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Every day at five-thirty sharp, the library closes, except when I’m the one working. No matter the season, the weather, or how many people linger, someone’s almost always lost in their book or the glow of their laptop while they study. I can never get myself to rush them out; I understand perhaps better than most people what this place means.
I know what people come here to escape from.
Most days, when I stay later than I should, I’ll tell Caleb that it’s because donations took forever to process or the returns were backed up. But when I peel it all back, I simply don’t want to go home.
The fifteen-minute drive should be the quiet, calming transition from work life to real life, but instead, it makes my unease peak, making the drive feel even longer.
It feels endless at times.
When I first moved in with Caleb nearly a year ago, I loved the peace and the space, the way the open fields stretched out. I loved the night sky with the stars unpolluted by the lights of in-town living.
The drive now is a slow crawl to the place that no longer brings me any joy at all. Occasionally, if I know the evening will end badly, I’ll drive past the Miller Farm twice to look at the cows and delay the inevitable. On those bad nights, the crunching of my tires on the gravel will trigger lights to flick on and movement in the windows.
Tonight, that doesn’t happen, and I allow myself a second to decompress.
Caleb was the person I thought I’d grow old with. I truly did love him with every fiber of my being; it was a comfortable devotion that made me feel invincible. That was before the drinking got worse - before his hands started speaking for him.
That loyalty now left me staring at a stranger dressed in the skin of my boyfriend. There’s darkness so deep within him that’s never been there before. It makes my gut twist every time I hear his keys in the door or the rhythm of his footsteps coming up the hall.
His moods have become as unpredictable as a summer storm, quick to build and violent when they hit. And me? I’m a wild animal seeking shelter.
It’s always a guessing game: Will it be the man who used to bring me coffee in bed or the one who threw that same mug at me during an argument?
My hand hovers over the doorknob; I’m unsure if it’s from my nerves or the cool October air making me shiver. Momentarily, I consider getting back in my car and leaving. I could call Blaire to ask her if I can stay a night or two. Maybe I could tell Caleb I’m sick and don’t want to infect him. Breaking me from the thought, I notice the front door standing slightly ajar with a thin line of glowing light.
Strange, I think.
Caleb’s obsessed with making sure the doors are locked; his paranoia has reached new heights over the past few months, seemingly getting worse by the day. He’s so convinced someone is watching our house and swears he can hear footsteps outside at night. Once, he dragged me out in the middle of the night, screaming at whatever he thought was out there. He’d squeezed my arms tight, threatening to hurt me if they didn’t show themselves.
Now, looking at the door, my blood runs cold.
I push it open the rest of the way, opening up to complete stillness. Even if Caleb was passed out from drinking, I could usually hear his heavy exhales and snores throughout the house. The silence in the house resembles the eerie stillness in horror movies just before disaster strikes.
The usual scent of our home, vanilla jasmine candles and Caleb’s cheap cologne, which he reapplies throughout the day, is overwhelmed by something else entirely. It’s metallic and sharp; I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at the stench.
“Caleb?” I call out, shutting the door behind me. No answer.
I try again, this time louder than before, the slow footsteps upstairs answering my yell. The floorboards in his gaming room creak, but the rhythm feels off.
I brush the notion out of my head quickly. Of course, Caleb’s playing games upstairs; if his headphones are on, and they usually are when he’s home alone or trying to ignore me, he wouldn’t have heard me come in. Simple explanation.
His paranoia has to be rubbing off on me.
“I’m home!” I call from the bottom of the stairs. I begin mindlessly picking at the skin around my thumbnail, a nervous tic I’d developed over the years. I move up the stairs, and somehow, my body feels heavier with every step, while the smell seems to grow stronger.
The gaming room door is closed, which is unusual.
Caleb likes to keep it open so he knows if someone’s approaching the room; another manifestation of his growing fear. I press my ear against the door, listening for the ring of gunfire and explosions from whatever game he’s playing, maybe the clicks of his controller.
I knock softly as I speak, “Caleb? Honey? Are you in there?”
When there’s no response, I twist the knob, allowing myself into the room. Nothing appears out of place at first glance. The TV is off, his gaming chair sits empty, and his controllers and headphones are sitting in their usual spots on the stand. His mix of energy drinks and beer cans are lined up exactly the way he keeps them. Everything is normal, everything as it should be.
That smell hits me full force, taking me back; it’s thick and pungent copper, making my stomach churn. When I look around the moon-lit room again, I spot him.
Caleb is lying on the floor behind his chair, torso covered in dark stains that take my brain several seconds to identify as blood. So much blood. It’s pooled beneath him, seeping into the cracks of the wood floor, running down them, resembling the creeks in our woods.
A scream rips from my throat, raw and completely desperate. I only know it’s me because it feels as if I have razor blades in my throat. My legs give out, and I crumple on the floor, my knees hitting the hardwood with a crack that I barely feel.
