Archive of Our Own

Tick. Tack. Tick. Tack.

My head was throbbing as I looked at the old clock on our wall. God, that clock, with its small numbers and mustard-yellow color. His mother gave it to us when we got married. I mean, when we almost did. Or maybe when Jack was born? I forgot. Should I feel bad? These thoughts are killing me and don't even help with this headache. I should pop some pills.

I put down the white shirt I was folding, rubbed my dry eyes, and squinted at the clock, my neck cracking as I did so.

He hates when I do that.

Should I get my eyes checked?

It was almost nine.

He said he would be home by eight, at the latest. He promised he would get home for bedtime.

Did he?

Or was that yesterday? Or the day before?

I picked up his shirt again; I ran my hand along the ironed edges, and it reminded me how far we've come together. He truly changed my life in a way I didn't think was possible.

I looked around our bedroom—the neat beige walls, the spotless floors—and it reminded me when we were arguing over my rather disgusting habits. This thought made my stomach growl.

I didn't even have dinner tonight. I wanted to have dinner with him. Should I make a grilled cheese?

I took a deep, nervous breath, took out my phone, and stared at our messages for a moment.

"I'll be home by eight, I'll try to hurry. Sorry again for yesterday. Love you."

I exhaled and shook my head, deciding not to wait up for him. My heartbeat quickened as anger flared up again. I wasn't even hungry anymore.

I stepped onto the cold stairs carefully, pressing my lips together, praying it wouldn't make a noise that would wake Jack.

Jack. His own son, for whom he wouldn't do as much to come home on time?

It was the fourth day this week he didn't get to rock him to sleep. I closed my eyes, remembering that last week, before his behavior became erratic, we came home from a walk to find the house cleaned, warm, with a home-cooked dinner on the table for us. He made my favorite.

I gripped the railing, losing my balance slightly, my hand squeaking on the shining wood.

I took off my clothes with tense movements, threw them on the floor, and stood under the shower, turning it on as hot as it would go.

I leaned my back against the tiles and looked into the showerhead as the hot water poured onto my face.

I felt a different kind of hotness as the memory of my back arching on these very same tiles came back to me. I hit the wall with my fist, groaning.

Where is he now?

I asked myself, but the madness didn't disappear.

Where is he?

My body was burning.

No, he must be working late.

Working hard for us.

Is he working?

Is he with another woman?

No, he wouldn't do that.

Would he?

Is he cheating on me?

Was the burning from the water?

After twenty-five minutes, as much as I didn't want to, I stepped out, dizzy from the hot water.

I walked a few steps unsteadily, putting my weight on the bathroom sink.

I stared at myself in the foggy mirror for a moment. My dark curls sprang back from the humidity, and for a moment, I felt his soft hands touching my neck as he played with them.

I shook my head and splashed some cold water on my face.

He will come home whenever he wants to. I don't care.

I don't.

I took careful steps down the slippery stairs, my feet wet. We were chasing Jack once—that kid could fly! He was already in the garden; we didn't stand a chance—when he fell and broke his wrist. It seems like a happy memory now.

I hissed quietly as the door creaked open. I walked up to our bed slowly; my eyes had a hard time adjusting to the dark. I climbed into our bed, burying my face in the pillow. My breathing was muffled, and I pulled the blanket up to my chin.

I tossed and turned; my mind was full of thoughts: anger and fear. Fear? What am I afraid of?

I picked up my phone and looked at the empty screen before throwing it back.

I sighed and tried to clear my mind, unsuccessfully.

—Look, I've been going nuts trying to plan the perfect trip, the perfect proposal, but the pressure is killing me. I mean, what if something goes wrong, or I lose the ring, or the ring goes over the side of the hot-air balloon from a thousand feet? So, what if, instead of a proposal vacation, we have an engagement vacation? Unless you're about to say no?

—You won't know if you don't ask.

—Angela, you're my best friend, and you are the sexiest woman I have ever seen. You make me laugh and cry sometimes. I fell in love with you the second I met you, and I have been falling ever since.

Will you marry me?

—Yes.

When I woke up in the middle of the night, I felt my t-shirt sticking to my back with cold sweat. My breathing was heavy and shaky.

I turned to my side and put my hand out. The other side was empty.

The other side was empty?

"Wes?"

I sat up with a sluggish movement; my head was groggy, and I felt a blunt pain in my stomach, which made me feel beat up. I furrowed my brows. When did I get bruised? I pulled my t-shirt up; I didn't see anything, but I could sense something deep in my guts, something raw that wouldn't disappear.

I squinted in the dark to see the clock. My heart beat as it ticked.

I couldn't see it.

I rubbed my eyes.

Tick. Tack. Tick. Tack.

I always wanted to get rid of it, but he never let me. It was a little after one.

I reached for my phone; the movement made the knot in my throat bigger.

The brightness of the screen hurt my eyes. I blinked a few times and looked at the picture of him with Jack on my lock screen. I opened our messages and started texting.

"Where are you? Come home, baby."

I press send, but a moment later I see the red warning underneath: "Not delivered."

I hear the ringing in my ear, the slap in my face, but the truth is, I don't feel anything. For a long moment, I feel nothing. Then the panic creeps in. I clicked to call him immediately.

"You reached Wesley Evers. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

I tried again.

"You reached Wesley Evers. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

And again.

"You reached Wesley Evers. Leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

I jumped out of bed as fast as I could, despite the soreness I felt all over. I put on the first clothes I could find, squatted to unlock the safe, and grabbed the only thing that kept me sane at the moment. I ran out of the room, grabbed my keys, and sprinted to the front yard, toward my car, but as realization hit, I stumbled and fell onto the wet lawn.

Jack.

I rushed back to the house and stomped upstairs; I could already hear him crying. I sighed deeply and took a softer step into his room.

"It's okay,"

I whispered, but I knew deep down he could feel it wasn't. I started humming as I put some of the cutest clothes known to mankind on him.

I went downstairs with a dizzy head but, trying calmer movements, returned to my car, where as soon as I put him in his seat, my son fell asleep again. I drove as attentively as I could, but my heart was in my throat, and with every passing moment, I felt closer to throwing up. I kept licking my lips and gripping the steering wheel so hard my hands cramped.

Soon, I slowed down and got out of the car, trying not to shut the door too loudly, but it still made me wince as I got Jack out of the backseat. With uncertain steps, I walked up the porch and pressed the doorbell, which rang painfully in the quiet night. I blinked a few times as I saw the lights turning on inside. My lips were dry again. The breeze of the fall night played with my hair as the seconds passed.

I took a step back as I saw a man opening the door and scratched my forehead with one hand.

"Angela? What happened? Why are you here?"

I cleared my throat and breathed out.

"I was looking for Nyla—"

I started saying but was cut off by the mentioned woman.

"James? Who is that? Just tell them we aren't buying anything."

I took a deep breath and tried to make my voice as confident as I could.

"Nyla, I need your help,"

I said, on the verge of tears, my voice shaking. I licked my lips and was startled by a beeping noise. Minutes passed?

"Ange, come on, I'm driving. James will take care of Jack."

I felt Nyla's hand and concerned stare on me. I nodded quickly and placed my son in her boyfriend's arms, trying to control my breathing and the sudden shaking in my legs, then I felt Nyla grabbing me gently again. I followed her out, sat in the passenger seat of my car, and passed the keys to my best friend.

"Talk to me, what happened? Where are we going?"

She glances at me from the corner of her eye as she begins driving.

"It's Wesley."

I shut my eyes, trying to avoid crying so soon.

"He didn't come home. He said he would be home by eight. And he wasn't. This has been going on all week, but—"

I shrug helplessly and chuckle dryly as I stare at my own reflection.

"And I couldn't even reach him. The message wouldn't send, and it went to voicemail immediately."

I can hear her taking a troubled breath.

"Okay. We will solve this, all right? He will be okay. He has to."

I wipe away a few stray tears and caress her arm.

"Thank you."

She smiles at me, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

"We should go to the station. If he left, he must have left from there."

I say, as an attempt to pull myself together.

Unsuccessful.

I look out at the dark through the window, but I can only see my pathetic reflection, which makes me mad, so after I retie my hair, I turn my face back to Nyla.

"We argued last night."

I say, and she raises her brow, signaling that she is listening.

I was pouring the ruby-colored wine into the glass when I heard the door slamming.

I looked up at my husband as he put down his keys in the living room.

"Hey, where is the food?"

I ask, but my voice trailed off with confusion as I was sure he arrived empty-handed.

"I forgot. Sorry, it's been a crazy day."

He replied as he turned towards me and took a few steps to the dining room.

"Which is why I said we should order in, but you insisted that you would be driving by the restaurant and would pick something up."

I say, going around the table and closing the space between us, my voice becoming irritated with every word.

"Okay, I forgot. Okay? Cut me some slack."

He said, raising his voice, which, along with what he said, made me mad instantly.

"Slack? I work just as long as you but somehow still came home, tidied up the house, fed Jack, and put him to bed."

I said forcefully, looking into his eyes.

"Well, that's because you're perfect; the rest of us are just human."

He picked up his keys again and began to walk out.

"Wow, where did that come from?"

I ask, trying to mask my pain with anger.

"Where are you going?"

My voice got loud again.

"To get the food."

He slams the door, which startles me and makes our son cry out loud.

"Um, we ate in silence after this. It was awkward, to say the least."

I sigh and play with the ring on my finger.

Expensive. I would settle for a ring pop if it were from him.

"I can imagine. What do you think he's doing?"

Nyla asks, and I know what she implies, but as I already gave it a thought or two, I shake my head.

"I don't think he's cheating. But I'm afraid that I'll wish he was."

I swallow, but it doesn't help the knot in my throat.

"Don't go there."

Nyla looks at me gravely, but I already make weird noises, press my fist to my mouth; the required deep breaths are hard to take.

We slow down in front of the station, and I jump out of the car before we even stop.

I ran in, ignoring the people calling my name from the front desk, until Nyla pulled me back and grabbed my shoulder firmly.

"Angela, take a deep breath. Come on."

I did as she said, but I couldn't control my tears.

She put her hand on my cheek and forced me to look into her eyes.

"They said Grey's still here; we'll ask him if he has seen Wesley."

She said slowly, and I nodded, unable to say anything, and wiped my face aggressively.

We walked to Grey's office, a walk that was longer than it should have been, and I felt like everyone was staring at me in this pathetic state, but in reality, the station was empty.

I knocked on the glass of Grey's office, my hand trembling; my whole body was trembling.

He looked up, startled, then after seeing my expression, he called us in.

"What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?"

He looked me up and down, tilting his head, and I buried my face in my hands.

"What happened?"

He asked again, looking at Nyla.

"We can't find Wesley. Have you seen him?"

I looked up, and I saw Grey's eyes widen.

"He left hours ago. I think a little before seven. He said he wanted to surprise you with dinner and be home in time."

As he said this, panic took over me, and I looked at Nyla and ran, sprinting out of the office, pushing open the stairwell door; the sound of it slamming was deafening in the silence of the station.

I gasped for air as my whole body cramped and shook.

I tried to move my leg an inch, but I groaned in pain, the hoarse and pathetic noise intense in the peaceful parking garage.

I couldn't see anything; my whole face was swollen. The only thing I could sense was the pain in my lungs as I exhaled shakily and the warm wetness between my legs. My lungs burned like a chain smoker's, but I'd never smoked in my life.

I wanted to scream, for help, for relief, but I couldn't form words.

I tried to lift my hand, but I physically couldn't, and the frustration hurt as much as my head. The fog in my brain brought tears down my cheek, making their way through the endless amount of blood on my face, and I couldn't even locate which bleeding part of my body did it come from.

I couldn't remember her voice. Did I say I loved her this morning? Did I hug my son before I left?

What color is my shirt?

What year is it?

Where am I?

I wanted to sob, but even the shallowest breathing made me agonize.

My throat burned like I was swallowing sandpaper.

The only voice I could remember was Elijah's laughter as he saw me unable to move.

"Counselor."

Would Angela still love me if I could never walk again?

Would my son, if I couldn't see his face anymore?

Suddenly, I felt calmer, and my breathing slowed down even more. I closed my eyes, and the painful tenseness disappeared.

Am I supposed to be fighting right now?

I pushed open the door, and my step echoed in the parking garage of the station.

I looked around with hurried movements, and then I saw him lying motionlessly on the ground.

I ran as if my life depended on it, in a way I'd never run before. I fell to the ground as I stopped and carefully rolled him onto his back.

"Wesley, baby, wake up."

I shook him gently, my heartbeat blocking out my thoughts, my basic knowledge of first aid. If I didn't wake up next to him every day, I'm honestly not sure I would have recognized him; multiple broken bones in his face, his nose completely destroyed, swollen.

I tore his shirt, and I gasped. There wasn't even a palm-sized space on his stomach that didn't create the heartbreaking composition of blue and purple bruises. I put my hand in his usually shining blond hair, which now was drenched in blood.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

"Angela,"

I heard Nyla's voice as the door slammed shut, and this is when I realized that I had let shock take over my somewhat rational thinking.

I put my ear to his chest to hear his heartbeat, but the only thing I heard was mine breaking into a million and one pieces as my whole world collapsed in the cold, wet parking garage in the middle of the last night of our lives.