The second set of rapid knocks sets her heart racing into overdrive and even I’m holding back on input at the minute, waiting for more information before I weigh in. Nina’s safety and self-preservation make me want to command,Open the door! Run away with Toby!but Nina’s concern for Toby is what holds me back.
In the end, self-preservation wins. It always does, it’s something I can’t ignore. I settle for,Open the door!and let her figure it out from there.
Though panic is rising, she listens and opens the door with a shaky hand after his third round of knocking. The scene that immediately follows would be almost comical if it wasn’t for the backdrop of heartbreakingly real emotion on both ends.
Nina reaches for Toby’s hand and yanks on it before words are exchanged. Her strength in this moment is spurred on by adrenaline and surges, sending him tumbling over the threshold and landing on his side at her feet. Forcing the door closed with an obstacle on the floor in front of it is difficult but not impossible.
“Jesus, Nina. Calm down—” Toby’s plea dies on his lips when he looks up at her face: tearstained cheeks; bloodshot, lifeless eyes; lips turned down into a hopeless frown, the depths of which he’s never seen. More than anything, that’s what scares him. He’s seen her sad before. She’s always been a melancholy individual, but the set of her mouth looks incurable, like hope has been traded in for an eternity of damnation and despair. I’ve been watching it progressively get worse for the past few weeks—Toby seeing the rare, happy Nina a few months ago and transitioning to this must be gut-wrenching.
Toby, in a single motion, jumps to his feet and reaches for her, but when she involuntarily flinches at the near contact, he freezes. “What’s going on?”
I can tell by the look of shock and horror in his stunned expression that this is not what he expected to find. He probably came by to check on her and find out why she left without saying goodbye, find out if she’s mad at him—which would kill Toby, by the way. Nina’s always been his constant supporter. Petty arguments and disagreements between the two of them never lasted more than a day or two before one of them called a truce. She’s never truly been angry with him.
She shushes him, “Shh,” like there are ears listening. She’s paranoid now. Being punished for anything and everything for weeks on end, when you already have a history of punishing yourself, will do that.
“What’s going on?” Toby repeats. His voice remains desperate, though his saucer-wide eyes have softened with compassion.
Second-guessing her need to see him, she swipes at her eyes with her sweater sleeves pulled down over her palms, and evades his question with a question. “How did you find me?”
Which he answers with another question, this one tilted toward a plea. “Why are you hiding?”
“Why are you looking for me?”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
The ping-pong inquiry provides telling information, which is strange given the complete disregard for actual direct answers on both sides.
When Nina revisits, “How did you find me?”
Toby finally loses it and shouts a demand. “Tell me what the hell is going on, Nina!”
She flinches again and it’s not lost on him. Toby’s always been gentle with Nina. Because their mother has never been. Mothers should safeguard their children’s fragile vulnerability; instead, theirs wields shame and guilt like a machete. Slicing through them with words meant to wound when she feels the need to reinstate her sense of absolute authority. Or when she’s jealous of something they’ve accomplished that she never could, she cuts them off at the knees in an attempt to make herself feel better. Toby has always been honest with Nina, but he’s never been cruel. Her flinching from him is like a physical slap to the face.
The tears are still trickling down her cheeks, leaking out of lifeless eyes. The incongruous combination all the more haunting when she pairs it with the words, “I’m waiting.” She holds back from tacking on more to spare Toby’s feelings.
I’m surprised by her filter because she’s started using again this week. Whatever Ken gives her. Falling out of sobriety was easy when depression felt like two giant hands pushing her face-first off the side of a cliff. I think Ken’s trying to numb her, placate her, keep her placid for the next part of his plan, whatever that is. He’s an idiot, but he’s smart enough to scheme and manipulate. And Nina is too tired and beat down to care.
While Toby’s deciphering that answer, he notices for the first time the bruises on Nina’s legs. He skips questions and goes with a declaration instead. “He’s hitting you.”
Nina shakes her head adamantly, as fear fights its way in again. “No. No, he’s not. I fell taking the trash out a few days ago.”
Toby calls her bluff. “I saw you at 7-Eleven yesterday and you didn’t have those bruises.”
The lightbulb goes off, though the heroin in her system has dulled it to a dim flicker, and she narrows her eyes. “You followed me.” It’s not accusatory; she says it like she’s just nimbly solved a riddle.
Toby narrows his eyes quizzically in return. “Are you high?”
“No,” she immediately, and ineffectively, denies.
He sighs in frustration. He’s seen her like this before. “Nina, you need to come home with me. I got a job washing dishes at The White Spot, and we can find an apartment. I’ll help with rent. We don’t have to live with Mom.”
Do it!I scream. But when I hear the words, “I belong here,” robotically spoken, like they’ve been rehearsed, I realize that Ken’s won. He made threats, not against her, but against Toby. One night two weeks ago, during a fight, she threatened to leave Ken in a fit of rage and rare courage. He threatened to kill Toby if that ever happened, because he knows Toby is the only chink in her armor. And then he proceeded to choke her until she passed out.
She’s trying to save Toby. I get it and I commend her because Ken is volatile enough to do it. Couple that with the fact that she’s already checked out—in her mind she’s living on borrowed time—and it’s a recipe for disaster.
Leave, leave, leave, leave, leaveleaveleaveleaveleave, is my incessant war cry again. Do I care about Toby? Of course I do. But I have to think about Nina first, she’s my priority. Not that I would offer Toby up like a sacrificial lamb, but there has to be a way to save them both.
“You don’t,” Toby responds with watery eyes as he wraps his arms around her motionless, slight body. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he adds and then turns and walks out the door without closing it behind him.
