The spark // Art Donaldson

018. Love?

Cadell, 2018

 Cadell woke up beside Alex, dried tears staining her cheeks and blood trickling down her cheek.

3:05 AM.

She lay there for a moment, feeling the dull ache of bruises blossoming on her skin. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through her body, but she forced herself to sit up, wincing as she did so. Alex lay beside her, snoring softly, oblivious to the turmoil he had caused. She turned her head to look at him, the moonlight casting a cold light on his features.

How had it come to this? How had she allowed herself to stay with someone who treated her this way? The memories of the night before came rushing back, each blow, each cruel word. She had known he was toxic, but she had convinced herself that things would get better, that he would change.

But he never did. He never would.

Quietly, she slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him. She moved to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and flicking on the light. The reflection in the mirror made her stomach churn.

Her face was a mess of bruises and dried blood, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She barely recognized herself.

This wasn't who she was. This wasn't who she wanted to be.

She washed her face gently, the cold water soothing her inflamed skin. As she looked at herself in the mirror, she made a decision.

She couldn't stay here any longer. She couldn't keep living this lie, pretending that everything was okay when it clearly wasn't.

With trembling hands, she began to pack her bags. She moved quickly, trying to gather her things as silently as possible.

Every noise seemed amplified in the quiet room, and she paused several times, holding her breath to make sure Alex hadn't woken up. As she packed, her mind raced. She thought about the times she had defended him, the times she had made excuses for his behavior. She had believed that he loved her, that he just had a hard time showing it. But now she saw the truth.

They had never truly loved each other.

Their relationship had been built on a foundation of control and manipulation, not love.

She still remembered the time he had defended her against Art and dried her tears. Who knew 13 years down the line, he would be the cause of them?

She slipped her hand into her pocket, rummaging for the scrap of paper she had kept safely. Her fingers trembled as she dialed Art's number.

She hesitated for a moment, the phone hovering near her ear. What if he didn't answer? What if he didn't care?

She flipped the piece of paper over, seeing a message she didn't see before.

Room 813, hotel Rochelle.

She felt a flicker of hope.

Maybe Art could help her, give her a place to stay for the night. Would it be better not to call? Maybe he would understand.

She grabbed her bag and quietly slipped out of the room. The hallway was eerily quiet, her footsteps echoing softly against the walls.

She moved quickly, her mind focused on getting out before Alex woke up.

The cold wind hit her like a wave as she stepped outside, biting into her skin and making her shiver.

She pulled her coat tighter around herself, her breath visible in the frigid air. The streets were nearly deserted at this hour, the city wrapped in a whistling storm.