Laila - Drip Drip - Day 1

Over the white porcelain sink I watch them drop. One by one. Drip. Drip. A slow process now. Not the instant gush I had earlier. Now they are globby, a bit thick, like paint, falling in a ritualistic pattern. One I can almost predict. Drip. Drip. The red on white captivates my brain and I admire the contrast. So separate. So vivid. A slow-motion film gone so wrong.

In our master bathroom, under the exposed bulb vanity lights my head hangs. Down. Still. Then I hear a knock.

“Kate, let me in!” His voice is distant, blurred. “Come on…. Kate?”

How, how am I here?

“I need you to let me in.”

How did this happen?

“Kate! Come on.” Knocking again.

My head swirls. What? How? No. No. This can’t be happening to me too. This is why I couldn’t wait to move out. And now?

“Kate! You better open this fuckin door.”

I press my palms down onto the countertop, straighten my arms and turn to face the door. I see the small lock. Did I lock it? Yes. It’s horizontal.

Back to the sink, I grip each brass tap like two individual lifelines. Maybe they can stop the buzz in my brain or somehow help hold my body upright as I make sense of this nightmare. With a twist. The water starts to hiss. More hot. No. More cold. I roll my eyes and turn them both on high. The running water, Grant’s voice and him banging on the door. It all starts to blend in my brain like a chaotic herd of circus animals unleashed and gone mad.

When I blink, I see steam has covered the mirror. What? When? My hand lifts and I swipe a section clear. Eye level. I glance at myself but instantly drop my eyes back to the sink. What? Why is there red in the sink? Then my eyes bulge. Right. Fuck. In a panic my hands slam down to splash the water around until the porcelain is back to white.

In the distance, still, the constant tap, tap, pound, pound, knock, knock. His voice, aggressive and then soft. His words blurred somewhere out there. The next breath feels impossible to find. An arm’s length away. Can’t quite reach it. But I need it. Something doesn’t feel right. The knocking. The sting on my skin. The sting of this terror. Familiar.

Then. Another wave of panic creeps its way up and burns at the back of my throat. Oh no. I need to keep it together. I turn around to the toilet, drop to my knees like I’m about to receive the body, the blood or the belt, lift the lid and purge into the bowl.

After a while I hear.

“Ah, Kate? Are you? Okay?” His voice soft through the door.

I spit into the bowl, roll off some toilet paper and wipe my mouth. Get it together Kate. You can’t show this weakness. Fuck. He knocks... “Kate, I love you. Please let me in?”

I squeeze the ball of cotton tight in my hand.

“Are you alright?”

A huff falls from my mouth. I throw the wad into the toilet, close the lid and flush. If only it was that simple. Just flush away this night.

To get up off this floor feels like I’ve been asked to stand while an elephant rests on my back. I want to stay right here. Purging all that’s gone wrong. Forget what happened.

“Kate?”

I shake my head and again spit in the bowl. It still doesn’t remove the burning taste of disgust.

“Kate, I’m staying here until you come out.”

I grip each side of the toilet seat, thumbs over the top, and force my legs to straighten to a stand. Then turn around to face the room.

Soft pink painted walls. Double sinks, a sprawling countertop and a fogged-up mirror that stretches the entire length of the bathroom. Oh shit. The water! I take a few steps forward and turn each tap off then shake my head. We have all this. Our massive home. We have everything. Together. I’m finally with someone I can trust. Believe. I’m married. And now this?

A soft knock, knock, on the door.

“Kate? Please. Will you let me in?”

A heavy sigh falls from my mouth. Tears begin to swell in my eyes. I look up to the ceiling and try to contain them, but they still find their way. My jaw tightens. Clenched. Words. I struggle to find or form.

“Kate?” His voice soft. The warm tone I know so well.

I shake my head. “Grant. I can’t. I can’t do this.” I reply. Of course I want to talk about it. Of course I want to ignore it.

“Just let me in. We can talk about it.”

Then a flood of energy takes over my body. The reality of tonight. Now consumed with rage and of what he did.

“Are you? Kidding me?”

Silence.

“Honestly. Are you kidding me right now?” I snap.

Again. Silence.

In front of the full mirror I stand and stare. Through the foggy mist I see my body in this new turquoise bikini. I shake my head. Hmm. For the honeymoon. That’s a laugh. Then I see my face. Distorted and unclear. Smooth mid-twenties skin but now tired, heavy and aged eyes.

“Kate? Please. Please unlock this door.”

The knock on the door rattles my mind. Oh right. I’m here. In the bathroom. His voice is out there. Somewhere. I know he’s talking but my brain can’t absorb what he means or what he wants.

Down on the countertop I see my veil. Long and white and draped like it owns the room. I shake my head. I didn’t really want it. It seemed old fashioned to put a stupid white veil over my face like I’m some virgin girl being revealed to her husband for the first time. We already live together and well. We’ve done it. A lot. But mom said, “You can’t get married without a veil.” It was a dream come true day. Even with a veil. Now. I roll my eyes. What a joke.

“Come on Kate. Please. I need to see you.”

I look over to the door and shake my head. “Grant. I can’t do this.”

“Ok, but, just, let me in. Ok?”

“No.” I shake my head again, but inside all I want is to let him in. Let him wrap his arms around me. Hold me. Tell me that he loves me. Tell me that everything is going to be ok because when my brain scans for options, I’m lost.

“Kate.”

“Grant. You punched me in the face!”

“No. No, I didn’t.”

“What?” I say with a jaw drop and glance towards the door.

“I didn’t punch you.”

“Grant! My nose is bleeding because you punched it!”

“Well… well I didn’t mean to.”

“Ah... Ok…”

“It just… happened.”

“What? Like you had no control?”

“Look Kate. I’m sorry. Please. Unlock the door. Let’s talk about it.”

“Why?”

“I can explain.”

“Explain why you hit me?”

“But–”

“–I don’t want to hear it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough.”

“Well, honestly Kate.” He says with a shift in tone. “I never would have hit you if you didn’t provoke me so much.”

I blink my eyes and shake my head. “I provoked you?”

“Well, yeah. You wouldn’t go to my parents for dinner.”

“I had plans.”

“So.”

“It was last minute.”

“My parents wanted us to come.”

“You called me a bitch.”

“I didn’t call you a bitch.”

“Yes. Grant. You did!”

“I said you were being a bitch.”

“No. You said, don’t be such a bitch and come to my parents.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Ah Grant. What’s the difference?”

“There’s a difference and you overreacted.”

“Oh, and you decided to punch me because of it?”

“Look. My parents gave us a lot of money for this house. You should be more grateful.”

“I… I should be more grateful?” I say with a sarcastic chuckle.

“Yeah, for me and my parents.”

“Oh my god, Grant. What is wrong with you?”

“Ah, Kate, what’s wrong with you?” He says with a sarcastic slur.

“Oh my god.”

“I love you. I don’t want to lose you.” His voice warm, caring and pleading.

“You. You need to leave this house.”

“I didn’t mean to get so mad. It’s just. You pushed me too far.”

“I.. What?”

“Well, yeah.”

“So, if I don’t agree with you, you’ll give me a little pop in the face to keep me in line?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“Look. If you didn’t get so mad, then neither would I.”

“Oh. So, it’s my job to keep your temper under control?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“Come on Kate. I said I was sorry.”

My ten fingertips spread wide on either side of my head. Thumbs squeeze tight into my jaw.

“Oh my God. We.. Just. Got married!”

“I know and it was amazing.”

“So, now we’re divorcing before our honeymoon?”

“No. I don’t want a divorce.” He says in a calm matter of fact way.

“Well, neither do I. But you hit me. And I don’t know what to do. But I do know, you need to leave this house.”

“Please Kate. I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t care.”

I walk back over to the toilet, drop the lid and turn to plop my now chilled and bare body down. My elbows collapse onto my knees and head back into my hands.

Down on the linoleum floor I focus on the tiny pink roses that sit in each corner of this fake tile floor. A defeated laugh falls from me. Oh, the 80’s and it’s dusty rose. On the other side of the bathroom door I hear something slide down. Him. My husband. And then… Sobs…

“Kate? I’m… I’m a mess without you. I can’t do this without you..” He pleads from the other side of the door.

His words hit my heart like a sledgehammer to concrete. Shattered. My tears drop. Like in slow motion, I watch them fall and splatter onto the floor between my bare feet. I’m a mess. I want to cry and confess, I can’t do this without you either. But my pride holds everything inside. Locked. Vulnerable is bad. Vulnerable always means ridicule, pain, and somehow feeling so pathetic and weak. Stuff it back down. Swallow the pain. Supress the tears. That is what I need to do.

“Please. Kate. We can get through this. I’ll make it up to you. I promise. On my mother’s life. I’ll make it right.”

His words float around in my head. I force myself to stand up and walk over to the door. Of course I’m going to make this work. I love him. I reach for the door handle. But then, snap it back. No. Wait, I can’t do this. I can’t be like them. I don’t want this. I turn my back to the door and collapse against it. Look up to the ceiling, as if the answers are written up there, then slide my body down to the floor.

Him and his sobs continue. Fuck. How do I do this? I can’t. But where do I go? Back to my parents’ house? No thank you. Go back to renting an apartment after owning a house? Start all over again? Or. Believe him. Stay. Take a chance?

“Kate?” His voice shaky, desperate and pleading. “Please. I love you.”

Those three words. They pull my heart back together again. I never heard them from my family. Maybe when I was young, but I don’t know. I don’t remember a single time. I remember squeezing my small self into the doghouse. The closed fist punch at the park. And still at eighteen mom spitting, “If you ever want to eat here again, you’ll finish every bite, I, put on your plate.” I had to do as I was told because dad made it crystal clear. “As long as you’re under my house. You follow my rules.” And we both knew who made the rules.

I look down to my lap. My hands rest there on my thighs. The sparkly one carat diamond stares back at me like a beacon. My right fingers spin it around. Pull it off. And slide it back on. This diamond. This wedding band. Forever. I made a promise. Until death do us part. How do I leave after one mistake. Maybe he won’t do it again. How do I know if I don’t give him a chance? I stand up, turn to face the door and reach for the handle. Waiting. He’s still right there. When my hand touches the small door lock, I freeze. What? Wait. What am I thinking? Of course he will do it again. I would be stupid to stay. My hand leaps back like I touched a flame and my fist curls back against my bare chest.

But then. No. My parents went through this. The alcohol, mom had a black eye, and she drove a broom handle through a door. They’re still married. Now that’s. Until death do you part.

“Kate?” His voice warm and soft. I can’t answer but he continues. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

His words find my heart. My shoulders soften down. My jaw lowers and my eyes close. No one has said that to me. Even when mom was wrong, I had to apologize to her and watch her smug face while dad threatened me if I didn’t.

Tonight. Maybe I did have too much to drink? Maybe I did provoke him? This won’t happen if I stay calm. It makes sense. Like that time in the car when I felt insecure about Grant and that girl. He said I was paranoid and jealous. I overreacted and got scared. Maybe I did the same thing tonight?

I reach for the door handle. This time I hold it in my hand. Like glue, stuck. Do I? Don’t I? How do I know?

“Kate?” He gives a soft knock on the door. “We took a vow. I’m not giving up on us. I want to be like my parents. Together forever.”

His words stop my mind like a semi-truck smashing against a wall. We did take a vow. I don’t want to give up on us either. And plus, our relationship has been amazing. The envy of many. Barbie and Ken. They called us. I’m not sure about me, but Grant has the Ken down pat. How do I leave? What if I leave and regret it? My hand. Still. Stuck. Gripping the handle.