Exodus of the Greenman

Page 5

He screamed when the door only opened a couple of inches. “YOU BITCH! You’re only making this worse! This is how you treat me after what I’ve done for you? You’d be a hooker if it weren’t for me! Open the door Carrie, or else!”

“Or else what? If I don’t open it you’ll beat the living crap out of me? If I do open it you’re going to beat the hell out of me anyway, so screw you.”

He gave the door a hard kick, rattling the contents of the drawer. The drawer held. He tried to squeeze his hand in and close it. When he opened the door wide enough to get his hand through it, it was pressed against the drawer so hard he couldn’t budge it.

“BITCH!” He sounded like he was in frustrated anguish.

She heard a click. She knew that sound, she knew Allen had just opened his buck knife. She watched in horror as the drawer slide back half an inch. Allen was using his knife to work the drawer closed.

“No!!” Carrie jumped to her feet and threw her body against the door.

“Arrhhg!” Allen cried as door snapped closed on his fingers.

Carrie began to laugh, hard and loud. She felt like some part of her had been set free. Allen held no terror for her anymore.

“You dumb bastard, you’re smart enough to get the door open, but too stupid to know when to quit.” She stood with her back to the door still laughing.

“SHUT UP BITCH! Arrrhhg!”

There was a hollow thud, and Carrie felt something prick the back of her arm. She stepped away form the door to see what it was. She could she the tip of Allen’s knife sticking through the door.

“You crazy prick!” She planted one of her boots on the door pushed it closed, and locked it again. Then she stood a can of hairspray up in the drawer so it wouldn’t close.

The tip of the knife disappeared and reappeared in the door several more times. Then she could hear Allen yelling and throwing things around the apartment.

Carrie was trapped, but at least she was safe for the time being. She ignored Allen as best she could and dabbed the blood running from her nose with the handkerchief until it stopped. Then she pulled off her jacket to check her arm. It bled a little from where the knife had pricked her, but it looked like her jacket had taken the worst of it.

She rolled a towel up to use as a pillow, wrapped her self up in her oversized leather jacket, and lay down. Usually she would cry on a night like this, but not tonight. Tonight was different, she was different, she felt lighter, stronger, and in control. She fell asleep to the sounds of Allen screaming and breaking things. She told herself that this would be the last time she would hear those sounds.

She woke up huddled in a corner near the toilet. It was quite and still dark outside. She examined the crumpled handkerchief she had been clutching. There wasn’t a trace of blood on it.

“He must be Jesus freaking Christ.” She said to herself.

She couldn’t hear Allen out side, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She picked up a dirty sock she’d left in the bathroom and slipped a bar of soap into it. She’d seen this in some movie. She gave her make-shift weapon a tentative swing, smacking the bar of soap into the palm of her hand. She hadn’t swung it hard, but it still hurt pretty bad. She smiled in grim satisfaction.

She closed the drawer and opened the door. She walked into the living-room like a ghost. Allen wasn’t around. It was like she was seeing her dirty little studio apartment for the first time. Her eyes swept form the piles of dirty clothes, to the foul mattress in the middle of the room, to the needle and spoon on the coffee table.

This was how she had been living for the past year. She felt sick and angry. Angry with herself for staying here so long.

“Jenny’s right, I don’t owe him shit.”

She riffled through the clutter until she found her backpack, then she searched through the piles of clothes for her own things. Everything smelled like pot smoke and sweat. She knew she should hurry but didn’t.

As she was stuffing things into her backpack she heard the front door open. The back of her neck began to tingle.

“What the hell are you doing?” He said.

She turned to face him, he didn’t even look like the same person who had taken her in. The drugs had turned his limbs into sticks, his hair was a nest of dirt and sweat, and his eyes held the feral intensity of a wolf caught in a trap.

She closed her eyes for a moment and remembered the Allen she used to know.

Under her breath she said, “I don’t owe you anything.”

Aloud she said, “I’m leaving Allen.”