The Breakup

As I closed the door to my car, I breathed deeply, with a wave of trepidation.

Today is the day. Today is the first day of my new life.

Just breathe.

Hopping up the four flights of stairs back to my apartment, I quietly walked inside. Picking up the last of my bags and grabbing my coffee maker from the bench, careful not to let the cord drop on the tiled floor.

He was still asleep on the couch, passed out from his latest hit. This was the perfect opportunity for me to leave—to grab my dogs and to get the hell out of here, once and for all.

I've got this. I've got this. I've got this.

Okay, maybe I don't quite have this.

He stirred and blinked his eyes open, looking at me. It only took a split second for him to realize what was going on, and I took off for the door.

I made it halfway down the stairs before he caught up to me, yelling. I kept going, unlocking my car and throwing my bags and coffee maker inside, not caring where they landed and slamming the door shut, wishing I was quick enough to climb inside the car myself.

He grabbed for the car door handle, but I hit the lock button on my keys just in time. He was angry, nostrils flaring, his face like thunder, while my heart was about to catapult out of my chest.

"You're not fucking leaving! Give me the keys," he spat. I saw heads popping up, looking out of their bathroom windows, staring at us in the street.

"You need to calm down. People are staring, someone is going to call the cops."

Pointing to my belongings in the car, he yelled, "I bought you all of this shit, you're not fucking taking it." He stepped back, pulling at his hair, growling, "I'm going to smash this mother fucking car window," while he madly looked around for something to use. I stupidly ran after him, grabbing his arm, pleading with him not to do anything. He stumbled and fell against the harsh brick wall.

"You assaulted me." He looked at me with disbelief, seeing the scratches on his side.

"W-whaat—n-no—I was trying to stop you," I cried.

"You're fucked, you assaulted me, I'm calling the cops!" he yelled, striding across the path and taking the stairs two at a time to grab his phone.

I frantically grabbed my phone and called his brother. He immediately asked what was wrong, as he could hear my laboured breathing. I didn't have to explain, I just simply repeated the words "Can you come, can you come here, please?"

I felt the need to call the police. I didn't know what to do in this situation; I felt like I at least needed to explain that I didn't hurt him on purpose. I still couldn't leave though. My little dogs were still inside the apartment.

The next five minutes were a blur. The cops arrived and assessed the situation. One stayed with me while the other headed upstairs to the apartment. Not one person came outside to speak up. I was taken upstairs and given ten minutes to get anything else that I needed.

I heard him whispering to the officer, telling him that the CIA has been tapping his phone and are listening to his conversations. I'm glad someone else other than me gets to hear that he has well and truly lost it.

I found my dogs; Harper huddled under the bed, and the youngest Willow hid behind shelving, terrified. I had always been guilted into not spending time with my friends, so both pups had never experienced any visitors at the apartment.

With them both tightly held under my arms, I didn't look back. I made my way to the car just as his older brother arrived. He talked with the female police officer while I locked the pups in the car. He hugged me tightly and told me everything was going to be okay.