 3 or 4 times longer than she had hoped it would.  His sister answers and tries not to sound so surprised.  “Ya.  He’s here.  I’ll get him.”

“Hello?” He’s cautious.

“Can you come down?” Every ounce of her pleading, “Please, I need you.”

“That’s what all the girls say,” he ignores the desperation in her voice.

“I’m not…I mean…please?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Be there in 5.”  He hangs up.  They both know he could be there in 1.  She times him.  It takes him 8 minutes to round the pines into her yard.  He walks right in.

“You rang?”

“I’m not sure why.”

“Not helpful,” he can tell she’s in pain but can’t help but bridle a bit. 

She’s not listening to him.  She feels the bricks building on her chest and sucks in whatever air she can.  She’s crying.  He stands and stares at her.

“Why am I here?  What happened?” He wants to move in to her.  It takes every ounce of will-power to stand firmly in place.

She tells her story.  The night before.  The party.  She pieces together the remains of her shattered night.  He’s vengeful.  They broke her.  For the first time since he has been there, he truly notices her in front of him.  Her wet hair.  Her pale skin pink from repeated scrubbing.  Her eyes drawn. Broke what was his. 

All he wants is to make it all stop.  Fix it. Protect her. He's afraid to make contact. He's furious.  She locks eyes with his.  Decided.  Her body recognizes the folds of his arms and fills every inch.  He doesn’t relax. 

“Who was it?”  He isn’t really asking. 

“Someone random.  You don't know him.” She knows why he’s asking.

“I need a name,” he whispers harshly in her ear.

“No.”  The word tastes bitter coming from her mouth.  She’s irrationally calm.

“Tell me!”  He has never screamed at her before now.

She repeatedly denies him the information.  She knows what he’ll do.  She regrets all of this. 


His mind spasms with conflicting thoughts and emotions.  He grasps hold of one. He's infuriated with...her.

“Why did you call me then?! How were you expecting me to react?!”  He leaves her no time to answer.  “I don't know what you want!  You call me—I answer. I haven't heard from you in months.  You tell me something like this—and nothing?  Why am I here?”

“I don’t know,” she says almost inaudible. 

"Why are you protecting his guy?!"

It's him she's protecting. Too many things damaged. Enough.

“Fuck," he cradles the back of his head in his hands hoping to pull words from the ceiling. "You don’t get to call all of the shots like this!   Give me the name!”

Silence.  She stares blankly at the hardwood planks beneath her feet.  She looks up to the sound of him pounding his way out the back door.  He knows he can’t leave her like this.  She doesn’t see him walk up her yard.   

After several minutes, he reenters the house.  She is exactly the same.  He makes room for himself next to her on the couch and moves her closer.  She doesn’t resist. 

Damaged. Not broken.  He relaxes.