Sunday 24th April 2011 19:03
Thump.
Her heart squeezed another bloodless beat. Twice as quick as the clock's mocking ticks, her breathing made her feel even more ill than before. Elisa had two minutes of waiting left now — two agonising minutes bent double over the toilet bowl. Hands scarred and shaking, she wished that the little white wand would speed up time.
If this stomach pain was what she thought it was, she didn't want to wake up. Not in the morning, not ever.
What is morning? Simon made her lose all track of time. All she saw was the fresh scratch of dawn bleeding across the city; a bruised moon when she returned from the corner store where she worked — and oftentimes, sought refuge.
Well. She wouldn't live to see that again, if the white dial said what Elisa feared it would say. What was worse, there would be two deaths as punishment this time...As if one wasn't bad enough.
What the hell did I do to deserve this?
The second hand of the bathroom clock above scraped along dully. Tick. Tick. Tick. She couldn't. Elisa couldn't bear this wait — she had to distract herself. She stood up to inspect her face in the mirror.
Thank goodness, she had no friends or family left to fuss over her...because Elisa knew exactly what they would say. She looked exhausted. No: more than exhausted. The butter-golden charm had long since drained from her face; she was white as pastry. Her pebble-blue eyes — which this sadistic Simon had first fallen in love with — had retreated to the back of her skull after so many punches.
The only twenty-two-year-old parts about her face were her fiery ginger hair, and a little three-star tattoo underneath her right eye. Elisa had that one done to cover the first time Simon had struck her, even though his name-calling and forcing himself upon her had already damaged her beyond measure. That was when she was naive — when she thought that she could hide the bruises with beautiful art. If that were the case, her whole body (and the one that may have been growing inside of her), would be a canvas.
Thirty seconds to go. Part of Elisa wanted the test to tell her she was pregnant; part of her wanted to bundle a blanket and some clothes in a bag and run. Just run and run and never ever look back. But every time she'd thought of that before, the walls would cave in and force her knees to buckle. She was shackled to them. If she didn't have the strength on her own, how would she manage carrying a child too?
The beep of the test made time release its claws around Elisa's throat. It was time. Oh God, how had it come to this? She couldn't look. Her mouth was bitter with bile; a trembling hand reached for the stick...
Pregnant.
Pregnant.
Monday 25th April 2011 23:58
She had to do it. She had to run away before she lost the motivation.
The past twenty-nine hours had been the most restless of Elisa's life. She lay awake, the throbbing of her heart so intense that it shook the whole frame of the bed. The only thing to cool her were her boyfriend's chilling breaths, rattling down her spine with the strength of his whisky.
Boyfriend. At the start, that word had seemed so light and nonchalant. Yes, this is my boyfriend, she would say while proudly introducing Simon to friends. But now...what friends? Simon's whispers of 'whore' seeped into every corner of her brain; into every message she typed out on her cell phone...before she would delete it again. It wasn't worth it. It wasn't worth her texting anyone to face his jealousy. Not men, not women, not family. No-one.
Elisa had to be so careful disposing of the pregnancy test: if he saw, there'd be more than questioning. There'd be force. Maybe this time, he would really reach for the knife on the rack. Maybe this time, he would really poise it towards her throat — or worse, her womb...
The thought made her jolt violently. It was a wonder that Simon did not wake up. He did flinch, tightening his grip around her waist. No. No, no, no. Elisa couldn't live like this. When it was just her, it was almost tolerable — but there was no way she could put a baby through this constant fear. No way at all.
Suddenly aware that nothing was stopping her, Elisa reached for Simon's claws and tried to untangle herself from them. His fingers flexed under the covers, recoiled...but thank goodness: he stayed sleeping.
Elisa rolled to sit up in the half-darkness. The moon out of the window was orange. She'd learned that in high school: when the atmosphere was cluttered with dust, it would scatter the light and give the gentle moon the look of braver, bolder Mars. She sighed shakily; this was what she had to do. Even in her suffocation, she would have to rise above with a mother's courage. She had to. Hell, she'd do it right now.
Elisa ignored her legs feeling as if they'd buckle. All she needed to do was pack a bag, right? Pack some things before she lost her nerve. She snatched random pieces of clothing she could find on the floor. She bent down and pocketed ten dollars from one of her drawers — that would do until she'd sorted herself out. The wardrobe. The brown bag: yes, that'd do.
As she unzipped it, she gasped on hearing Simon groan. For a moment her courage was paralysed; her stomach felt ready to purge its fear. Her heart was racing dizzily. But no — Simon was still asleep.
Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Am I really doing this?
Her mind was in a whirl, grabbing at random objects she thought would be useful. A spare toothbrush. A bar of soap. Her first stuffed bear. Everything was fragmented; random, like her plan. God knew where she was going. The moment she left this domestic jail, she would even have no identity.
She'd need a fresh start. A new name. It was the least of her priorities right now, but it was so tempting. She was so desperate to leave Elisa Bennet, and all her bruises, behind.
There will be time to think of that in a minute.
Slinging the travel bag over her shoulder, Elisa impended on the dim shrine of her bedroom. The photos on the wall. The clothing strewn all over the carpet. The empty beer bottles by the trash can, and half a dozen by Simon's bedside table. Her eyes avoided the man as a natural instinct, but now she felt safe enough to give him one last glance. Her heart sank as his bare chest rose and fell gently. There was something oddly vulnerable about him when he slept; something that resembled the innocent and caring man he once seemed.
No. That was enough of that. It was time to go.
Elisa gripped the door handle like it'd dissolve at her touch — and left, leaving the door half-open. Into the dark landing. Down the stairs. The only sounds were the creaking of the ancient stairs, the wild pounding of her heart, and the clock ticking in the bathroom next door. Seven past midnight — it was already Tuesday.
Tuesday. At her last glance of the hallway, something about the word warmed to her like the first rays of Virginia's spring sun. Something about it was endearing. Welcoming...and sang of the fresh start she wanted.
Tuesday. That would be her name for now. Maybe one day she'd have the courage to call herself Elisa again, but not until all the strings of her past were severed...and that could take years.
Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday. It was like nervous laughter in her brain. As she shut the door, still half-pulling on her coat, she felt as if her shackles had snapped. Her heart was still racing, yes. Her vision was still blurred with adrenaline, yes. But something about her was lighter. Much lighter. She wondered if it was the baby taking its first drop of her safe, fearless blood.
She had to run now — not look at the driveway or the street or the amber moon above her. Just watch her feet as they whistled along the pavement; into the night, into the future, into the first Tuesday of her new life.