Familiar Eyes In The Headlights

Literary Fiction -- About 2,800 Words

Open Source Photo by Vyacheslav Bobin Via Pexels

If you ask most people about their exes, and are so lucky as to actually pull the information out of them, you’ll find that they all generally have a shared experience of being stabbed in the back. My ex stabbed me in the stomach.

It wasn’t too long ago. It’s only been about five years, give or take. And while you might be thinking that five years is a rather long time, I beg to differ. A day is a long time. Five years ago was so recent that I can recall just about every detail of that night (of course being stabbed probably isn’t something the average person forgets). I had many friends back then, only a few of which I still know and even fewer I’m still close with. All of them, even the ones we had in common, told me she was bad news. Time after time I would open up about our disputes and I would receive the greatest advice I may have ever heard in my life: “leave her.” I didn’t listen. I told myself it would be cruel after all she had been through.

She taught me the definition of an open book as soon as we met. Among the things she told me about herself was her constant suicidal thoughts. This wouldn’t necessarily be such a big red flag if she hadn’t followed up with her disbelief in the benefits of therapy. Within a week, I knew everything there was to know about her. Every high, every low, and especially every trauma. If you’re reading this and picturing a tortured girl who would eventually spend a majority of her days in and out of mental hospitals, scars on her wrists that brush away the tears falling down her soft cheeks, then you are seeing exactly what I saw back then. Though, it is a trick. What you should be imagining is an army of monsters, each representing a different trauma manifesting a toxic personality trait carrying a war’s worth of big red flags.

I should clarify: I am not a hero. I’m not the “good guy” in this story, if any such thing exists. I don’t believe in good and evil anymore. Back then, I would have told you all about how she was my definition of evil; however, I eventually realized that she was her own definition of good and I was evil to her. This is just my side of a story I have to tell.

I sat on the couch in the apartment we shared reading a comic about my favorite hero: Spider-Man. Some people might choose their favorite hero based on the abilities they have, or lack thereof. But, there is so much more to Spider-Man. I love him because his life is awful. He does the right thing, saving people without ever asking for anything in return, and people loathe him for it. Not only do some people vilify Spider-Man, but his friends also come to be bothered by Peter Parker because being Spider-Man makes him unreliable. Yet, despite all the hatred he receives, even his enemies.

She walked in through the front door without saying a word, and trotted to the bedroom. I looked up from my comic at the door she slammed. I looked back down and fiddled with the pages, guessing what could possibly be wrong this time. My eyes fluttered across the dialogue without taking any of it in. I slowly placed the comic on the coffee table in front of me and waited.

My intent was to approach the bedroom and see what was wrong, but something held me back. I just sat there imagining every possible consequence of offering her help. She might be mad at me. That might make her yell. That might make her hit. That might make her regret. That might make her cry. That might make her run away in an unstable fit of self hatred ultimately leading to self harm. So, I sat there like a statue in Medusa’s lair.

Finally, she came out of the room. My eyes darted towards her, but my head remained to the wall.

“What are you even doing out here?” That shout could collapse mountains.

“I was reading,” I muttered.

“And now you’re staring at the wall.”

“For a bit,” I hid discomfort with an unconvincing smile, “now, I’m staring at you… beautiful.”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

Big mistake.

“Okay?” She shouted. “Is that it? No ‘what’s wrong,’ no ‘sorry?’ Okay?”

“What’s wrong, Anne?” I had taught myself to smile as a reaction to any emotion - my unique turtle shell. The idiotic grin growing bigger by the second only set her off more. “Sorry.”

“I miss when you cared.”

“That’s what’s wrong?”

“It wasn’t. But you didn’t care. This is bigger,” she whispered, sliding into the kitchen that made a closet look like the Taj Mahal.

“I’ve asked you to tell me when something’s wrong before.”

“Why? You know when I’m hurting, and you just don’t care,” she took a pair of scissors from the knife shed, then slunk into the living room. She sat on the coffee table in front of me. “Instead, you just read these stupid comic books all day.”

“They make me happy.” I tapped my fingers on my leg.

“And, I don’t.” She started cutting Spider-Man into shreds.

“I never said that.”

“But it’s true,” She leered at me, “here I am working all day to support us, and you’re home alone reading comic books and staring at walls. I should be jealous of them,” a rictus crept upon her face as she looked down on my falling hero.

“I can’t help that we didn’t have the same day off,” I glanced around the room.

“What are you looking for? Are you hiding girls in here?”

“Hey, I never cheated on you,” I remarked.

“What’s that supposed to mean? We already talked about this.” Anne had kissed a guy on one of her hospital visits. The first time she told me about him, it came out as an admission of guilt; however, each time after that made her sound more like a victim. First, it was her choice, then the creeps in the hospital were threatening her, and finally, “They had knives on me!”

I chuckled, folding my arms across my chest. “You sure they weren’t scissors?” Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

She lunged at me, digging the blades deep into my gut. The sharp pain made me wince. Luckily, she didn’t pull out. I put my hand over it, my eyebrows raising at the piercing sensation. She gasped. Her face shifted from malice to concern in less than a second. She sat next to me, cradling me in loose arms.

“I am so, so, so, so, so sorry.” Anne had a tendency to exaggerate when she was acting.

“It’s not okay,” I whispered.

“What?”

Her eyebrows pulled together, her lips quivering as her eyes shined like glass. I didn’t say another word to her. I stood up, walked out the door, and never looked back. I called my friend, Rian, who picked me up and took me to the hospital. A police report was made, but I wasn’t interested in pressing any charges. I wanted nothing to do with her at all. And, for these last few years, I hadn’t seen her once since then.

But, there’s more to the story.

Sometimes, I might be having fun with friends and laugh so hard that the old scar ripens. The smile will fade from my face for a second before I put a fake one back on. Other times I might cry at an old song and find myself holding it. Most of the time, though, I walk how everybody else walks, talk how everybody else talks. If someone notices a shift in my behavior, I’ll think for a moment before considering my wound as a cause, but it rarely is.

I was driving down a dark road from my sister’s house. It was later than I intended to leave, but I enjoyed myself more than I ever do alone. It’s especially nice to see her kids as I can’t see myself having children. I turned down a familiar road as a shortcut. As I drove, I began to massage my flaming scar. I hadn’t noticed the apartments on my turn, but I suppose not even ignorance will let you escape the past. My scar sure didn’t forget. Eager to escape the area, my foot fell heavier on the gas. My eyes darted from side to side as thoughts raced across my mind.

All too quick, familiar eyes flashed in my headlights. THUD. The sound was horrifying. I balled one hand into a fist as I stopped the car, brushing my other hand through my hair. I threw open my door to dash out, but my seatbelt pulled me back. Taking it off, I got out of my car to see who I’d hit.

Anne.

My scar burned.

I reached into my pocket to find my phone, but of course with my luck I had forgotten it at my sister’s house. Great.

“Is she okay?” I jumped slightly. “Is my mommy gonna be okay?”

I turned to greet the young voice. There stood a young child, hands clutching a stuffed dinosaur so hard it almost subdued her glass eyes. Usually, if something like this happened, I’d bolt. Too often have I heard about human trafficking tactics, and I know that men are more likely to be abducted when they think there’s someone to save. Anne was horrible, but I knew she’d never do anything like that.

“Yeah,” my eyes avoided the kid, “I think she’s gonna be okay. What’s your name?”

“Maggie.”

“Maggie. That’s a good name. Well, Maggie, I don’t have a phone. Does your mother have a phone?”

“No. It’s at home, but we’re locked out. But, Daddy's coming home from work soon.”

“How soon?” Maggie shrugged. “Right.”

Great. Flashes of Spider-Man raced through my head as I looked down at Anne. She laid unconscious on the pavement because of me. I ran my hand through my hair once again. Even if calling an ambulance was in the question, I shouldn’t have considered it. Anne couldn’t afford an ambulance, especially if she was still living around here. No matter what job she or Maggie’s father had, an ambulance on the bill would put a detrimental strain on a family of three. “Well, I don’t think we can wait for your dad any longer. Here, hop in the car, I’ll put your mother in the back seat.”

“Where will I sit?”

“Up front. With me.”

“Mommy says I can’t.”

“Well, you want her to be okay, right?” I tightened my lips and took a deep breath. “We have to get her to a doctor, and that’s the best way to do it.”

I picked her up and dragged her into the back seat of my car. Maggie tried to help after she heard me grunting. If I were Spider-Man, I could’ve used a web or super strength and the whole thing would be much easier.

When my foot hit the pedal there wasn’t a moment that my car went below ninety. Weaving in and out of lanes to dodge the cars on the road, my fingers started tapping on my knee. The night had turned into a real horror show, and I could use any amount of help I could get. That’s why I was relieved to see the blue lights flashing behind me. Even though I had to stop for a moment, it would make the night easier if I could get a police escort.

I explained the situation to the cop who pulled me over. I didn’t want to tell him that this was my fault, but I couldn’t lie and honor my hero.

“Why’d you tell him?” Maggie sounded surprised, but respectful.

A sigh escaped my lungs. “Do you know Spider-Man?”

“Yes.”

“I did it for him.”

I’ll admit, I’m a dork. I knew it then and I know it now. Saying that then just confirmed it for me, and the silence that followed just made me feel more stupid.

“I like Spider-Man,” Maggie admitted, breaking the pause.

The police followed us all the way to the hospital. Anne was admitted to the emergency room, and the nurses were kind enough to let Maggie follow along with her. The police told me they’d have to take a statement from me. I obliged, holding back none of the truth. I told them all about my distracted thoughts while driving. I told them about our history in those apartments. They glanced at each other.

The police went to visit Anne, asking that I stay in case they had any further questions. So, I sat down to rest. The trip to the hospital hadn’t been too long, but all the stress made it feel like hours. I leaned back and folded my arm over my eyes.

“Wake up!” It was Maggie.

“I’m awake. Why aren’t you with your mother?”

“She asked me to get you. The cops said they’d watch me. She wants to talk to you alone.” Great. Just what I needed to top off the night. Some reward I got for ‘great responsibility.’

Then again, responsibility never was about the reward. I asked a nurse where Anne was. I figured it was the least I could do for hitting her with a car. I turned down the corridor that lead to her room when I heard Maggie say, “Thank you for saving my mommy, Spider-Man.”

Hearing that gave my stride a certain steadiness. As slow as my pace may have been, nothing could stop me from reaching the room.

It’s funny. Here I am writing a whole story about the experience. I’ve read a thousand comics and a thousand books, but at that door all the words I knew failed me. Even though the door was already open, all I could do was knock to announce my presence.

“Come in,” Anne said.

“You’re awake. I’m glad you’re doing better.”

“The doctors said they wouldn’t have to keep me long.”

“Right. Good.” I choked.

“I didn’t expect you to come in when I asked.”

“It’s the least I could do. I did hit you with a car, after all.”

“I stabbed you.”

“I guess we’re even then.” I smirked. She chuckled, but not enough to relieve the tension. “Maggie, your daughter… she’s a really nice kid.”

“Thank you. I love her with all my heart.” Silence fell on our tongues once more. I had been focusing on each breath I took to calm my screaming scar, but seeing her sitting up in a hospital bed made the pain go away. At the end of the day, no matter how bad she hurt me, I had forgotten that she was more than just the person who stabbed me. Even the people that treat us the worst are still people.

“Why’d you drive me here?” Anne’s question shot through me like a bullet (or, rather, scissors).

“I couldn’t call an ambulance.”

“Oh.”

“But that’s not why I drove you here,” the words slipped out as my hands slid into my pockets, “I drove you because I couldn’t live with myself if I hadn’t. Because, and it’s rare that I’ll admit this, but because I know I wasn’t all that good to you, either. Well meaning, sure, but I messed up and I hurt you too. I learned to forgive you between then and now. I guess I wanted to give you a reason to forgive me too.”

Her head fell back into her pillow. “Yeah, sure.”

“Right. Thank you.” I turned to walk out the door. Before leaving, I looked at her one last time and asked a favor, not for me, but for Maggie. “Hey, if Maggie ever asks if I’m Spider-Man, don’t tell her the truth, okay?”

“You got it.”

That's another thing about Spider-Man, something that I forgot to mention. Sometimes, after a day of fighting the toughest villains, when none of his friends will forgive him anymore for blowing them off, there'll be something there to remind him why he loves being a hero. Maybe another hero thanking him for the hard work, maybe someone he loves admiring his resolve, or maybe just a kid thanking him for saving the day.

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