Gabrielle sat in a spot on the couch to the right of the corner seat. For someone who loved sitting in the corner at restaurants and mostly anywhere else, Gabrielle hated sitting in the corner of the couch. Even if it hadn’t been his spot, she didn’t think she would enjoy it.
Glancing down at her small, delicate watch, made of gold older than she was, Gabrielle had a an hour or so before he would be home from work. Monday through Friday was after work happy hour for him and his crew. Friday nights were the nights when the rest of the guys, and Samantha, would stop by the bar for a drink or two and still be home early enough to take out their girlfriends or wives – in some cases their wives followed by their girlfriends.
But Thursdays. . . Thursdays were special. It was usually the end of a job, minus the clean up. The night before the easiest day to be hungover at work. The longest day working and the longest happy hour, at least for Rick and his crew. It was the night the bar had shots of whiskey half priced to go with their cheap beer specials. Gabrielle knew Rick would always come home, usually he’d slosh through the door around 10. What he did before or how he made his way home, were different beasts entirely. Things, Gabrielle had long since stopped wanting to know. For her, the only question Gabrielle that kept her immobilized on the couch was just how impaired he would return.
Pulling her blanket close around her Gabrielle started a show that she had recorded the night before. Having used most of the memory himself, space was limited and Rick didn’t see the purpose in recording competition shows where the contests changed every week. He did see the purpose in recording competition shows where the contestants were the same the whole season and were kicked off week by week, saving them all up until the finale, and then binge watching them on a Saturday.
Nuance was very important to Rick. It worked out well for Gabrielle that the show she liked most was on Wednesday nights. Most of the time Rick would still be at happy hours while it secretly recorded. She had tried early on to watch it before he got home, but there was too much to do in preparation for his homecoming. It became easier, and more enjoyable, to just wait for his long days followed by his long nights. She lowered the volume and hit play on her show, eager to have it watched and deleted long before 10.
Gabrielle finished her show with fifteen minutes to spare. She deleted the program, raised the volume up to where Rick liked it, and walked over to the window. There was no sign of Rick’s truck or any movement really. Not that that was surprising, there was a light flurry of snow falling, and it was pretty late for their quiet town. Gabrielle watched the snow floating down from the sky. She half hoped Rick would be careful about driving, knowing the likelihood of that. After a while, Gabrielle felt the calm and peace she loved this time of year. Lost in the smell of snow, and the crystal clear air whirling outside the window, Gabrielle lost her sense of time and made herself a second cup of hot cocoa. With her blanket pulled around her shoulders, she went out to their wrap-around porch with heated floors.
Once again, Gabrielle got lost in the movement of the weather. It was the feeling of magic and turkeys roasting in ovens for Christmas Day in the air. It had the hope of spring and the romance of winter woven through every molecule. At least to her it was. Winter was the epitome of all the best things in the world. Even without someone to share it with, Gabrielle’s heart was warmed by the falling snow and wintry winds. Growing up her mother had joked that she was the ice queen – cold and reserved like the weather, but warm and inviting like a roaring fire in a ski lodge.
Gabrielle used to laugh at this. It used to be a funny joke, or maybe it had never been a joke at all. Rick told her she was cold hearted and a frosty bitch, among other things. Some days he treated her like a true queen, other times he treated her the same way an emperor condemning a gladiator. When times were good, the thought never crossed her mind. When things were bad, she refused to think at all.
It was when things were sliding from good to bad, from fluffy snow to avalanches, from a contained beautiful fire to the fires of Rome – it was then that she thought most about how it was her fault. The ways she wasn’t considerate enough, the ways she was rude and selfish, the ways she set the coffee table for movie dates. The times she should have called, shouldn’t have called, and all the times in between. She thought about the good gifts arriving too late – the snow was picking up pace and starting to bury the roads.
Maybe tonight things would be different. The magic had picked up with the storm, its electricity was palpable. Maybe Gabrielle could really be the Ice Queen after all. She thought of Rick and their good times. The snow slowed its pace. The rumbled of a truck caught Gabrielle’s attention. Its sloppy maneuvering and aggressive speed were enough to tell Gabrielle that it was going to be one of those nights. That if there was any magic in the air, it was dark and dangerous.
She watched as the truck came barreling down the street. The fear of the unknown mixed with the memories of other nights causing Gabrielle’s chest to tighten. Her throat felt constricted. She closed her eyes as the snow came billowing onto the porch. She tried to chuckle at the thought that it was trying to give her a hug. Wrap its fluffy embrace around her, protect her. She knew too well what was going to happen. Gabrielle opened her eyes and watched as Rick clipped the corner of their driveway. She heard his slurred trail of screamed obscenities from the porch. She watched as his anger transformed his face from drunk and lax to something marred and harsh.
Gabrielle tried to remain calm as she got up quickly. If she had been paying more attention, if she hadn’t lost track of time she could be upstairs asleep. It wasn’t always a deterrent, but it certainly the most effective way to de-escalate any situation with Drunk and Angry Rick.
The snow had picked up again. She got up from the porch, looking once more over her shoulder, the warm blanket left where she had been sitting – Rick’s truck was barely visible through the snow now. Maybe she would have enough time to head down the wrap-around porch and get upstairs before Rick made it in the house.
As Gabrielle closed the backdoor behind her, a large crash echoed behind the door. She heard the truck attempting to turn the engine over. She was at the top of the stairs heading toward their bedroom when the truck roared to life. Gabrielle ran down the hall making a left into their bedroom. Double-knotting her flannel pants as she tied them a cinch tighter than before, Gabrielle peaked out the window. Rick was fine. He was always fine. The truck she was less certain about. Gabrielle slipped off her bra and climbed into bed.
Based on the sounds she was hearing, Rick had struggled to make it up the front porch, in the door, but when he finally had made it inside, he had gone right to the kitchen. A glass broke. Something, probably a fist, slammed into something that splintered. A beer popped open, the cap rattling against the sink. Another shattering of glass. Hopefully it was a bottle going into the recyclable bin and not onto the floor. Rick’s feet rumbled up the stairs and stumbled down the hall. Gabrielle tried to relax her body, as it fought to tense up with every bounding step. The bedroom door opened.
Gabrielle exhaled as slowly and naturally as she could. Drawers were opening. Clothes were being pulled, dropped, and shuffled. Gabrielle could smell him as he approached her side of the bed. The sting of alcohol washing over the back of her neck as he rummaged under the bed. Maybe this was it. Maybe he was leaving her. Gabrielle tried to feign sleep as best she could. The sounds of zippers interrupted her thoughts. Silence filled the room. Gabrielle could feel Rick glaring at her. His anger, his disgust, all of it like laser beams into her sleeping body. She tried to temper the hope that he was taking off for another woman.
Without knowing what was happening Gabrielle slid toward the edge of the bed where thought Rick had been standing. Pain ran up her body in stages as her hips, then her ribs, her neck, and finally her head dropped onto something wooden. She wasn’t able to sprawl out. Her arms and legs, her head hitting thick walls around her. She thought of the old wooden trunk they kept at the foot of their bed. Everything stung. Gabrielle forced her eyes to open.
Rick’s dark clothing and trucker hat popped against their stark white ceiling. Even his spit somehow stood out against it. Flakes of spit and beer were launching from his mouth landing on Gabrielle. Snow, crash, blame, bitch, witch, fucking ice queen, cunt, almost, died… nothing was making sense.
Was he blaming her for the snow? For crashing?
frigid, trip, lesson, packed…
Were they going somewhere? It was a Thursday. They had work tomorrow.
glass, clean up, broken, slut…
A scream pierced her ears as the sound of wood splintered against something. She couldn’t feel her fingers or her knee.
Her ribs seared with pain as they bounced off his shoulder. She couldn’t see where they were going, but she saw the bag on his other arm. The wooden trunk closed, the lid broken, caved in on itself, behind them. Her head cracked against the wall. Gabrielle swallowed her throw up. Everything was spinning.
The cold embraced her. It should have stung, but somehow it had made her feel safer. Maybe the snow really was her friend. Gabrielle attempted to shield her head to no avail as she was flung down into the cab of the truck. She tried to drag herself to a seated position. She wasn’t certain her body was working, but she had to get out of the truck.
Another wave of nausea came over Gabrielle, once more she choked down her vomit. There was no way she would be able to keep this up, but for now it seemed to be her best strategy. There was a light from her neighbor’s window. Maybe they would help her. She had freed her arm, the one whose fingers she could still feel, trying to reach up when something landed on top of her.
The truck was moving backwards. Her heart raced faster than the snow or the truck. There was no escaping now. She was trapped. The darkness slid over her. Her eyes adjusted. Everything was spinning one way, the truck was moving another. The lights and the trees fading from her vision.
As Rick looked over his shoulder before backing on to the road he saw Gabrielle’s eyes close, a look of confusion and fear spread across her face. Oh she would pay for her wrongdoings. Even if it wasn’t enough to cover her debt, she would pay with her life.
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