‘What?’ I finally ask. ‘Scared of- Florence, scared of what who will do to you?’ I ask, feeling sick as the words leave my lips. Florence can’t meet my eyes while the weight of her words really hit me.
My girlfriend is scared to go home because someone might do something to her there. The most disgusting story pieces itself together in my mind and I feel tears stinging the back of my eyes.
‘Your father? Florence, has your father been doing anything to you?’ I ask. She cries harder, not looking at me.
So much rage and hatred curse through me my legs nearly give out beneath me. Something terrible has been going on at my girlfriend’s home and I didn’t know. I didn’t know because I was stupid and ignorant. I can barely stand to look at her right now. Not because I’m upset with her but because she looks so broken, so defeated that it hurts to see.
‘I can’t do it tonight. I don’t know what he’ll do but I can’t,’ she breaks off, choking on her words. ‘I’m not strong enough. I’m sorry. So sorry, god, I didn’t know what to do,’ she says, leaning against the wall behind her.
‘You should have told me!’ I tell her, my voice coming off rougher than intended.
‘I’m sorry. Please, don’t make me go back there,’ she then begs and it’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. She thinks I’d do that? Send her back to her father who’s been doing who-knows-what to her. Who’s the reason she’s crying hysterically, and probably why she hasn’t eaten anything in so long.
I feel sick. So, so sick I can hardly stay upright but Florence mistakes my silence for rejection and I can hear her sharp intake of breath.
‘Please, Elija. I’m so sorry. Please, just for tonight. I promise I’ll figure something out tomorrow,’ she says desperately over the sobs wrecking her body. She’s panicking, only taking shallow breaths.
I look for my phone, wanting to put on her song but I can’t see anything. I’m too dizzy, too worried, too confused, too angry, too hurt.
When I realize Florence is gathering her clothes, preparing herself to go home, I nearly shout,’ No. You’re not going anywhere. You can stay, Florence. You’ll stay.’ My voice is too rough, too loud, and too demanding.
‘Are you angry?’ Florence asks softly. I chuckle. Nothing is funny and I don’t mean to do it but the pathetic sound leaves my lips no matter what. Does so as images of her piece-of-shit sperm doner laying his hands on the girl I love and it makes my blood run so much hotter in my veins.
‘No, Florence, I’m not angry. I’m fucking furious,’ I say, raising my hands to run them through my hair.
But Florence sees the movement and flinches before desperately trying to scramble backward. To get away from me.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers as her eyes jump around the room, a wild expression in them. And my heart breaks, literally crashes and shatters so hard I’m sure you could hear it if the girl’s breathing weren’t so loud. Her breathing! Shit, she needs to breathe evenly.
I forgot how horribly stressful her panic attacks could get and this seems like it’s becoming one.
But I don’t know how to comfort her because I have no control over my voice and she is scared of me. Scared I’ll hit her!
‘Hey, listen to me. Florence, you are safe. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You know I won’t hurt you. Please, you know that. You trust me, Florence. Please breathe,’ I say desperately, taking a measured step closer.
The girl slides down the wall, trying to curl in on herself protectively as she whispers apologies and pleas. I realize she didn’t hear a word I just said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she weren’t here at all anymore. If her mind has taken her elsewhere already.
I try to get closer again, panicking myself. I need to tap her rhythm, to make her stop crying and start breathing but when she sees me her eyes only widen.
‘Please, Florence. You’re safe. I’m not him. He’ll never hurt you again. Breathe,’ I plead. It’s to no avail.
Then I hear the front door opening and closing. I look from the curled-up girl in the corner of my room and back to my door.
‘Elija? We’re home,’ my dad yells. Florence flinches again. I curse under my breath before reluctantly leaving my room.
‘There you are. Is Flo here? I saw her scooter. Oh, what’s wrong?’ my mom asks, noticing my distress, no doubt.
‘Keep your voices down. Florence- she’s in my room. I don’t know what to do. She won’t let me come closer and she can’t breathe,’ I explain hurriedly. The fact that Florence would hate me for involving my parents is nagging at my mind but I’m too desperate.
‘Can’t breathe? Where is she? What happened? Have you called 911?’ my dad asks.
‘No. It’s a panic attack but she won’t let me help. Dad, stop! You can’t go in there!’ I snap when the man tries to get to my room.
‘Why not? I can help,’ he says but I shake my head.
‘Not you. Mom, maybe it’d help if you tried. Tap this rhythm on her arm or something, okay?’ I say, tapping the rhythm on her hand. The woman nods seriously before she’s off.
When the door to my room shuts behind her, I exhale shakily and start pacing the living room. Then I’m pulled into a hug by dad. He tells me it’ll be okay and not to be worried but I am. I am so worried and there are still so many unanswered questions. Most of all, I really want to punch myself for reacting so horribly and punch her father for being such a massive waste of space.
