Since then, he’s bled my savings account dry, racked up my credit cards, and he’s left me struggling to get to each payday.
“Our account, the money is there from our budget, right? I have a car payment due in a couple days.”
He knows how much money has to be in there based on the budget that’s magneted to the fridge, hiding behind the calendar. I update it each payday with the amount that can be spent after bills are paid.
“It’s gone.”
I gulp. I have four months left on my car payments. I’ve been paying for that car for 56 months. It was originally a 48-month loan, but he talked me into refinancing, to get the payments lower and it’d help us stretch our budget when he was out of work two winters ago.
My eyes bulge.
“Don’t give me shit, Vi.” He looks up from my lap. “I don’t fuckin’ need it, okay?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but your eyes are sayin’ it.” He sniffs, looking at me with wounded eyes.
Those expressions used to melt me. Not anymore.
I pull my lips tight and stare at the ceiling. My pay is gone? That was supposed to cover my car payment, the internet bill, and part of it was supposed to be there to go toward rent in a few weeks. We were late on rent the past two months because of him so I’m already dealing with a superintendent who is losing patience.
“What can we do, babe?”
Read: what will you do, Violet?
“I … I don’t think there’s anything I can do.”
He stares at me with hope. He hopes I’ll bail him out again. He hopes I’ll have some secret way to help. I’d come through before. An advance and then another at work, ruining my credibility with them. Cashing out stocks. Income tax refunds. My last advance, they told me they would only agree if I agreed to take a budgeting class. I was mortified.
My stocks: gone. My vacation: forfeited so I could get an extra two weeks’ pay at Christmas time.
I would put money in the bank, and he’d find a reason to spend it.
“I’ve got nothin’,” I whisper.
Read: you’ve milked me dry, Ray. There’s nothing left.
I know better than to ask what he needs the money for. I ask anyway.
“What’s the money for? Gambling?”
He shakes his head. And then the pace of the shaking picks up, along with the pace of his breathing. He’s in the hot seat. He hates being in the hot seat. When he has to answer for something, it makes him go nasty.
I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
It doesn’t matter what the money is for this time. It’s the same shit, different day. Why did I even ask?
His phone rings, so he pulls it out of his jacket and glances at the screen and his expression – like his phone is ready to bite him. There’s that much fear on his face.
I see on the screen it says Hennessy B.
“Fuck,” Ray tosses his phone to the dresser without answering it.
“I don’t have that money tomorrow night, Violet, I’m in big fuckin’ trouble.”
I can’t help but think, is this what’s gonna get him out of my life? Will he leave town? Run away? I feel a little guilty. Sort of. But not. But sort of. God, I’m such a mess.
I wish he’d just go. Go away and me never hear that he got hurt or not hurt, got his life together, didn’t, whatever.
He’s already bled me dry. Violet of three years ago, maybe even two years ago … she would’ve told him that.
Then again, Violet of before wouldn’t have let this happen. She wouldn’t have been in the position of being stuck in this apartment with this guy who is mean, moody, and has next to no ambition other than partying and gambling.
“Do we have anything we can sell?” he asks.
I shake my head.
How doesn’t he know this?
“More jewelry?”
I shake again. “You pawned it all except this and it’s not worth anything.” I play with my birthstone ring.
It wasn’t a lot of expensive jewelry, but he’s pawned everything I have after blowing a chunk of our rent money several months ago. He’d even pawned my little baby christening necklace. It made me sick inside when he told me he did it. I didn’t even give him shit because he told me he’d get it back for me before the time was up and I suspected he wouldn’t, got attitude the last two times I asked (so I stopped asking), but knew the pawn ticket was in the kitchen drawer so had kept the deadline in mind so I could try to find a way to get my jewelry back.
He thrusts his hand through his hair and shoots me an irritated look, likely for me bringing that up.
“I gotta… I’ll be back later. Make some calls. Try to fuckin’ figure this out.”
I say nothing.
He gets to the door, puts his hand to the knob and stops.
My heart drops. Go, go, just leave, please.
“You don’t care,” he says.
A hollow feeling spreads through me and I brace as he spins around to face me, shooting daggers at me from his eyes.
“No sympathy at all from you, eh, Vi? You’re probably happy to see me gone. Dead. Fuckin’ whacked. I saw how you looked at Kill Coulter last night, too. Lust in your eyes. Don’t think I didn’t. You think I’m a fuckin’ loser and you’re done with me. Done with me because I’m down on my luck. No for better or for worse, right?”
I scratch at my throat nervously. My neckline of my t-shirt feels so tight suddenly.
He lunges at me and I plaster myself against my headboard. He is in my face, not two inches away, yelling.
“Why are you shrinking away from me? Huh?” He hollers this so loud it feels like the room is vibrating.
I shake my head and a sob comes out.
“Quit yer bawlin’. You don’t fucking care if they break my legs. You probably hope they do. ”
“Of course I don’t want that,” I whimper.
He snaps back away from me and starts pacing the length of the bed.
“You won’t shed a tear if I’m found dead, floatin’ face-down in the harbor. Will ya?”
In my head, all I’m thinking is, go away, go away.
This is a nightmare. I don’t want to deal with this. This is why I’m so broken. I should’ve left him a long time ago before he broke me; before he turned me into this cowering person. I have nothing for him, and when he gets in a mode like this, it never goes well unless I solve his problems. I have no solutions. None. And he’s even more unhinged than the last freak-out he had.
Me from before he broke me would’ve yelled back at someone shouting at me, would’ve told them to get out, to go to Gambler’s Anonymous, but right now I’m sure that’d have him being even more aggressive. Breaking things. Doing his intimidation warfare approach.
If only I had a bunch of money and could pay him to go away, I’d throw it at him and tell him to go – take it and leave me in peace. I have nothing. And I’m frankly too scared to even say anything. Besides, if I had the money, he’d just take it and be back to continue the bloodletting until there wasn’t a drop left inside me.
I might already be there. Bled dry.
He storms out and I know better than to think he’ll be gone for long. He comes back with my phone, which was charging on the kitchen counter.