Page 66 of The Souls We Claim

“Patrick,” I say.

There’s a delay on the other end, one so long that I wonder if this was just a butt dial call.

“Patrick?”

“When are you coming home?” he asks. “It’s been nearly two weeks.”

My body responds to his voice.

I shrink.

Every part of me automatically sizes down into something smaller than I’ve become. Muscle memory tells me to comply. To reassure. To appease.

It takes physical effort to straighten my shoulders, even though he can’t see me. “I’m not coming home. I can’t afford it right now, but I’ll be filing for divorce as soon as I can.”

“If it’s about the money, I’ll put it back.”

“You should put it back regardless because it was a shitty thing to do. I’ve had to rely on the generosity of…Mercy’s friends.”

“I will. Now. Just use it to settle accounts, whatever. I miss you. I want you to come home so we can sort this out together.”

I look at the monitor where I can see Lola sleeping peacefully. She goes where I go now, and it isn’t to a man who has already shown how easily he’s willing to raise his fists in violence.

“You hit me one too many times, Patrick. There isn’t any coming back from that.”

There’s a sigh on the other end. The sound of ice clinking against glass makes me shiver. Nothing good ever followed Patrick drinking ice-cold vodka.

“They’re asking about you at church. Where you are. It’s embarrassing us.” His voice shifts subtly from almost whining to something with a little more menace.

“I can’t care about that. I needed to leave you before you killed me.”

There’s a huff from Patrick. He always held himself the same way when he did it: chin slightly raised, his nose flared. “Now you’re being dramatic.”

“We’re done, Patrick. Don’t call me again.”

I slam the phone down on the table. It’s a billion years old. I likely broke the screen, but I can’t bring myself to care.

“Fuuuuuccccckkkkkkkk.” It comes out one long, angry gasp of air. An almost silent expletive scream until my lungs burn from the lack of air in them.

“Is that a good ‘fuck’ or a bad ‘fuck’?”

Halo.

I spin to face him. “It was a good one, I think.”

He walks over to me until our toes are basically touching. Him clad in big black boots, me in my white sneakers. When he tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, I shiver.

“Patrick, I’m guessing?”

“He said he’d give me my money back if I went home.”

“Generous fucker,” Halo says sarcastically.

“Indeed. But I looked at the monitor.” I tip my head to the counter where it sits. “All I could think of was that I would take Lola with me wherever I go. And it could never be to a man I know for a fact is capable of losing his temper and raising his fists.”

“Wise words. I want you and Lola to be somewhere safe when this mess with our brother is over. And it definitely isn’t with a man who raised his fists to you.”

“Just this short time I’ve spent here with you has shown me there’s a completely different way of living that is healthier. A place where I can breathe and be safe. I couldn’t go back to him now, even if there was no Lola.”