Chapter Text
Monday, July 24
Cyndi
A knock at the door caused my heart to leap into my throat, as the first nonsensical thought was that Mike had come back home. But he wouldn’t have knocked. It was most likely Donna. She always waited until he was gone before coming over.
When I peered out the window, I confirmed that it was her. Pearl, a one or two-year-old brindle pit, was by her side with her blocky head touching Donna’s left knee. Pearl didn’t belong to Donna, but since Pearl’s actual owner, Eddie, a few trailers down acted like she didn’t exist most of the time, the two had sort of adopted one another. So it wasn’t uncommon to see Pearl with Donna on the days Donna was outside.
As I opened the door, Pearl rushed up to sniff my hands as if she and Donna were trick-or-treaters and there could be no other reason to approach a person’s doors than for treats. Funny since the only thing I’d ever seen Eddie give her was the occasional kick. He barely even fed the poor dog. Somehow Pearl never seemed to take it to heart or give up hope. Sometimes I felt envious of how easily dogs seemed to move on. But that wasn’t entirely accurate. I’d seen the pittie flinch when Mike stormed past her one time on the way to his truck. Maybe I should have paid more attention to her dog’s intuition.
“Pearl, she ain’t got nothing for you,” Donna lovingly grumbled at her canine companion. I couldn’t help but smile at the dog who was now nuzzling my hand with her broad face.
“Maybe I can find you something,” I said to the pit. Then to Donna, “Y’all can come in.”
“You sure Mike won’t have a problem with that?” Donna said looking dubious. I knew Donna really didn’t give a f*ck what Mike would think, but she was looking out for me.
“He’s going to be gone for hours and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt.”
I stepped back and opened the door wider allowing Donna and Pearl to enter the living room. The room immediately felt brighter despite my having done nothing but add two more bodies to the somewhat cramped space. When it was just me, I hated this room. I hated every room in this trailer lately.
Now that we were all inside, Donna finally gave me a critical look over as she lowered herself into a seat at the small, chipped formica table in my kitchen. Whether she was looking for injuries or just emotional distress I couldn’t tell, but she could see evidence of both on my face. My lip was still healing from a few nights ago when Mike shoved me face-first into the table because I had been sitting and eating some crackers instead of cooking when he got home. I had been feeling queasy all evening and wasn’t about to tell him why that was.
Donna had already seen the swollen lip though, so she didn’t bother addressing it. “You look out of sorts. Did something happen this morning?”
“Mike was just being Mike. Nothing noteworthy except that he ruined a coffee mug.”
Donna pushed herself back up to standing with one hand on her bright pink cane. Up close I could see a Lisa Frank-like design she had covering it using carefully placed duct tape. Pink and purple dolphins leaped cheerfully around the cane which ended in a hot pink rubber bumper on the bottom and a matching rubber handle at the top. Her legs and back were fine as far as I knew, but she kept the cane because movement often made her dizzy.
She looked into the trash can like she was taking personal stock of Mike’s every crime. “How are you feeling? Nausea getting any worse? I’m sorry it’s taking so long for my ladies to get things together.”
Sudden terror that things weren’t going smoothly gripped me. “I can’t keep it! Donna, he’ll kill me. Whether he wants the baby or not, I’ll never survive like this.” I couldn’t keep the desperation out of my voice. Just the thought of being forced to have his baby caused the acid to rise to my throat.
Crossing the room, she met me at my chair and pulled me into a tight hug. Her 5’7” 250lb frame made me feel small. I pressed my face into her shoulder and began shaking with sobs as tears I’d held back released into the safety of her arms. How did Donna feel so much like my mother when my own flesh and blood had never made me feel this way?
Tuesday, July 13
Cyndi
The next day, I was a bundle of nerves. Mike worked again, though thankfully he’d restrained from getting loaded drunk in between shifts, so he’d not been an absolute nightmare in the morning.
Looking at the kitchen cabinets I decided I would kill two birds with one stone. Or at least try to. I would clean the kitchen, let some light in and prepare a nice dinner for Mike. I had everything I needed to make my Granny’s fried chicken which Mike always complimented whenever I made it for him. I looked through the cupboards to see what I could make to go with it. I found what I needed to make some baked beans and mashed potatoes. I hated that the potatoes were just dried flakes, but they would have to do. Maybe I’d light a candle even. I had bought some right after I moved in, imagining many romantic dinners in the kitchen which felt cozy at the time. Now it felt stifling and dingy. The faint smell of mildew never left no matter how much I cleaned.
My goal was simple. I would put all of my energy into creating a peaceful evening. I had two warring instincts inside me. One that was so sick of Mike all it wanted was to see him as miserable as he made me. But the other, more calculating one, hoped that if he was happy he’d be less likely to fly off the rails.
I reached under the kitchen sink and pulled out a lemon-scented cleaner. I paused for a moment wondering if this sort of thing would be safe for the baby. What the f*ck? Where did that thought come from? There would be no baby. I had to get rid of it. The laws had made it harder than ever to get an abortion, but I’d hitchhike to Canada if that was what it took not to have a baby with Mike. Maybe if my own mother hadn’t gotten knocked up at 19, she might have turned out differently.
I shuddered at the thought of the power over my life Mike would have if we had a baby together. I couldn’t just walk away and leave with his baby; he’d fight me just because he could. And I would never leave an innocent child with someone like him. The way he treated me when no one was around, I had no doubt what kind of father he would be.
No. Having a baby was out of the question. I looked down realizing I was still just standing at the sink with the cleaner in my hand.
Still unable to resist the ridiculous protective instinct I just sighed and opened the window over the sink. That was actually pretty nice. Liking the fresh air so much, I walked around the tiny trailer and opened all the windows I could. It surprised me how much better it felt just to do that. I should do this more often. I’d have to close them before it got too hot out, but for now, it was pleasant. Then I started cleaning.
Several hours later I heard the crunch of gravel as Mike pulled in, then the slam of the door as he exited his vehicle. I tried to quash down the dread that always crept into my gut whenever I heard those sounds. I plastered on my sweetest smile and smoothed my hair determined to have my peaceful evening. When he walked in though, I realized that it was going to take a lot more positive energy than I’d hoped.
I rushed to meet him at the door and kissed him on the cheek. This wasn’t my first time going on the offense to try and head off a bad night. Sometimes it worked. But when I kissed him, he pulled his head back as if I bit him. “Don’t touch me. If one more person lays their hands on me today, I’m going f*cking to lose it.” Not a great start to the evening.
But still, I persisted. I switched from cheerful to sympathetic, or at least I hoped that was how I sounded. “Bad day, huh? Do you want to take a shower and wind down before dinner? I made Granny’s chicken.”
He pushed past me and then paused as he passed the kitchen. Then his lips turned up in what could almost be a smile. His shoulders relaxed by a fraction. “That does smell good. I definitely need a shower. Get all this f*cking grime off me.” He held out his filthy hands with black gunk caked under his nails.
“Sure. I’ll have a plate ready for you as soon as you’re done.”
I let out a small sigh of relief when he left the room and started his shower. That went better and easier than I expected.
I was making the last touches on the table when I heard him swear loudly from the bathroom. Then he called my name.
I couldn’t imagine what he needed in the shower, but I didn’t hesitate when he called a second time. Not if I wanted this to work. I just had to get through a couple more days. The end was so close.
When I opened the bathroom door, I saw him standing dripping wet just outside of the shower. He had cleaned up fast, and for a moment I could almost appreciate his sinewy muscled body that had so impressed me the first time he’d ever embraced me. Too bad the feeling that followed seeing any part of his body now was revulsion because I had too few good memories to make up for the bad ones.
He drew my attention to the back of his bicep. He held his right arm up with his elbow pushed up toward the ceiling. A gnarly crescent-shaped bruise had formed on it. On the edge of the bruise the skin was open, and a small amount of blood rolled down his muscle toward his armpit. He’d probably opened the fresh scab while scrubbing.
“The son-of-a-bitch actually broke the skin. f*ckin’ meth-heads.” Without being asked, I opened up the medicine cabinet and pulled out the triple-antibiotic and some band-aids. While the bruise was pretty big, the torn skin didn’t look too bad.
“What happened?” I asked quietly as I began to pat the area dry with a tissue.
“Some foreign dude attacked me right before we closed today. Looked like he’d been in a wreck or something. Woman with him said they just flew into Nashville from where-the-f*ck-ever. They were apparently on the last flight before the air travel stopped.”
“Wait what? Like no one can fly anywhere. Why?” I dabbed the ointment on the torn skin as I asked and began to open the band-aid.
Mike looked at me like I was stupid. “That damn virus going around, Cyndi. You know the one from China or whatever? They say it’s spreading fast. Everyone is closing their borders. Can’t believe America took this long.”
I vaguely remembered hearing about a virus over in South Korea. But since I no longer had a phone or any internet or cable, I mostly relied on Mike and Donna for news of any sort, and Donna didn’t follow the news closely when her head was giving her problems. Lately, she’d been distracting herself with my troubles.
His arm was surprisingly warm to the touch. Almost hot, compared to the rest of his skin which was cool after stepping out of the shower. As I applied the band-aid to his arm I suddenly felt like standing this close to Mike would let him see the secrets I was trying to hide. Like he could see it in my eyes, or somehow sense the pregnancy with some sixth sense. Maybe smell it like an animal might. As if it would somehow radiate from my body in waves. Of course, he couldn’t. But still, I overcompensated by acting extra attentive.
When I finished with the band-aid, I even gave his arm a little kiss like he was one of the kids I used to babysit. Since he stood a head taller than me at almost six feet, I had to rise on my tiptoes to do so. Then I felt a little silly. The nervous energy was making me act weird. When I looked at his face though, I saw he didn’t find it silly at all.
His face had grown serious and blue eyes darkened beneath lowered lids. “You take such good care of me,” he crooned. He pulled me against his body, nuzzled his face in my hair then started to kiss my neck. I had to fight back a cringe as I felt him hardening against my stomach.
Gently I pulled back and smiled at him. His eyes didn’t meet mine though. They had roamed down to my chest. His fingers followed. “Hey, don’t you want to eat first? It’ll get cold.” I said as I tried to keep my tone even and cheerful.
“It can wait a few minutes.” He said as he began to pull up the bottom of my shirt. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Not without it causing problems.
Knowing that turning him down would risk turning his mood sour again or worse, I went back to playacting. Just a few more days and I’d never have to touch any part of him again. I kept this thought running through my head like a mantra. But for now, I just needed a peaceful night and would do whatever I needed to. I finished pulling my shirt off for him before slowly dropping to my knees. It wasn’t like he could get me more pregnant, but I still wanted to avoid sex with him. At least he was freshly showered. Still, I had to resist the urge to gag. I thought he might try to get me into the bedroom, but instead, I felt his fingers push into my hair and he began to moan as I took him into my mouth. I wished I had kept my hair tight today.
When I was finished, I told him I needed to clean up and would meet him in the kitchen in a minute. He slid on a pair of sweatpants and left me alone in the bathroom. As soon as he was safely down the hall, I turned on the sink tap all the way to try and drown out the sound as I threw up into the toilet. I hoped he wouldn’t hear.
After I rinsed my mouth out, I found Mike in the kitchen. He sat smiling from the table in front of a plate piled high with food. He gestured toward another plate he had fixed for me and grinned through a mouthful of fried chicken. Wow. I couldn’t believe he was almost nice. It made me wonder if the problem here was actually me. But this had been mentally and physically exhausting. No way I could live like this every day. Walking on eggshells, faking, being an obedient little plaything for him. None of this was real. His brown hair was beginning to dry, and it curled up around his ears. Cyndi from eight months ago might have thought it was cute. Maybe even four months ago. But the Cyndi sitting at this table tonight could barely stand to look at him anymore.
I sat in my chair in front of him and found that despite my anxiety I was actually quite hungry. I could feel my stomach rumbling in anticipation. The first bite brought me back to Sunday dinners with Granny.
As we ate, I let Mike direct the conversation. He didn’t talk much about the fight at work. Something about that event seemed to have really disturbed him. He was clearly not telling me the whole story. Instead, he shifted the conversation to his schedule. Apparently, the shop would be closing down for a while. The government was considering a major quarantine despite having landed all international flights and closing the borders. I wondered what on earth kind of virus this was.
I had heard next to nothing about it besides some weird racist banter until now. All Mike knew about it was that it was spreading fast and had jumped from Asia to Europe and while the US government insisted it was under control, and no cases had been reported on the continental US yet, nobody actually believed it.
Before we finished our meal, Mike’s eyes began to droop, and he looked tired. Usually, only anger could make him walk away from a plate he hadn’t completely cleaned. His mood had remained pretty mild throughout the meal. Yet when he said he was ready for bed, his plate was still half full. I wrapped some cling wrap around it in case he got hungry later and put it in the fridge. I was surprised to find that I had no trouble finishing my own plate.
When I finished cleaning up from dinner, I found him tossing and turning in the bed, with a slight sheen of sweat over his face. I felt his forehead and he felt clammy. Was he getting a fever? What if that foreign guy and his wife were carrying that virus? Was it transmitted by bite? By close contact? By coughing, like COVID? What even were the symptoms?
I was pretty sure no virus could act that quickly. Yet I still decided to sleep on the couch in the living room and hoped Mike wouldn’t be angry. I had no desire to spend all night in bed with him on a good night, and even less so if he was sick.
I shut the bedroom door and pulled the small throw blanket from the back of the sofa to cover myself with. I didn’t find sleep easily with everything on my mind. But I did finally fall asleep.
