Avi Kaplan: A Collection of Short Stories

Wires

A/N: Story contains implied sexual/emotional/physical abuse.

You are held up by strings, wires. Taut, always pulling, dragging you in directions you didn't want to go. They provide little to no slack when you desperately wanted to fray, tear, ruin them and break free.

"Don't do that." His voice is sharp and grating to your ears and you flinch despite yourself.

Your fingers twitch in your lap, itching to scratch at your invisible bonds, fray the wires holding you to him. You hum in your throat, the melody of the song you heard on the radio floating into the space between you.

He slams his hand down on the table. "Fuck! I said don't do that!"

The wires holding you to him jerk and you snap into obedience.

You didn't do it anymore.

+++

You are running.

Tears and blood run down your face, stinging your eyes, but you run, running hard against the wires wanting to pull you back to him. Your feet slap against the pavement and you look back in fear, expecting to see him right behind you. Gasping, panting for air, you turn another corner, cement hard beneath your feet.

Headlights shine behind you and with a panicked cry, you run up to the nearest house, pounding on the door with your fists. The startled face of a bearded man greets you and you grip almost painfully at the door frame, your voice barely a raspy whisper. "Please."

The last thing you remember is falling into his arms as you collapse.

+++

You sit, staring blankly at the wall in front of you as the doctor finishes stitching the cut above your eyebrow. Your fingers twist in your lap and you can feel the fine tremor that shakes your entire frame. From the corner of your eye, you see the nurse approach you holding a warm washcloth. She nods towards your face and you shrug, flinching as she begins to wipe the dried blood from your face.

"Are you interested in getting tested for—"

You shake your head and open your mouth to reply, but in that moment you realize you can't remember her name. She's been with you for almost two hours and you can't remember her name. Tears sting at the corner of your eyes and as she rests a reassuring hand against your shoulder, you tilt your head down and cry.

"You're alright," the nurse whispers soothingly, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. "The police found your—they found him and he's been arrested. And you were so brave."

You stare down at your feet, body shaking and slowly nod. The wires that held you to him were still there, slack, limp and the relief was startling. But the fear that he could still tug on them remains in your veins.

+++

When Kirstie comes to pick you up, you're thankful she never says "why did you never tell me?" or "oh my God, I'm so sorry." Instead, she offers a sympathetic smile and a warm hug, rubbing lightly at your shoulders.

"You can stay with me," Kirstie says, sitting down next to you on the bed. "I know my apartment is small, but I've got a good couch."

You nod silently and follow her from the hospital, unable to stop yourself from looking over your shoulder as you leave the safety of the walls.

Arriving at her place, you fall onto the couch, burying your face into a pillow and cry.

+++

"I think I need to move."

Kirstie looks up at you from her breakfast, slowly chewing and swallowing before nodding. You silently take in her reaction—her face relatively neutral, if not just a touch surprised—and take another bite of your cereal.