Not So Perfect

Fear

The walk to Tony's apartment is a blur. Angela is dimly aware of the city noises, the distant music, but her world is narrowed to the steady rhythm of Tony's footsteps and the solid presence of his arm around her.

The apartment is small, but clean and sparsely furnished. Tony leads her to the sofa, gently guiding her to sit down. He disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water and a blanket.

"Here," he says, handing her the water. "Drink this."

Angela takes a small sip, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. Tony wraps the blanket around her shoulders, his touch gentle and careful.

"Thank you," she whispers, her voice hoarse.

"I'm going to get you some ice for your cheek," he says, his gaze lingering on the bruise.

He returns a moment later with a cold compress, which he carefully presses against her skin. The coolness is a small comfort against the burning humiliation.

The piercing wail of police sirens rips through the quiet apartment, an unwelcome intrusion. Tony's reaction is immediate, a flash of movement as he's at the door. The pulsing red and blue lights bathe the room in an unsettling, chaotic glow. He turns to Angela, his face tight with worry.

"I need to see what's happening with Diane and Maggie," he says, his voice low and urgent. "I won't be long, okay?"

Angela nods, her throat too constricted to speak. Her mind is a whirlwind of fear and confusion. He disappears, and she's left alone, the silence heavy with dread.

A persistent vibration draws her attention. Her phone, lying on the kitchen table, is buzzing. She moves towards it, her legs heavy, each step a reluctant journey.

Unlocking the screen feels like a betrayal, a surrender to something she desperately wants to avoid. A wave of icy terror washes over her as she sees the caller ID.

"Baby, you there?" his voice, sickeningly sweet, fills the small apartment, sending a jolt of fear through her.

She nods, a reflexive action, even though he can't see her.

"Babe?" he asks, his tone hardening, a subtle threat laced beneath the surface.

"Yes," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Are you okay?" he asks, the question dripping with a possessive menace.

"Fine," she replies, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

"I don't like that tone," he growls, a warning in his voice.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, her body trembling.

"You saw my message, right?" he demands.

"Yes."

"Be prepared, okay?" he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Don't disappoint me."

"I will," she answers, her voice small and trembling, the word a forced surrender.

"I'll talk to you soon," he says, and the line goes dead, leaving her in a chilling silence.

Angela stares at the phone, her hand shaking, as if it holds the key to her impending doom. A small, desperate smile twists her lips, a tear tracing a path down her cheek. She knows she has to do this, that there's no escape, but the terror is a living thing inside her, a cold, suffocating weight that threatens to crush her. Every fiber of her being screams against it, but she knows, with a chilling certainty, that she has no choice.

Panic clawed at Angela's throat, a desperate need to escape the suffocating weight of her emotions. Her hand, trembling uncontrollably, plunged into her bag, searching for the familiar mint container. She fumbled with the lid, spilling pills onto the floor as she frantically poured them into her palm. Shoving them into her mouth, she grabbed the water bottle, desperately gulping down the liquid. Pills tumbled out, a bitter taste exploding in her mouth. She choked, gasping for air, her lungs burning. Just stop thinking, she pleaded silently, Stop feeling. She scooped up another handful of pills, the desperation a primal urge, a desperate attempt to drown out the pain, the fear, the humiliation. Her legs buckled beneath her, and she slumped to the floor, the world tilting precariously.

"What did you do?!" Tony's voice, raw with terror, echoed through the small apartment.

Angela's eyes flickered open, her vision blurring, and she saw Tony's face, a mask of desperate, frantic concern. Tears streamed down her cheeks, a silent, uncontrolled torrent of despair. Why can't he just let me go? she thought, her gaze locking onto his, her mind a swirling vortex of darkness.

"How many did you take?" he demanded, his voice trembling, his eyes wide with fear.

He hauled her to her feet, his grip bruisingly tight, dragging her towards the bathroom. She stumbled, her body heavy and unresponsive, her eyelids drooping, fighting to stay open. He shoved her down in front of the toilet, his hands shaking.

"Throw them up! Now!" he commanded, his voice a desperate, guttural plea.

Angela shook her head weakly, a silent, futile refusal, her body already succumbing to the encroaching darkness. Her breath hitched in her throat, a shallow, ragged gasp.

"I'll shove my own fingers down your throat if I have to!" Tony warned, his voice cracking, his hands trembling violently. "Do you understand me? I won't let you do this!"

With a shuddering sob, Angela forced her fingers down her throat, gagging and retching. Tony supported her, his grip unwavering, his face pale and strained, beads of sweat forming on his brow. After a few desperate, futile attempts, her body gave out, collapsing against him, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Just let me slip away, she thought, her mind a swirling, chaotic mess.

Tony scooped her into his arms, his movements frantic, his voice a desperate, broken litany of pleas. Angela buried her face against his chest, seeking the oblivion she craved, the sweet release from the pain. She wanted to sleep, to escape the crushing weight of her reality, to simply cease to exist.

"Pajarito, stay awake! Please, stay awake!" Tony begged, his voice breaking, shaking her desperately. "Don't do this! Don't you dare do this to me!"

His voice was a distant echo, a fading light in the suffocating darkness that was rapidly consuming her. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the pull of unconsciousness, the world fading into a silent, empty void. The last thing she felt was the frantic tremor of his hands, the desperate warmth of his body, and the raw, agonized sound of his voice pleading for her to stay.