Getting out

It’s Complicated: Lit Up & The Writing Cooperative Contest

This wasn’t working anymore. They’d been on the phone for an hour now, arguing. She could sense his anger rising, fear building up in the pit of her stomach. He hung up once, then twice, hurling profanities at her now. She called back. There was a voice at the back of her head, pushing her on with a sense of urgency. She had to have this thrashed out today, she’d been putting up with the abuse for a whole year now. The cycle of abuse, apology and unkept promises — it had to end today, it just had to.

“Do you want in or out, for real?”

No answer. She repeated the question. He wanted some time to think about it. That was what he always did, he bought time — at the cost of her sanity. He said he’d call up in the evening. She had no choice. She had sightseeing plans with friends that evening, but didn’t say anything. She knew he wouldn’t make that call, just like all the unreturned phone calls in the past.

The sun had set. They had all decided to do something touristy — ride the tram to the top of the Pöstlingberg, a hill overlooking the city. She had kept trying very hard to keep the tears at bay.

They were all sitting inside the empty church on the hill now. It was so quiet, she could hear her sadness speak. It was praying, desperately praying — for a sign, something that would show her the way forward. She looked around, wondering what the others were thinking of. In that moment, she knew a bond had been created. The moment meant something, and they had all shared it.

They headed downtown for dinner afterwards. And that’s when someone pointed it out. She had only one earring on, the other was missing. They looked for it without any luck.

That’s when it hit her— a train of memories she had lost with her earring: coming home together after one of their first few dates, him holding her against the door, brushing a strand of hair away from her face and tucking it behind her ear, lightly touching her earring.

That earring was gone now, just like the person she had been in love with then.

The person he was now was someone else, someone throwing her breadcrumbs, keeping her hooked on to the abuse. For a year she had held on, hoping for a miracle.

She knew this was a sign sent for her. She knew what to do. She was going to break the cycle.