Lindsay
“Shit. That was close,” she said to herself as she recovered what she could of both her balance and her pride. The ice was thick on the concrete steps, but that wasn’t the reason she’d faltered. She was running.
Luckily, the street was empty at 5 am, so the only ones to actually witness her misstep were some pigeons pecking at crumbs and the homeless man who frequently took shelter overnight in the shadow of the brownstone across the street.
The intensity of the man’s gaze — the way the street lamp and the snow reflected in his light, glassy eyes — would’ve been unsettling as it followed her down the steps and into the darkness, had she felt she had anything to lose. She paused as her damp eyes met his for a split second before she resumed her flight, unmoved. She had attempted to engage him before, but he never returned her timid smiles.
She had no offering today.
Was it the near miss of the slip on the ice patch or her existence as the personification of poor decisions that shamed her into looking only down at the ground, three feet ahead of her, as she soldiered through the cold and the night? Both were taxing her mind but as the former thoughts faded, the latter multiplied.
The 2-day old snow crunched crisply under the weight of her boots and the 15lbs she had gained for Him.
He didn’t like skinny girls and she carried the pounds like a beast of burden.
The silence of the city echoed in her ears and fell into rhythm with her thoughts, as the frigid air reached up under her coat and attempted in vain to assault her — nothing new. But her mind was afire and her body was numb. In the rush, she had left in her pajamas. No bra. No socks. No questions. No answers.
The moment replayed on a loop in her short-term memory. She ruminated. Their position back-to-back had allowed her to slink out of bed undetected. She told herself she was glad he remained asleep. But in her most honest place — the place she could rarely access — she wished he had noticed.
What she really wanted was for him to wake up and stop her. To tell her she had it wrong. For his strong hand to have reached out and grabbed her tiny wrist and pulled her back into the sea of blankets. For him to have morphed from an anchor into a life raft and guided her to his chest where her mind found its quiet.
But he didn’t.
And his uninterrupted, easy sleep supplied additional evidence of his ignoble character. If he really loved her, he’d have noticed.
But he didn’t.
And she always picked liars.
Always.
As she had gathered her belongings and moved toward the door, she silently retrieved her key from his kitchen.
When she gave it to him, she had reminded herself that his receipt of such a significant point of entry into her world conveyed to him no obligation to actually use it. And yet every time she passed his counter and saw it sitting there — separate bowl, separate ring, apart from all of his others — she was confronted with the fear that suffocated her at night. That she wasn’t welcome in his real life because she wasn’t important enough. Because he was hiding her. Because none of it was real and she was too weak and stupid to notice.
He gave her his key a year ago, primarily as a convenience to him, not so much an invitation to her. She had been spending a lot of time at his place and, with the key, he wouldn’t have to walk down three flights of stairs every time to let her up. She was flattered by his gesture nonetheless, and it had been on her key chain ever since.
But their relationship was not one of reciprocation. The proverbial ball resided solely and confidently in his court. There was no expectation of equality or commitment.
And, she had still decided to stay.
Because her life was better with him in it. Because he loved her as a verb.
That fact didn’t keep her brain from indulging its most self-deprecating fantasies. Like that Lindsay was his entertainment. Just a lovely seat filler for his symphony box. A willing distraction to keep his obsessive thoughts in check until Chole returned. That tale was the one that most consistently sent her into a literal “tailspin”, as she called her mental meltdowns in her more rational moments.
Chloe, who abused him and then gave chase…whom he pursued every time, albeit each time with a novel excuse and justification for why this time it wasn’t really a chase. Chloe probably kept his key separate. She turned Sam into a man Lindsay didn’t recognize — a man who was so much easier to leave. This man could be manipulated. Lindsay didn’t feel safe when Chloe was in his life.
It was almost automatic for Lindsay to use Chloe as a jumping off point for constructing stories that aligned with her brain’s hard-wired impulse to scream, “Fire!” and head for the exit.
She just knew Sam would have woken up for Her.
He didn’t for her.
She knew it.
***
The cold set into her bones — steps slowing, tears freezing on her face, the story that would justify her freedom crimping its edges and coming into focus, details settling comfortably into their grooves.
By the time she got home, four blocks over, she could no longer feel either her extremities or her anguish. Leaving her boots at the door, she bolted the lock, shuffled to her bathroom and turned on the shower as hot as it would go.
From her phone, a tinny iteration of Joni Mitchell echoed against the old mildewed tiles.
She stripped naked, wrapped her arms around herself — feeling the softness that he adored and she hated — and sank to the porcelain as the black of the night started to gray through the window.
It took 25 minutes in the near-scalding water for the shivering to stop.
Dripping wet, skin red and blotchy from contact with the steaming spray, she wiped away the steam and gazed into the mirror.
Pretty enough.
She sighed deeply and inhaled the pain, giving it residence in her body once again. Upon exhale, all that remained in her consciousness was both her certainty and her doubt which managed somehow to peacefully coexist.
She picked up her phone, pulled up Sam’s contact, and paused for a full minute before the impulse overtook her and she hit <delete>.
She was safe again.
Alone.
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Previously Published on PS I Love You
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Photo credit: 253278130