Detachment Ch. 11-14

I left with the intention of grocery shopping but I was in such a hurry to get out of the house that I've realized that I didn't even take inventory. And since I've been eating three meals a day at Marcus's since returning to work, I'm not sure what all Travis has been using up. Now I'm just meandering through Whole Foods, absentmindedly picking up things I usually get and putting them back down, daydreaming about how I ended up with Travis in the first place.

It was the summer after my sophomore year at Emerson College when we met. I was working a double to cover wing night at Sláinte Irish Pub to rake in the tips that came along with one of the busiest nights. Travis waltzed in with Chris and Nick, his best friends from college, and their girlfriends. Of course, I got stuck serving them on top of covering for the one girl who left early...

Just like I'd already done dozens of times that day, I walked over and introduced myself, trying to make eye contact with everyone who wasn't focused on their menus. And, when Travis looked up at me with those commanding meadow-green eyes, the forced smile I gave all of my customers immediately melted into something genuine. Green has always been my favorite color. And green eyes on a man were my cup of matcha. It wasn't just those eyes that had me captivated. He had a sharp jawline, rugged scruff, arms that budged against that short-sleeve button-down of his.

Travis greeted me with a confident smile and a "Well, hello there, Kylie. How are you doing today?"

He was the first customer all day to ask how I was instead of jumping right to putting in a drink order. It was a small sentiment, but my day was rough, so it cheered me up a bit.

When I came back to take drink orders, he had me laughing with witty pun after witty pun. Upon returning to take food orders, he asked for my recommendations then went on a semi-pretentious foodie rant about the proper way to make wings that had me smirking and shaking my head. Any time I came by to check on them, he made sure to strike up small talk, and I lingered longer than I should've to chat.

"Well, you were hands down one of the best waitresses I've ever had," he said, handing me the signed receipt with a VERY generous tip.

I smiled back at him. "Thanks for being the best table all night! You guys come back and see me!"

He smirked. "You tell us when you're working next, and we'll be sure to return for the excellent service. And to try that mac and cheese you raved about, I guess."

I laughed then told him my schedule, specifying which days would be slower.

Sure enough, Travis returned the next week during the early afternoon hours with Nick and his girlfriend Ericka, impressing me with his confidence, quips, and knowledgeable spiels for the second time. He still seemed pretentious, but not in an overly arrogant way. Not like how he comes off now.

Then he came back later that week. Alone this time.

"Your friends running late?" I asked.

"It's just me today. I didn't much feel like ignoring them while you were around..." He flashed a bright, coy smile after.

It was a slow Monday, and we were having another good conversation, so I hung around his table during the lulls until I had to actually work. Travis was blatantly flirting with me that day, and I was all about it. Since he was a smooth talker, I was ready to buy whatever that stud was selling. It didn't help that I'd been single for a year and I was aching for a good lay... It took everything not to show too much interest while remaining professional.

Eventually, he said, "Just so you know, Kylie, I don't just come here for the hospitality..."

I pretended to be surprised. "Oh? So you come for the mac and cheese then?"

"No, you goof! I come here to see you... And I'd like to see you outside of here one day."

I wrote my number on a napkin right there and then.

My stomach growls, snapping me out of the reverie of days past to remind me that I haven't eaten since dinner yesterday. When I look at the clock, I realize it's almost noon. I've been sitting in the parking lot reminiscing for almost thirty minutes... Thankfully it's brisk enough out that the food I brought won't spoil.

Panera is what I decide on because... soup sounds good right now. And because it's close. Keeping with the lonely theme of the day, I opt for eating in. I sit there in the back corner, drifting back off in that nostalgic daze that had me on autopilot in Whole Foods.

I'm trying to think back to when Travis started talking down to me the way he's been doing so often lately. From our first date to our first night together to the day I said yes to becoming his fiancé three years later, he took every opportunity he could to tease me or crack a joke on me. My father said a lot of horrible things to me, so I could take more punishment than the average person. And I had a lot of guy friends in high school, so I could take a joke and dish it right back with the savagery of a teenage boy.

The first time I remember being mad at Travis for something he said was a month or so before our first anniversary.

"Babe, sometimes you're more trouble than you're worth..." That's what he said in response to me breaking his stupid French press while I was trying to hurry and wash it so he could use it before work. He said it with that stupid smile he does when he's masking how angry he is, eyes blinking rapidly as though he couldn't process how stupid my actions were.

Needless to say, him undervaluing my worth set me off. That spurred our first big argument.

Every mean thing after that day stood out to me.

I think it was after the "I love yous"—sometime after I moved in—when I started noticing how often he spat those underhanded, petty little jabs of his at me. And whenever I reacted with a "Hey... be nice..." or whenever I got visibly upset, he simply scowled and hit me with a "Oh, grow up."

While working at Biossure together, "You sure do whine a lot, woman," and "All you do is complain," was what I got whenever I used to go to his department to vent to him, and after work. Oh, but when he bitched to me just as much if not more, I listened to all of it. That's part of the reason Marcus and I grew so close. Marcus let me vent then he'd tell me why what I was saying was a problem. And after, he'd say something funny to cheer me up without fail...

Whenever I tried debating something with Travis, I always got a "bullshit..." or a "Oh, what do you know?" with that same stupid, phony grin he always put on to soften his blows.

If I messed up dinner, there was his number one catch phrase, "Can't you do anything right?"

I got that kind of talk maybe monthly once I moved in. After the wedding, it was every other week. Then, weekly. In the last few months, it's felt like the verbal abuse has been coming every other day. Back when we were still in the honeymoon phase, it was something I paid no mind to or simply overlooked. Now, it's compounding and has just become unbearable.

Time has made him shittier to me. That's clear. What's unclear is if he's being horrible to me because I'm doing something wrong or, as Marcus speculated when I vented to him until 3:00 a.m., "because he's just showing his true colors now that he doesn't have to fight to win you over..."

And I'm thinking Marcus has a point...

But the only way to know for sure is to hash things out.

***

I make one last stop at Target, the best place to go when one needs to kill time. After grabbing some skincare products, I climb back behind the wheel, toss the bag to the passenger seat, and stick the key in the ignition. That's when my heart starts palpitating. My leg is shaking hard, making my body tremble even more. This is my standard reflex to extreme anxiousness...

I spend two minutes rifling through my purse, freaking out that I've lost my phone. And then I remember I slipped it into my coat pocket after scanning the discount QR code at the register...

Obviously, Marcus is who I'm going to text: Hey! Hope your date is going well. Just wanted you to know that I'm going to confront Travis now... Wish me luck.

As I'm about to shift into reverse, my phone rings and Marcus's goofy picture appears on screen.

"Hello?" I answer, confusion in my voice. "Back home already?" I try not to sound excited that his date ended early.

"Hey, Kylie! Nope, I just stepped outside to call you real quick."

"Why, is your date sucking?"

"No, things are alright. Nothing compared to Sunday..." He clears his throat. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that..."

I blush, remembering that sunset, that kiss. "No, it's fine..."

"Listen, I just called to wish you good luck and to say that, if things don't go well, you call me if you need me, okay?"

"Oh, you know I will..."

"And if I don't pick up because I can't hear my phone or whatever, you have my key. Just go to my house and make yourself at home."

I sigh. "You're so good to me, Marcus. Thank you. I'll keep you posted..."

"Please do. Wishing you all the best."

"I'll talk to you later. Enjoy your date."

He grunts. "Bye, Kylie."

***

Travis isn't home when I walk into the apartment. Because of course he'd be gone the one time I need to speak to him. All that mental preparation during the ride, choking down the dread in the parking lot and while walking to the apartment... all for nothing. The only semblance of peace I had was knowing when I was going to have to face him. Now I don't know when the storm is going to hit and this anticipation is giving me crippling anxiety.

I opt out of taking my meds to calm myself. My mind needs to be clear for what's going to go down. That means I'll have to keep busy until Travis comes home. So, I shoot him a text asking when he'll be back then I get to unpacking the groceries.

Halfway through scrubbing the bathtub, my cell buzzes on the counter by the sink.

Travis: I'm out with Chris watching college football. What do you need? I can practically hear the sharpness of his words.

Me: I need you home. When will you be back?

Travis: Why?

Me: Because I need you here...

Travis: Does 9 work for you?

Me: I guess.

I finish cleaning the bathroom, vacuum, then tackle the dishes. Once all the crap that Travis left in the sink is dried and put away, I grab the tablet from the coffee table then crawl into bed. The second I get under the covers, the exhaustion of the day catches up with me. Just in case I fall asleep during this rom-com I've cued up, I set an alarm on my phone for 8:45.

***

A door slamming startles me awake. The clock says 8:39 p.m., so I'm freaking out that someone just broke in. The kitchen lights click on. Keys jingle then clatter into the bowl on the counter. Then there's that deflating sigh.

He's home... Why's he home early? I thought I had time to prepare!

His broad form appears between the crack in the door. "Of course you're sleeping," he snaps.

"Forgive me for being tired all the time..."

"You pregnant?" His voice softens when he asks that.

"No..."

He turns his palms up and raises his shoulders, looking around dramatically. "What's the big fucking emergency, Kylie?"

I rub my eyes. "Travis, I think we need to talk..."

He shakes his head then whirs around, stomping back into the kitchen. "Now she wants to talk!"

I drag my feet on the way to the door. "Um, excuse me? You're the one who's barely said anything to me all week!"

"Yeah, says the one who just shut down out of nowhere!"

"Out of nowhere?!" I say so loud that my voice cracks.

"You've been being a bitch since, like, last Monday."

My jaw clenches so tight my teeth hurt and my ears ring. "I've been being a bitch?" I take a deep breath. "Sorry I've been distant, I had to start taking antidepressants and antianxiety meds again!"

He scowls. "What the hell for?"

"You've been treating me like shit for months now and it's getting worse by the day. I couldn't deal anymore."

"How have I been treating you like shit?"

"All you fucking do is talk down to me, Travis! All you do is tell me how worthless I am, how stupid I am! You're always implying that I'm useless! You keep saying that you wish I was a better wife and that nothing I do is good enough for you! You mention all that shit every chance you get! You know who you're starting to sound like?"

"I'm nothing like your father..."

"No, you're worse! At least he had alcoholism as an excuse! And, lately, it seems like you've been verbally abusing me a lot more often than he used to!"

"Verbally abusing you? Oh, please, woman..."

"Don't you dare try brushing it off like it's nothing! You don't get to dismiss my concerns this time! The things you say hurt! It hurts so bad, and I don't know what I did to you to deserve being treated like this!" I'm screaming now as I get in his face, prompting him to turn his head. Now I bring my mouth as close to his ear as I can without touching him, because I'm feeling petty. "You're a fucking bully and a horrible fucking husband!" I scream. "You don't deserve—"

His massive palm mushes my face and he shoves my head back. Hard. As I'm stumbling back my fuzzy socks slip, then I fall, cracking my elbow against the counter as I try grabbing for something to hold onto, fingers squeaking as they slide against the marble island. The next thing I know, I hit the floor, right side first.

Travis rushes forward. "Fuck! Kylie, I'm so—"

A wall of tears instantly blurs my vision. "Don't you fucking touch me!" I sob, sniffling after.

"I didn't mean—"

Wincing, I shift onto my knees, leaning away to dodge his touch. "No! Fuck you, Travis... You don't get to try to talk your way out of shoving your wife to the fucking floor!"

"So, what, I was supposed to let you deafen—"

"Oh, so yelling makes it okay for you to put your hands on me?" I start to rise, holding my throbbing elbow.

He takes a step forward, extending a hand.

"Don't you dare come near me..." I snarl with a trembling voice as I rush to the bedroom. I grab the biggest bag I can find out of the closet and start shoving clothes sloppily into it.

"Kylie, look, I'm sorry." His voice sounds closer than I'd like. "Don't leave, let's talk—"

I turn and point at him, my arm trembling violently. "Get away from the door or I swear I will call the cops..."

Travis looks me over for a moment before backstepping out of sight.

"There's nothing to talk about! I grew up with an abusive father. You know that... I swore to myself that I will never deal with any man who puts his hand on a woman." I grab the first coat I find, scramble to put it on, grab my phone and my purse, then I powerwalk for the door. I freeze when my hand palms the doorknob. "Oh, and consider us separated the moment you pushed me..."

He starts toward me. "Ky—"

I raise my palm to him, cuing up 9-1-1 with my other hand then showing him the screen with my thumb hovering over the call button. "Follow me and I call the cops."

He freezes.

After giving him one last glare, I storm out, slamming the door behind me as hard as I can.

Our apartment is on the second floor near the stairwell, so I choose to take the stairs instead of waiting another second in this building for the elevator. All those verbal jabs, being shoved—it hits me all at once. My legs go weak as I descend that last flight. The dim stairwell before me blurs behind a wall of tears.

The second I reach the landing, I slump against the wall, drop what I'm carrying, and start sobbing, collapsing onto my hands and knees.

Chapter 13

Marcus

Saturday

Senna rocks her body slowly and rhythmically to Miette Hope's live performance of "Release Me." She's vibing hard with her eyes closed, feeling the music even more now that the alcohol is kicking in. It's good to see someone enjoying one of my favorite indie artists as much as I do. Well, maybe she's enjoying this more. Add that to the growing list of similarities I've discovered today and Thursday.

The moment the song ends, the audience erupts into applause, whistling and cheering as the talented artist thanks the crowd. I'm hoping to try and meet with her after the show to ask her to be the first musician to interview on the podcast I'm going to launch next month. Too bad she slips backstage after her final "Thanks and goodnight!" to the audience.

I'll just send her a tweet, I think, chugging the rest of my beer.

"That was a great set!" Senna says, holding up her hand for a high-five.

I clap her palm. We've pretty much high-fived every time we connected on something major. Earlier, when we were pointing out artists and authors that we liked at that music-bookstore-restaurant named Tres Gato, it happened too many times to count. "Yes, it was! She's amazing live."

We start toward the bar at the same time. "Indeed she is! I'm so glad you found out about this and thought to invite me!"

I shrug. "You're the only person I know who listens to her music daily." A laugh follows. "But considering that the playlist you write to is eerily similar to mine, I probably would've invited you anyway!"

Senna finishes the last of her beer. "Hey, if you're ever down to check out a random indie band, I'm your girl! This? This is my scene!"

"I like the sound of that!"

"Cheers to being music buddies!" She raises her empty cup, and I tap mine against hers. "So, what are you thinking? Another round?"

"Uh... If we Ubered down, I would. You know how cops are on US-1. I'd rather not be drunk if they stop us."

"Very true!" She checks her phone. "Um, it's not even 9:30 yet... It's too early for a couple of night owls to call it yet!" She nudges me. "What do you want to do?"

I glance at my phone quick. Still nothing from Kylie... A sinking feeling sets in that her and Travis kissed and made up... "What are you in the mood for?"

"I've got that Purple Violets movie I was telling you about if you want to go back to my place..."

I squint. "That's the one about the writers in New York, right?"

"Yup!"

"Ooh. Well hell yeah! Count me in!"

She claps. "You'll enjoy it! I know it!" The one personality trait where we differ the most is that she's far more chipper than I am. Kylie is far from a drag, but she's also not a ball of endless energy, which is exactly my speed.

"I trust you," I say, holding the door open for her. "Do we need to stop for beverages?"

"I've got wine... And it's a wine kind of movie. Trust me."

I snicker. "It's awesome that you tailor your drink to your film watching experience, too! I drink Guinness when I watch Boondock Saints and Corona when I watch Fast & Furious movies. Soju for Asian films."

She cracks up. "That's hilarious! I love it!"

***

At this point during a date that's been going this ridiculously well, I'm normally thinking about my odds of getting lucky. But here I am, driving a smart, beautiful, down-to-earth fellow author back to her place while having an interesting debate on the accuracy of relationship portrayal in the Netflix show Love that we both recently binged—and what am I doing? Glancing at my phone in the dash mount, not checking for directions, but instead looking for a text notification from a married woman...

Senna directs me to a guest parking spot when I pull into the ground-level of the parking garage. From there, it's only a short walk to her first-floor apartment.

"Alexa, I'm home!" she says as she steps inside.

"Welcome home," the smart device replies as the lamp by the door illuminates. Now a French song begins playing.