Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Well, I was a little disappointed to see only one review for the last chapter. I hope this one captures more people's attention.
"Do you even remember how to get there?" Zoey asked her husband, as he took a rather sharp left turn down onto a side street. James tensed at the criticism, clenching and unclenching his hands around the steering wheel. A muscle in his jaw twitched as it always did when he was irritated.
"Of course I do," he spat. "I went to school there, didn't I?"
"I don't recognize anything," she said, looking out the window. "Maybe we should stop and ask for directions." As soon as the words left her mouth, she clamped her teeth down hard on her bottom lip. That had been the wrong thing to say.
"I don't need to stop and ask for directions," James turned and looked at her with malice. The look in his eyes turned her blood to ice. "I know exactly where we're going."
"But—" Zoey ventured, even though she knew where this train of thought would take her.
"Do you want me to pull over?" he asked, and she knew that if he did pull over, it wouldn't be to ask for directions. The look on his face asked her silently if she wanted a repeat of the previous night's fight. Her mind, as well as the fresh bruises covering her arms and torso, screamed at her to shut up. Wasn't it bad enough? her mind asked her, pleadingly. Do you really want to go through that again?! Last night had been the worst fight they'd had in a long time, and Zoey knew the bad temper had transferred over to this morning. She looked out the window again absently as she fingered the thick gauze bandage on her arm from last night's fight.
"I thought I told you to get rid of that thing." James stood, menacingly in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw tight. Zoey calmly continued to fold laundry, though she could see her hands shake visibly, and her breath quickened. She glanced to her right, at the object of James's fury. The sweatshirt. Chase's sweatshirt. Right. Of course.
"I just threw it in the wash. I didn't even think about it."
"That's your problem. You never think about anything."
"I thought about marrying you, didn't I?" she muttered, though louder than she intended it to be. James's eyebrows raised, and she knew she was in trouble. He took a few steps closer, annoyance changing into fury, and fury changing into rage.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. Anyway, it's just a sweatshirt."
"No, what did you say?"
"Nothing. It wasn't important."
"What did you say?" James put a hand on her arm and yanked her up from where she sitting on the couch. She bit her lip against the pain as he tightened his grip, putting excruciating pressure on old injuries. He shook her as if she weighed no more than a rag doll and addressed her again. "Say it. You know you want to."
"No." she cried, struggling to get away. All James did was grab her other arm with his free hand and bring her flush against him. Her feet barely touched the ground as he lifted her up so they were face-to-face.
"What's the matter? Am I not good enough for you?" his voice was eerily calm, and it sent shivers of cold fear through her. He shook her again, so hard this time, she swore she could feel her brainstem detach from the rest of her brain. Tears ran down her face as her heartbeat shot through the roof. His voice rose again. "Am I not a good husband?"
"No, it's not that, it's just—"
"It's just what?" James asked, setting her down none-too-gently down onto her feet and giving her a shove. Zoey stumbled back, trying not to fall over. She was able to regain her footing after a moment, and she moved a few feet away from him. "Just what?"
"Nothing!"
"'Nothing' she says," he said. "Nothing, hmm? Well, Zoey, there has to be something wrong, otherwise you wouldn't feel the need to keep another man's clothes in my house!" He picked up the sweatshirt and threw it at her.
"It's just a shirt!" she tried to be reasonable, though knew it was futile. Nothing would help at this point. James was too riled up to be cooled down by reason. "It's been in my closet since high school."
"Oh, yeah?" he gave her another shove, sending her crashing into the coffee table, and breaking one of the legs. A sharp pain in the ribs made Zoey wonder if one those weren't broken, too. "If it's 'just a shirt', why didn't you get rid of it when I asked you to?"
"I didn't think it was that big a deal," she stammered.
"Not that big a deal?!" at this point, James exploded. "You don't think it's that big a deal that you wear clothes from another man, especially one who is your ex-boyfriend?! What the hell makes you think I'd be okay with that?"
"I-I don't know."
"You don't know?" James dragged her up by the collar of her shirt and slammed her up against the wall. "Well, you better find an explanation real fast."
"It's just a shirt!" she said again, quickly covering her face with her hands as she saw James clench his free hand into a fist. However, hands make a poor shield for a fist, and all she succeeded in was making both her hands and her face hurt. She cried out in pain, which only seemed to aggravate her husband further.
"Did that hurt?" he asked, in a mock-sincere tone. Zoey briefly wondered how much he'd been drinking tonight. She didn't smell the whiskey on his breath, but that didn't matter. "Well, that's too bad. You bring it on yourself." With a disgusted groan, he shoved away from her, instead pacing the room, muttering to himself. In this eye of the storm, Zoey made her way towards the door. She couldn't be here anymore. Tonight, at least. She moved slowly with her back to the wall, as not to attract his attention. When she reached the door, she groped for the doorknob, only to find the door locked from the deadbolt a few feet above it. James raised his head to look at her, and her eyes widened in a perfect impression of a deer caught in the headlights of a passing car. His face contorted into an ugly expression of anger.
"Going somewhere?" he asked, striding over to her quickly and pulling her away from the door. "Trying to run away?"
"James—"
"Do you really think I'd let you leave?" he asked, shoving her up against the wall once more and trapping her head between his arms. "Do you really think I'd just let you throw ten years down the drain? Just like that?" Cursing, he pushed away from her again, this time leaving the room completely to go into the kitchen. Too terrified to do anything, she waited, wondering what would happen next. She didn't dare try to leave again. James returned a few seconds later, a kitchen knife in his hand. He forced it into her hand and stood in front of her.
"Do it," he said, spreading his arms out as though he wanted to embrace her. She looked from the blade to him and back. "Stab me. Because killing me is the only way you're going to get out of here."
"No!" Zoey was horrified. She dropped the knife immediately, now shaking from head to toe. James retrieved it. He held it out to her, the blade pointing towards himself.
"Go ahead. You know you're dying to get rid of me."
"James, stop. This is crazy."
"You won't kill me? Fine. Would you prefer I kill you instead?" he swiftly turned the knife in his hand, the blade now pointing menacingly in his direction. "One of us has to die for you to get freedom."
"What?"
"Come on, Zo. Make your choice," he slashed the knife through the air. "Your life or mine." He swished the knife closer to her this time, nearly catching the front of her shirt as he went.
"Stop!" Zoey all but screamed. The blade came toward her once again, this time across her right forearm. She cried out as the pain radiated up her arm, and she pressed a hand to the wound to stem the flow of blood. The power behind the knife had been more than she thought, and she hoped he hadn't caught any major arteries. The blood seemed to bring James back into reality, as it bubbled up between her fingers and dripped onto the carpet. He dropped the knife immediately and ran out the door, slamming it behind him so forcefully the dishes in the kitchen cabinets rattled. Relieved, Zoey picked herself up and headed for the bathroom. After cleaning out the wound and seeing that it wasn't as deep as she thought it had been, she placed a thick gauze pad over it and tape it in place before going back to finish folding the laundry. The tears that she had been crying before refused to stop for another hour and a half, long after she had finished the laundry, and the pain in her cut had ebbed slightly.
James had returned home later that night, smelling like the inside of a beer brewery. Luckily, he had dropped heavily onto the bed like a stone, falling asleep on contact with his pillow. He had woken up that morning with no traces of a hangover, and although he was in a bad temper, what had transpired the previous night wasn't mentioned.
James reached over and placed a hand on her knee, as he often did. When they were in public, he made sure to keep a hand on her at all times. Zoey thought of it as a reminder that he pretty much owned her, and that there was nothing she could do about it. The heavy weight and warmth of his hand on her knee was uncomfortable, but she didn't dare move. The last thing she needed was another fight.
"See? I told you I knew how to get here." James said, triumphantly, twenty minutes later. Though he had gotten lost three times over the past hour, Zoey thought it wise not to mention it. She just smiled weakly at him and stepped out.
It was as if she had stepped back in time. The campus hadn't changed a bit since the last time she'd been here. The students milling around could have been her classmates. The buildings were exactly the same; no dirt or moss had grown over them to show a passage of time. Nothing had been built, nothing torn down. Zoey felt eighteen again, and for a moment, she took a deep breath and smiled. A genuine smile. It felt odd on her face. She hadn't smiled genuinely at anything in at least five years.
"The gym, it said?" James asked, coming up next to her. Zoey pulled the invitation out from her purse and looked it over.
"Yes, the gym. And we're right on time," she patted his arm almost affectionately as he wrapped it around her waist to lead her by the small of her back. Zoey's mind sighed. It was Zoey's least favorite hold—the small of the back. It made her feel inferior, child-like, rather than an adult. But she didn't dare say anything about it. After last night, Zoey wasn't sure was James was capable of.
"Wow, things haven't changed a bit," he remarked, as they entered the gym, festooned with teal and purple balloons and streamers for the occasion. Zoey's eyes scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. James looked nowhere but straight ahead of him, and Zoey knew he wasn't enjoying himself. She also knew she would pay for it later. But right now, that wasn't a concern.
"Zoey Brookes?" a voice behind her asked in an astonished voice. Zoey looked in the direction of the voice, pulling James with her as she did. "Is that you?"
"Lisa?" Zoey asked, not quite recognizing her.
"Yes!" the bubbly girl—now woman "Oh, my gosh! It's so good to see you!"
"It's good to see you, too!" Zoey said, as she was enveloped in a hug by her old friend.
"So, I see you snagged yourself a handsome fellow," Lisa teased as she looked in James's direction. "Would this be the James Garrett that took P.C.A. by storm?"
"In the flesh," James flashed her a grin, a rarity for him. She laughed.
"I knew it. You haven't changed at all. Whew! Many a woman must have been disappointed when you two tied the knot."
"I'm sure," Zoey agreed, looking for something to change the subject with. "What about you? Are you married?"
"Six years and counting," she said, holding up her left hand for the wedding band to be seen.
"Really? To who?"
"Same guy I've been with for the last twelve years or so."
"Michael?"
"Yep!"
"Wow! Hey, where is he, anyway?"
"That is a good question," Lisa looked around her, only to find her husband no where to be seen. "I guess I'll have to catch up with you later. I'm going to go make sure he's not planning to prank his old teachers."
"See you later," Zoey waved in her direction as she left. She turned back to the rest of the crowd, which had grown in the last five minutes. She saw many more friends and acquaintances than she had, and though felt the urge to visit with them, didn't move.
Her eyes scanned over the tables of food and drink, watching the other alumni visit and chat with each other. And then, she froze and stiffened. There he was. Chase, her mind said, desperate for her to reach out towards him. He was milling about near the back wall, his hands in his pockets, and looking a little lost. He could be a dead ringer for himself at eighteen, though his face had grown a little more angular and he wasn't quite as sinewy as his boyhood counterpart had been. She bit her tongue to keep from calling out to him. However, she found she didn't need to. As though realizing someone was watching him, Chase looked up. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she felt a jolt of electricity flow through her. The flash of recognition in her eyes turned into a warmth that threatened to consume her. She saw his mouth open and close, gaping slightly, as though he didn't know what to say.
Feeling his wife tense, James looked in the direction of the disturbance. Catching sight of Chase, he immediately scowled. Zoey felt the hot pressure of his hand on the small of her back again as he led her away from where they had stood to somewhere across the room, far away from the one person she needed the most.
