All The Mixed Feelings (Van McCann)

Part 66

Warnings: The next few parts contain some quite upsetting graphic physical and verbal abuse...

Abby

"Chris..." My voice came out as barely a whisper as I found myself backing up slowly, like he was some sort of wild animal who I might escape by moving stealthily.

He didn't speak, just slowly got to his feet, and started advancing on me, the look in his eyes chilling me to the bone.

A million thoughts rushed through my head, as I frantically searched for options but I couldn't settle on one. My best bet was locating my phone and calling the police, but as I entered the kitchen and looked again at the table my heart sank as I realised I had no idea where my phone actually was. As my eyes darted around the room, Chris finally spoke.

"Looking for this?" He said, and any hopes I had of raising the alarm disintegrated as he held my phone aloft, his lips twisting into a sneer.

I continued to back away, making for the far side of the kitchen, putting the table in between us. My heart was beating wildly in my chest, and my throat felt closed up. My anxiety grew by the second as Chris just stood, looking at me, not saying any more. The silence was punctuated only by my breathing which had started to come in shallow gasps.

"You shouldn't be here," I said eventually, trying to keep my voice steady.

Chris's scowl softened slightly, and his shoulders seemed to slump a little. He put my phone down on the table in front of him and then placed his hands on the table too, leaning towards me.

"How did we get here Abby? To this mess?"

Of course I knew what the answer to that was. Everything that had gone wrong in our relationship was down to him. Every jealous rage, every angry phone call, every night spent crying into my pillow, it was all down to Chris. But this wasn't the time for home truths. I knew how volatile his temper was, how he could switch from sorrowful to dangerous with little warning. Especially now when the drinks he'd obviously knocked back tonight slurred his words and clouded his judgement. I imagined it wasn't all he'd been indulging in too as I looked into his red-rimmed eyes and saw his pupils dark and depthless.

"Chris, you need help. And I can help you if you'll let me. Just let me make a call..."

"Who you gonna call Abby? The fucking police?" He cut me off, slamming a fist down on the table, with enough force to send my phone skittering off to the edge of the table where it lay, teetering over the edge.

I stared at it as if I could somehow miraculously move it with my mind, or make a grab for it and call someone, anyone... but not Van. I thought of us sitting outside in his car, imagined Chris lurking in the shadows of my house, watching us, seeing us kiss. My insides clenched with nerves. My eyes darted nervously back to Chris. I had to be careful, keep my cool, keep him calm, plan my escape.

"Your mum's really worried about you, she's been calling me."

Chris's face crumpled, and he stifled a sob as he spoke. "I'm such a disappointment to her. I'm a fucking burden. Have been all my life."

"That's not true, don't say that," I kept my voice soft, kept my eyes on him.

If I moved just a foot to the right I could probably just reach out and grab the phone. But where would I run to? I'd locked the back door and hung the key up on the hook next to it, I'd never get it open before he got round to me.

Chris was almost folded over now on the table, propped on his elbows. He looked like he was in pain, eyes scrunched shut, thoughts dwelling in some dark place in his mind. His head sank down into his hands and he made a strangled sound from the back of his throat. I'd seen him in some states before but this was different, he was in complete anguish. I didn't know what to do, whether to try and comfort him in the hopes of calming him enough to get him to accept help or try and make a run for it.