Yell Till You’re Red In The Face

Content Warning:

This story will start talking about a lot of serious, and for some, triggering topics. There will be emotional as well as physical abuse, and other sensitive topics. This is a work of fiction, and is in no way a commentary on abuse, addiction, or anything else.

Cold air blows on my feet from under the door. Not a constant blow. I swing the door open into someone's chest. They don’t wake up, but they stop breathing under my door. I slowly tiptoe through the room, so I’m not seen. I don’t even remember hearing people last night. The walk to school is slow, and I try to keep my mind blank. Thinking will wear me out. I have to save my energy, so I can stay awake during class.

The hallway is full of people yelling and running around. I hate mornings here. It’s like everybody got together and decided to be as loud and in the way as possible. People are running, and throwing things all the time. I head to my locker to get my stuff and get away from all of these people. I keep my eyes on the prize and don’t even look at the people around me. Which is a mistake when I faceplant straight into someone. I look up to apologize, but he pushes me to the side slightly and rushes past me. Black clothes? I look behind me as a small guy wearing a black sweatshirt rushes off. Why wasn’t he in uniform?

I open my locker and a white envelope stares me in the face. It sits nicely upon the books I left in my locker. Mona is written in neat handwriting with a little period at the end. I feel my stomach squeeze itself as I stare at it. It can’t be another threat. I changed my locker combination, and I haven’t done shit. Why would they threaten me again if I’ve been laying low? I reach in to grab the envelope and my hand shakes a little. I quickly grab it out and shove it into the pocket of my blazer. Why should I care that someone is threatening me? What can some high schoolers do?

I rush off to the bathroom, and lock myself in a stall. I peel the tape off the opening of the envelope and inside I see a note and pictures again. I slide out the picture on the outside and am met with Leo and me. It’s a photo from when Leo paid for my moms debt. In the picture he’s leaning down in front of me, and it looks like we're kissing. I know that he kissed my cheek, but it doesn't look like it. The feeling of his lips on my cheeks makes me nauseous. I throw the picture back into the envelope, and take out the other three. This person does seem to have an obsession with Leo and I. They had pictures of us last time and seemed like they were on his side. Maybe they’re mad that Leo and I keep running into each other. There's not a lot of people left in my life who'd be mad that I've seen him, though.

As soon as I flip over the other pictures, I lose my ability to breath. One picture shows Leo and I in front of his car that I stole the keys to. We’re smiling, and he’s holding up the keys, our hands intertwined. I quickly flip to the next picture. I see myself with a black eye and bruises all over. My stomach lurches, and I lean on the stall wall. I look away from the photo. I’ve never seen myself like that. After Leo beat me, I didn’t look in a mirror until I had healed. I covered all the mirrors in the bathroom and bedroom at George’s. I’m not even sure who could have had these photos. I almost consider not looking at the next photo, but the thought of leaving myself a step behind them makes me flip to the next. I’m looking in a box while Leo takes stuff out of another. My name is written on the boxes and a few others around us. We’re laughing about something. It’s the day I moved in with him. How does anybody have this photo? The only person who helped me bring stuff to Leo’s was George. I didn’t see him take any photos. I also didn’t tell him I was moving in with Leo. I said I was just leaving some stuff at his apartment. I told all my friends at the time that I was still living at home. Chills run up my arms as I shift my focus to the note.

I slide the photos and the envelope into my pocket. I watch the folded piece of paper, as if it might do something. I finally open the paper. “I’m sure you’re wondering, where did these photos come from? Who took these? Your confusion is fair. I didn’t know these existed either, I mean I knew they happened, I just didn’t know that there was evidence, but here it is. The evidence that you’re just a whore. You have a boyfriend and here you are with another guy. You might say, well some of these were from before Charlie. Not that one in front of The Brink. I mean it’s scandalous enough that you were there, but kissing another guy there as well. What would people think if they found out? Or what about that one of you looking oh so beautiful? What would people think if “richie rich” Mona used to get beaten? Seems like a poor person thing they’d all say. I mean, why would you be living with some guy if you and your mom lived in that big mansion up town? You might think it wouldn’t be a big deal if the school found out you two lived together. Well. You should rethink that. People will talk, and it won’t be good things. Also, rumors always get back to those who are in the dark. I wonder if you told your boyfriend. Or anything about yourself in that case. Don’t let your guard down babe.”

Babe? Why would they call me babe? Could this be Leo? Nobody other than Charlie would call me babe, but how would he have gotten in the school. You have to have a badge; he doesn't have one. He could have stolen one, but the office wouldn’t let him in. He would’ve stuck out as well, he’s not small. Who could have found out my newest locker combination? I didn’t even tell Charlie what it is. How did they get that picture of me?

I slide my phone out and open my contacts. I look at George’s name and contemplate whether I should text him. George is one of the only people I think of who could have those photos. I see our last conversation from almost two years ago. He said goodbye before going to college and said he’d hit me up on his next break. I never heard from him again. I’d see an update on his social media once in a while, but he never contacted me again. I put my phone back in my pocket after deciding not to message him. He wouldn’t do something like that. Even if we don’t talk anymore. I slide the envelope into the back of my math book.

I rush off to class and try to put the pictures out of my mind. I struggle to stop seeing the picture of my beaten face. To stop thinking about how pathetic I look. The first question should be who has access to everything about me, but it’s not. What I keep asking myself is, who would send something like that to a person. Anybody can see how awful those pictures are. But they sent it anyway and threatened me with it as well. What kind of person did I piss off?

⇜ ⇝

I was so excited. I had packed up all my things in a day and rushed them to Leo’s. The night before when Terry kicked me out, I’d panicked. I ran to Leo’s and cried. I didn’t know what to do, or where to go. Terry was never reliable when I was growing up, but I had a place to hide and sleep. I hardly have any friends or family. I have a limited number of people I can ask for help. Almost as soon as I started saying I didn’t know what I should do, Leo had an idea. He jumped up all excited, and told me to move in. “I just got this nice, big apartment, and I don’t have to pay for it. I have a nice job, and soon I’ll have a car.”

“I don’t know Leo. We haven’t been going out that long. Don’t you think it’s a little fast to move in together?”

“Mona.” He sat down and slid into my side wrapping himself around me and pressing his face into the side of my face. “Silly silly Mona. Babe, we’ve been friends since second grade. You’ve known me my entire life. Do you think you can’t trust me?” I giggle and lay my head on his shoulder.

“Of course I can. We’ve been friends for forever; I know all your secrets. I was even there when you peed yourself in elementary school.”

“Hey hey no.” He grabs my mouth as I keep talking through his hands. He lets go of my mouth and places his lips on them instead. I stop telling his embarrassing story and kiss him back. “I’m serious, though. You should move in here. We could be together all the time. We could make dinner and bake cookies.” His arm snakes under my butt as he lifts me into his lap and holds me. “It’d be awesome!” I ponder all my options and wonder if this is even a good idea.

“You know what, let’s do it!”

“Really!” I nod and try to hold in my smile. Leo doesn't do the same and hugs me tightly.

“I mean what’s the worst that can happen, right? We already see each other like every day. Why not?”

“Hell yeah.” So, the next day I packed up my things and brought them over. Leo didn’t have his car yet, so I asked my friend George to help me bring my things over there. I lied and told him my mom was threatening to throw out my stuff, so I was hiding it at Leo’s. George knew of Leo, but they weren't friends. George came from a nice and caring home, so he didn’t really fit in with my other friends. I had introduced him and Lil and they didn’t get along. So, I kept them separate. Lil, Leo, and I hung out together as well as Leo’s friends. George, his friends, and I hung out together other times. Leo was gone while George dropped off my stuff. He had given me my key. Lil came by to hang out with us later that day after Leo got home. We’d all had dinner and watched TV together.

Living with Leo was nice at first. It was comforting. I knew Leo loved me; we’d been friends for forever, so I could trust him. He took care of me, fed me, and got me anything I needed. He wanted me to not work, so I could make dinner and focus on my studies. He hardly graduated high school. He said, “You get to go to an expensive school. You have to focus and graduate.” It was a nice feeling to be loved every day.

After a while, though, the rose tint faded. He started focusing on work a lot more, because he was waiting for a promotion. He started going out with his friends more. I never said anything, but it bothered me being alone so much. I got so used to always being with him. Then he started leaving without telling me, and going out with friends and not telling me. Then it turned to weekends, and then weeks. He’d disappear for days without a word. Then days later, when I was about to give up on him coming back. He’d stumble through the door. His face flushed and his clothes dirty. I didn’t say anything. Just welcomed him home and got him to bed. Breakfast would be made for him when I left for school, and I’d come home from school to it uneaten. I never knew what changed, or what I had done to make it unbearable to be around me.

My mom always told me that I made people crazy. That my mere existence makes others die. She used to say, “When you were born there was a tear in the universe. It let in something dark and smothering. That thing. Was you. You kill out the happiness around you. You smother out anything that could make life better for you and others. You have happy times, but at some point pretending to love you gets too much. People you care about will always get tired of trying when it comes to you babe. They may love you at first of course, but at some point they won’t. You’ll never know when that point is, but it’ll happen. They’ll be a shift in the universe again, and they’ll go from loving you. To hating everything that you are and will ever be.”

After a few months of him disappearing, I finally said something. I asked him, “Where have you been? You’ve been disappearing for days and not saying anything. I never know when, or if you’re coming back.”

“This is my place. Why the fuck wouldn’t I come home?” His place.

“Then why haven’t you been?” He locked eyes with me and slowly sauntered over. He placed his hand on the counter and leaned his head down a bit.

“Maybe because I can get a better lay somewhere else. Maybe because I can be around people that aren't you.” He stood back up to his full height and went to the couch. “You’re exhausting you know. You’re fucking clingy and crazy. You get all worried when I’m gone for a second. Every little thing I do means I’m leaving you. If I go to the bathroom, it must mean that I hate you.”

“No I don’t. I just want to know why you’ve been disappearing and where you’re going. I don’t care if you don’t want me anymore.” I walk around the island and stand by the couch. “I just want you to be upfront about it. To not leave me here thinking you care about me, if you don’t.”

“And if I don't, who will?”

“It’s not your job. If you want to love me then do, but if not then tell me to leave. If it disgusts you being around me, kick me out. Tell me to leave instead of poisoning yourself with alcohol with your friends.”

“Everything is so dramatic with you.” He pushes himself off the couch to stand next to me, but he won’t look at me. “Just because I don’t always enjoy our time together, doesn't mean I don’t love you. I want you to stay here. Now give me space. I’m stable, so you can stop worrying that you’ll find out I’m dead one day.” He walks past me hitting my shoulder. The bedroom door slams shut, and I’m still frozen in my spot in the living room.

I slept on the couch that night. I couldn’t even stomach laying in bed next to him. Not that he had even tried to kiss me in months, let alone anything else. I didn’t make any breakfast that morning, and I came home to nothing. There was nothing and nobody here. I went to the fridge to make dinner and saw his note. “Don’t come looking for me.” That was when I took my hand off the fridge. I sat on the couch and wondered what that meant.

I made the decision after that to leave him. I made a plan on where I could stay and what my next move was. The next day I went to school and came home to pack up my things. Then he came home. In the end, I did leave. In the end, I lost all my friends and my safe place. It ended, though.

⇜ ⇝

The whole day I’m out of it. I don’t absorb anything said to me. I show up halfway through lunch, and Charlie is sitting in between the new girls at our table. When I sit down, he looks up at me. “Oh, I thought you were going to get your own lunch.”

“Not hungry.” I pull out my phone and start scrolling to make it look like I have something to look at. I don’t even see anything that I scroll past. I zone out, not able to focus. Charlie goes back to teaching the girls about some game. He sends a few glances my way, but doesn't say anything to me. I get up and leave before the bell rings. Not wanting to watch the one girl's arm move anymore. I hear footsteps behind me before I hear him saying my name.

“Mona.” He turns me around. “Where are you going?”

“Like you give a shit.” I try to leave, but he holds me in my spot.

“Why are you acting crazy?” Before I think twice my fist raises and smacks into his ribs. “Ow, the fuck!” He yells while letting go of me.

“Do you want to see crazy? You know what’s really crazy. That you can get pissed at me yesterday for getting myself food. That you can flirt with girls in front of me. That you let those girls rub your leg while I’m sitting a foot away. That you let those girls do whatever they’re doing under the table while everyone is around. What’s crazy is that a week ago you can beg me to take you back. Tell me how much you love me and that you’ll change. Then still flirt with people in front of me. Still touch other girls arms when I’m holding your stupid fucking hand! What’s crazy? Is that you stand there calling me crazy when I react the way you want me to. You want me to be upset, and possessive. Right? What’s really crazy? Is that I’m not surprised, and it’s crazy that I’m still fucking here.”

I turn and run off. Charlie’s face looks shocked when I leave, but he doesn't come after me. I don’t see him for the rest of the day. He doesn't come to my locker after school. He doesn't text me that night or that morning. All I get from him on my day off is silence. I don’t text him either. I have nothing to say anymore, and I’m tired of pretending it’s okay. I don’t want to be that girl. The girl who looks stupid to everyone else, because she seems oblivious to her man’s extra activities. I’m pretending I cover my eyes while I’m actually watching. I look at my own life from the outside and tell myself it doesn't matter. That I don’t care how people act, or treat me. I look like a joke to everyone including me. Except I know I’m a joke, because I know that I’m pretending someone actually loves me.