Midnight

2. Heavy Fog

Six years ago.

I walked into our one-bedroom loft that we were leasing together. It was something I've always wanted. An expansive open space with large floor-to-ceiling windows. It granted me perfect access to downtown Charlotte skyline, an unmarred location for me to paint. The night sky was my greatest inspiration. Painting had always been my getaway. My hideout on Earth where I was able to orchestrate my oeuvre of a non-existence. I created an image of life that didn't exist. Memories of marriage and family, while in actuality being alone.

Carlton and I decided to move in together before my miscarriages. Time and time again, I believed we were going to have a family. But Carlton had a way of stressing me beyond measure. The way he looked at me. The seldom talking and exaggerated sighs when I enter the room.The daily fights. I'd never been so alone while with someone in my entire life.

Clinicals had been long and hard. Twelve hours days, four times a week. The one day I didn't have clinicals, I had testing. Every Friday. The process was mentally and physically draining. Carlton assumed school had stressed my baby to death, but it was him and all his cheating and lying. My mind was constantly consumed with worry and dread.

Carlton laid across our iron-railed bed in ladylike fetal position. I didn't know why but I loved him and it was sickening. Knowing I was oblivious to the concept of real love. I knew he didn't love me. That was obvious. No human could do things he did and honestly call it love. Sometimes I believe he hated me from the moment we met.

His snores vibrated the windows of our room. I hoped something would fly down his throat. Something big to obstruct his airway. I dragged my aching body into the bathroom and turned the stall shower on all-the-way hot. In a matter of minutes, steam filled the bathroom as I managed to pull my scrub top off. My hands braced on the edge of the counter as I admired my bags in the fogged mirror. Carlton's cell started ringing in the next room.

"Carl," I called. "Caaaarl!" He didn't even budge. I walked out of the bathroom and glanced over to our nightstand where his phone laid face down charging. It was probably his aggravating mom calling to borrow 20 of his 22 dollars. I picked his phone up. The number wasn't hers. (704)-226-8808, but I did recognize this number. I'd seen it before. A gut-wrenching chill came over me as I held the phone to my ear.

"Hello...." I spoke into the phone with confidence and assurance. No response, only silence followed by the dial tone. These bitches don't mind playing games of hide-n-seek for a man that doesn't belong to them! These whores really bother me! And I am tired! Sick and fucking tired!

I dialed the number and listened for the ringing to stop. I pushed Carlton hard into his chest to awaken him. "Wake up. You have a call." He didn't open his eyes as I placed the phone to his ear.

"Hello," he responded into the phone with a groggy voice.

"Hey baby, what you doing letting her answer your phone," his red eyes shot open. I snatched the phone from his ear.

"Who the fuck is this!?" I screamed into the phone, demanding a name. I felt my blood boiling. My hands were shaking. She laughed into my ear....this whore was satisfied with herself.

"Ask your man sweetie." Carlton snatched the phone back and hung it up.

"WHO IS SHE!?" I screamed at him. He sat up on the side of the bed, looking downwards, instead of facing me.

"Why are you going through my phone, Cala." The sorry sack of shit attempted to turn the tables on me, but I refused. This wasn't my fault! I wasn't to blame here! I chilled my voice to match his.

"If you weren't a cheater, it wouldn't matter." My voice cracked. I wanted to cry. He looked up to face me as I stood in front of him. Fuck him. I'm not crying this time. This cheating has to stop.

"It's the principle. You should trust me." He stood up, putting his height over mine. Making me small. I reached, taking his phone from his hand and pitched into the brick wall across the room. Sending it smashing into a million pieces. Before I could react to my reaction. He grabbed me by the throat yanking me off my feet and slammed me into the hard wall. I immediately became numb from the intense pain, penetrating throughout my body. I reached my hands out to grip his arms. Trying to pull them away from my frail neck. Trying to fight back. Trying to fight a man twice my size, twice my strength. It was a losing battle but I was tired of this. I wanted to fight him back! With his free hand, he began smacking me in the face. Over and over. It stung. Harder and harder. It hurt. Blood poured from my nose. It became clear I wasn't going to beat him, that he may kill me this time. I tried begging between the hits. He wasn't letting up. Can't he see I'm hurting? He closed his fist and continued until I was unable to scream anymore. Until I couldn't see anymore. It felt like I was drowning. Struggling for air but too weak to struggle. Like my head was being held underwater. I can only imagine what this must look like from the outside. When the hitting ended, I fell limp onto the floor. I brought that out of him. The front door slammed, bringing my painting crashing down around me. Is he gone for good? I'm smarter than this. I have to be. This wasn't love. This couldn't be love...