Jean Haus - Ink My Heart

His blue eyes are strangely dark. I look closer. Because his pupils are huge. Maybe I don’t want to know what’s going on with him. In the end, it doesn’t matter.

“We’re not getting back together. Ever.”

Confusion fills his crazy-looking eyes and his jaw tightens. “Why?”

Because I can’t stand you. Because there’s someone else. Rather than either of those truths, I say, “It was over when I filed for divorce. Two years ago.”

He steps closer to me. I step around the table. He steps around the table.

“We belong together. We have Ben and the shop. We belong together,” he repeats rapidly with confidence.

I step away again. Between the sidestepping and his ridiculous chanting, I’m getting dizzy. “It would be best if you left.”

He takes a huge step and towers over me. “We are getting back together.”

“We’re not,” I say firmly. “And you need to leave.”

He breathes on me like a dog, huffing into my hair. “Are you being a bitch because of that douche bag?”

I point at the door. “You need to go.”

“I’m staying.”

I’m getting angry. He’s basically been bullying me all week and this is the bully cherry on top. “We’re not getting back together. There is nothing left to say. Leave.” I point past him again.

He leans closer to me and says through his teeth, “We’re working it out.”

“Do I need to call the cops?” I ask, backing away from him.

He lunges, grips my arms hard, and shakes me. “Quit being a bitch!”

My anger erupts. “I’m never getting back together with you. I can’t stand you. Get out of my house,” I hiss.

His face twisting in rage, Trevor lets go of me as the door creaks open behind us, but before I can put any more distance between us, he snarls, lifts a tattooed arm, and backhands me. Hard. My jaw and mouth scream in agony as I fly across the room, bang into the wall, and slide to the floor.

Pissed, humiliated, and in pain, I peel myself from the carpet while grunts, crashing, and cursing erupt behind me. With my entire body shaking, I stand and then see Justin and Trevor circling each other in my living room. I clutch the back of a chair, afraid I might crumple back to the floor.

What the hell is happening?

After Trevor’s slap, I’m completely dazed. I can’t understand how or why Justin is here.

Trevor rushes at Justin. They end up locked together in a furious embrace that neither is willing to break, shoving at each other and knocking over chairs. The coffee table tips over, and the rain of Legos spilling everywhere sounds amid their cussing.

I’m still clutching the chair, trying to think of what to do, how to get them apart, as Justin slams Trevor against the wall. His hands clamping on Trevor’s shoulders, Justin slams him into the wall two more times, causing the entire room to shake. Appearing as dazed as I am, Trevor lets Justin wrap him in a headlock.

With a heave and teeth clenched, Justin drags him across the carpet, throws him out of the apartment, and clicks the deadbolt into place before leaning against the back of the door. Still shocked he’s here, I can only stare at Justin as he wraps his hands in his messy hair and bows his head. “I want to kill the mother fucker.”

Trevor bangs on the other side of the door while shouting obscenities.

Justin lifts his gaze and his eyes blaze at the sight of my face, which has to be marked. “I’m going to kill him,” he says, breathing hard.

Building tears finally break free. I let out a sob and stagger toward him. My hands cup his lovely face. “He doesn’t matter.” I’m shaking. He’s shaking. “That you’re here is all that matters. You came is all that matters.”

He gently brings a trembling hand to my face but doesn’t touch me. “You’re lip’s bleeding. There’s a red welt your face,” he says through clenched teeth.

I’m probably lucky Trevor didn’t hit the side of my face with the ring in it because the blow would have torn my lip, but I’m trying not to think of that right now. “Forget it. Forget him.” I slide my hands around Justin’s neck and inch closer.

He finally pulls me to his chest. My fingers grip him, a raft in a swirling, angry ocean. We stand there for a long moment, holding each other, leaning on the door that pulsates with Trevor’s rage.

Justin’s fingers tangle in my hair as his other hand holds me tighter. “What the hell is going on?”

Shaking my head, I bury my face in his chest. “I think he’s on drugs,” I mumble into the softness of his T-shirt.

“Drugs?”

“Talking fast. Huge pupils. Thinks he rules the world.”

“Sounds like coke.” He gently lifts my head and wipes at my tearstained face. “I should have kicked his coked-up ass to hell.” His lips thin. “I still want to.”

I’m about to tell him again to forget Trevor, but we both pause at the sudden silence.

Listening, Justin cocks his head to the side.

My fingers loosen their grip on his shirt.

His green gaze comes back to me as a different rap sounds at the door along with the muffled word: “Police.”

Justin’s brows lower.

I step back. “He couldn’t knock with so much control, but check the peephole.”

After pressing his face to the door, Justin opens the door to the waiting officer.

The next half hour passes in a long, slow blur. One of my neighbors called the police. Not sure if it was the screaming, fighting, or door banging, but someone had enough. Finding Trevor still beating at the door, the police hauled him down to their car. After an officer takes my statement and pictures of my face, while Justin rotates between hovering and cleaning up the mess of my living room, we’re finally alone.

He sits on the arm of the couch and hands me a glass of water and two Tylenol he must have found on the top shelf of the bathroom vanity. Suddenly feeling guilty and strangely shy, I can only glance at him as I lower the wet washcloth from my lip and reach for the water and pills. “Thanks.” I swallow the pills, then set the glass on the coffee table. “I’m beyond grateful you were here, but why did you come?”

“You weren’t answering your phone and”—he drags a hand through his hair—“I needed to talk with you. Luckily, the door was open.”

Not wanting to think of what would have happened if he hadn’t shown up, I say, “With Trevor’s call and text bombardment, my phone’s been on silent, but I was going to call you.”

He stiffens beside me. “Why?”

Realizing he’s imaging the worst, I shift toward him. “Because—well…” His expression constricts as I fumble for the right words. This was much easier expressing with paint.

A quick rap-rap-rap sounds from across the room.

My gaze snaps to the door. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Let me,” Justin says, standing. After looking through the peephole, he turns toward me. “I think it’s that girl…from the gallery night. Is she Trevor’s girlfriend?”

“Jazz?” I ask incredulously.

Frowning, he nods. “Do you want me to answer it?”

Jazz knocks harder.

I rub my temples. “Might as well before the neighbors call the cops again.”

Standing in the doorway and dressed in a cropped leather jacket and the shortest skirt in the world, Jazz glares from me to Justin twice. “Where’s Trevor?” she asks me.

Still rubbing a temple, I say, “Probably in a holding tank downtown.”

“What?” she wails, and rushes into my apartment. “Why?”

I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “Oh, maybe because he was disturbing the peace, yelling obscenities, and hitting me.” I wave a hand across my injured face, showing her the damage.