Page 21 of Toxic

I open the door with steady hands and find him sitting on the couch watching a football game, which makes me want to laugh all over again. The entire time we’ve been together, Vic has espoused the idea of watching sports. He prefers the news or documentaries. That’s how I know he’s only pretending for my benefit, trying to lull me into a false sense ofsecurity.

“I’m home,” I say lightly because two can play atthisgame.

He grunts but doesn’t look my way. As I walk by to put my purse and jacket in the coat closet, I don’t miss how his hands clench reflexively on the arm of the sofa. I bet he imagines them around my throat. I go straight to the kitchen to begin fixing dinner. Around an hour later, once the sharp implements are out of the way, he makes his appearance in thedoorway.

“Dinner’s ready,” I say calmly and plate the steak, mashed potatoes, and organic green beans. Habit is the only thing that kept me from charring the meat and overcooking thebeans.

I shouldn’t have bothered because Vic doesn’t spare the food a secondglance.

“You’re late again,” he says, his voicedeceptivelycalm.

“There was a lock down in one of the cell blocks.” I try to keep my own response just as calm and matter-of-fact, so he won’t hear the lie in myvoice.

“Is that so?” But it isn’t aquestion.

Tension rises, and my mind goes to the steps I’ll need to clean up dinner. First, I’ll have to gather the dirty dishes and put away anyleftovers.

“Yeah, there was another fight today, I think. We were prettyswamped.”

I’ll rinse the dishes in the sink and leave the worst of the lot to soak while I pre-wash and load the rest in the dishwasher. Once that’s finished, I’ll scrub the oven and countertops and the sink until theygleam.

“Uh-huh,” is allhesays.

I nudge his plate in his direction and turn to make two tall glasses of tea. The moment I turn my back, I know he’ll make his move, and I’m not wrong.I’m only sad he didn’t begin in the living room where I secreted a gun underneath a side table for the moment I gathered enough courage toleavehim.

His hand whips out, and his fingers tangle in the long line of my hair, yanking back and tearing strands right from the root. I cry out in surprise and pain as my body comes in contactwithhis.

“I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, but it’s going tostopnow.”

I tilt my chin up in a silent invitation for him to do his worst. “You’re right about that, Vic. I want adivorce.”

Everythinghurts.

My arms, my legs, my head, even my hair throbs with each dull thud of my heart. There isn’t a spot on my body that doesn’t ache, but I pull myself out of bed anyway. It’s only the thought of leaving that keeps me moving. Like a lodestone, it callstome.

Now take a shower, it says. Wash your hair, do your face, and getdressed.

They are all things that will convince Vic I haven’t changed one bit. No doubt he still believes the thorough beating he gave me last night was enough to quell my small, ineffective rebellion. If anything, the aches and pains only serve to firm my resolve.He thinks he convinced me to stay. He couldn’t be morewrong.

Vic left by the time I enter the kitchen. I half-heartedly consider the fact that I’ll never see him again. The thought is less concerning than I imagined it would be. Mostly, I just feel tired. How can someone my age feel so damntired?

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror as I wait for the car to heat up. At least he stayed away from my face this time. I can’t say the same for the rest of my body. My arms are so black and blue that I wear a long-sleeved Henley underneath my scrubs to hide them. I learned my lesson. The last thing I need is for Gracin to see what he did to me. I don’t know what he would do, and I have no interest infindingout.

My goal today is to keep my head down, do what little work I have to do, get home to pack and get thehellout.

It takes an eternity for me to even get to the infirmary since the cold makes my sore muscles ache even more. I feel like one big throbbing bruise by the time I get there. Luckily, the pathologically punctual Gracin hasn’t arrived yet. As soon as I turn on the machines, an officer radios for me to meet them in the main hall. At the same time, shouts come from outside ofmedical.

“Get the fuck down!” the officer is shouting.“Nurse!”

Adrenaline spikes, allowing me to move with relative ease. When I see what’s waiting for me in the hallway, however, I want to run right back to the infirmaryandhide.

Three officers have an inmate between them, but he’s fighting like hell to get free. I recognize him from a few weeks ago. I’d stitched him up when I first met Gracin. It takes a few minutes for his name to come to mind: Salvatore. I sigh mentally. I’m already exhausted and the day hasn’t even really started. Damn it all to hell, of course I would have an emergency the one day when I need areprieve.

I watch, horrified and a little removed, as the officers finally manage to subdue Salvatore as he laughs as if it’s all a big game to him. Like he doesn’t realize he’s in prison, seemingly the lowest of low. What must it be like to have that much certainty?I damn sure don’t know. There isn’t a single thing in my life at this moment that I’m certain of, aside from the fact that I’m in completely over my head. I’ve been like a piece of dandelion fluff floating on the wind, my only direction coming from the whim of thewinds.

I gulp in deep swallows of air, trying to regain my sense of detachment and calm, but it’s useless when I realize I’ll seeGracinsoon.

As though thoughts of him have summoned him from the bowels of the prison, Gracin appears at my side, and despite the way my life feels like it’s unraveling around me, his mere presence soothes my nerves somewhat. He and the prisoner lock eyes, and a silent conversation passes between them. Salvatore growls, and energy snaps around Gracin like a livewire. Do they know each other aside from the first meeting when I stitchedSalvatoreup?