Chapter 4 Chapter two

I climbed out of the tub under Terry's stare, wrapped myself in a towel, and walked into the bedroom.I searched for a few clothes at random, found what I found, a pair of old jeans in the storage bag, an itchy dark blue sweater in the drawer, scuffed sneakers, the crumpled regiment of old black panties.At least it's all clean.I found a hair tie on the shelf above the tub so I could tie up my wet hair with trembling hands. Terry sat in the wicker chair in the corner of the living room.It was a wicker chair I bought from a second-hand store on the high street on a rainy Sunday morning, and I carried it back by myself and used it as an umbrella.He leaned forward and extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray.It was the ashtray I brought back as a souvenir from a coffee shop where I had worked as a waiter.He took another cigarette from the pack of cigarettes on the table and lit it.He was fair-haired, light-skinned, and good-looking, the same Terry he had met back then.But when he opened his mouth, he failed.

You don't want to ask me how I'm doing?I said.But, of course, it was too late to say that.If I had to ask him to ask, it wouldn't be an expression of concern.Just like you ask people if they love you if you have to ask them, it means they don't love you, or they don't love you enough, and it doesn't match your expectations of them. What?He said.His tone seemed to be taking a position rather than asking a question. what happened? I was wondering.You look so embarrassed.And what happened to those scars? Did you know I was hospitalized? He leisurely took a long puff of the cigarette, and then slowly exhaled it, savoring it carefully, as if he was more interested in smoking than me.There are two faces of Terry when he has a bad temper.One is the grumpy, snarling Terry, the one I just glimpsed in the bathroom.The other was the silent, calm, sarcastic Terry, the one who was sitting in the wicker chair smoking a cigarette.

Yes, I heard, he said.Finally there is news from you.I heard from the police that they have been here. I tried calling you, I said.You are not here.Of course you know you're not here. I'm away. Terry, I said: I had the most, uh, scariest, scariest moment.I think I stopped, I don't know what I want or what to say.I certainly don't want to sit in a cold room with a man who is looking at me with an angry face.A hug, I think.A hug, a cup of cocoa, someone telling me they're glad I'm home, someone saying they miss me, someone making me feel safe, that's all I need right now.I've lost my memory, I said at last.My mind is at a loss and I need your help to sort it out.indifferent.I would have died.I said.

Another leisurely puff of the damn cigarette.Does he have any intentions?He seemed to have another mystery before he spoke, as if there was some overtone that I couldn't grasp.Some say they can feel a storm coming, that old wounds from their battles will start to ache or something.I have never had this kind of prescience myself, and my own old war wounds are always sore.But when it comes to fighting with Terry, I always feel it.I can feel it on my skin, in the hair on the back of my neck, on my spine, in my belly, behind my eyes, and I can feel it in the air.But this time I'm going to get angry myself.

Terry, I said.Did you hear me? Am I missing something? What? Is this a weird trick you came up with to try to restore the old relationship? They released me from the hospital.that's all.What did they tell you?Haven't you heard anything?I have a lot to tell you.Oh my gosh, you will never believe it.When I heard myself say this, I couldn't help being stunned for a moment, and hurriedly changed my words.But of course it's true. Isn't it too late to talk about this now? sorry?I guess you have something to tell me too.Where have you been? Terry let out a barking laugh, then looked around as if he was worried that someone was watching him.I close my eyes and open them again.He was still smoking on the wicker chair, and I was still there, standing in front of him.

you're drunk? You're putting on a show, aren't you? What's the meaning? Is this a way you want to make up with me? I shook my head to get my head around it, and it made my head throb.I felt as if I was looking at everything around me through a gray fog. Terry, listen, okay?I was kidnapped by a madman.He hit me on the head and I passed out.I don't know what's going on, just part of it.But I could have died.I almost died.I was hospitalized.Can not find you.I tried calling you, but you never called back.Maybe you went to a carnival, right?But I'm back. Then Terry's expression changed.He looked confused and bewildered.His cigarette was burning in his fingertips, as if he had forgotten all about it.

Abby I really don't understand. I sit on the couch.Taylor's sofa.I think it was left to him by his mother many years ago.I rub my eyes.I know the police have spoken to you, and I say this carefully.I wanted to try to reveal a little less to Terry.That's one of the problems too, isn't it?What did they say? That's when Terry's face became alert.They want to know when was the last time I saw you. So how did you tell them? He took another slow puff of cigarette.I will answer their questions. Are they satisfied? I tell them where I am staying.I think they must have made a few phone calls to check.That seemed to be enough for them.

How did they tell you about my situation? They told you that you were hurt. Injuried?I said.They use this word? He shrugged.almost. I was attacked.I said. By who? I have no idea.I never saw his face. What are you?He stared at me dumbfounded.What happened? I don't know, I have absolutely no memory of it.I was beaten.beat up.hit on the head.I couldn't remember anything for days. I now have his attention.He obviously had a lot of questions and didn't know where to start. If you can't remember anything, how do you know you didn't fall and hit your head? He imprisoned me, Terry.He is going to kill me.I escaped.

I was full of sadness thinking, when I heard this, anyone should come and hug me and say: It's terrible.But Terry pressed on, ignoring what I had just said. I thought you didn't see him. I was blindfolded.In the dark. oh, he said.There was silence for a while.God. yes. Sorry, Abby, he said awkwardly.It was too little and too late for no sense, and the way he looked said he knew that.Then he asked: So what are the police going to do? I'm afraid to face this question, and that's why I don't want to go into details.Even though I knew I was right, I was ashamed even in front of Terry and angry at myself for it.

They don't believe me, I say.They thought it was all nonsense. But what about those injuries?Those bruises? My brows were furrowed, I wanted to cry but I would never cry in front of the damn Terry.That's another hassle too. As far as I know, people on my side think it's just a figment of my imagination.People who are not on the same side as me think that I fabricated it.They all thought it was the best of humanity not to bring me over for wasting police time.So they left me to fend for myself.Once again I was in the middle of a large crowd, unprotected.I waited for him to come towards me.He sat upright like a mountain with a dazed expression.I took a deep breath.What happened to my stuff?Who took it?

yourself. What?I? two weeks ago. I took it? Yes, Terry moved a bit.He looked at me carefully, is it true?You can't remember anything? I shake my head. It's all blurry.The events of the past few weeks have been shrouded in a great dark cloud.I have a vague memory of going to work, of living here, and everything after that is a blur.But what are you talking about?What do you mean I took it? At this moment, Terry was embarrassed.His eyes wandered, as if he was thinking quickly, trying to come up with a solution.And then he looked calm again. you left.He said. What's the meaning? You have threatened to leave a million times.Don't look at me like that like it's my fault. I didn't look at you at all. He narrowed his eyes.You really can't remember? Not impressed at all. He lit another cigarette.We had a fight.He said. What are you arguing about? I can't remember.What is the reason for the quarrel?And not for something silly.Perhaps it was finally unbearable. Cliché. Well, that's right.Maybe I pissed you off with a cliché, or said something inappropriate.We had a fight and you said you had had enough.I thought you were just saying something, and then I, uh, I went out.But when I got back you were already packing your stuff, most of your stuff.You stuff the car and drive away. Really? Take a look around you, Abby.Who else would want your CD player but you? So you're saying it was just one of our fights. One of the worst fights we've had. I feel chills.Now it seems that there is nothing to hide. I forgot so many things, I said.But I remember our worst fights usually ending with you beating me up. That's not true. Did you hit me? No.Terry said.But his expression was one of arrogance and shame. You know, that's one of the reasons why the police didn't believe me.I am a victim.I have a record of domestic violence.I am a woman who has experienced domestic violence.I've called the police before.Do you remember that night?Maybe you can't remember.You were drinking and somehow we got into an argument.I can't remember why I was arguing that time.Is it because I took one of your shirts to the wash and it wasn't dry when you wanted to wear it?I said why don't you wash it yourself if that's going to be a problem?Was it that time?Or because you said I hooked up with you and ruined your life just like that, wasn't it that time?There are so many quarrels that I can't tell the difference.But that time it turned out that you grabbed a kitchen knife and I went to the police. No, I don't remember it, said Terry.You are exaggerating too much. No!I'm not exaggerating, I'm not making it up.I'm talking about what happens when you're drunk.You're elated at first, then aggressively elated, then sentimental and self-pitying, then ferocious by the fourth drink.If I had been there, you would have used me as a punching bag.I don't want to sit here like one of those vindictive women who lists all the things I've seen you do when you're drunk.But I still can't figure out why you can always make people tolerate you.And I can't understand why every time you cry and say never do it again, I always believe it. Tally stubbed out his cigarette and lit another.Is that his fourth, or fifth? Abby, this is very much a replica of our fight. Well, I wish I could remember that fight, because I really liked the woman who made up her mind to turn around and walk away. Yeah, said Terry, suddenly almost as tired as I was.I also like her very much.You know, I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the hospital to see you.I was going to go when I heard the news, but then I had something to attend to, and then you suddenly appeared in my bathtub. It's okay, I said.Where are all my things? I have no idea. What's the meaning? You left me, remember? When did I leave you? when? that day? oh.Saturday. Which Saturday? He glanced at me as if he suspected this was an elaborate charade I had devised.Saturday, January 12, about noon.he added. But that was sixteen days ago!I can't remember it.Tears nearly welled up in my eyes again.I didn't leave a contact address? You go live with Sadie, I think.But only for one night. And after that? unknown. Oh my God, I said, putting my head in my hands.So where am I going now? You can live here for a while, if you want.That's okay.Just wait till you figure it out.We can discuss it you know. I watched Terry sitting in the smoke he was exhaling.I thought of the woman, the one I couldn't remember, me, the one who had decided to turn around and leave sixteen days ago. No, I said.no.I have to sort things out.Everything in here. I look around.Didn't someone say that if you leave something somewhere, it means you want it back?By the same token, I feel like I have to get away with something, whatever.There was a little globe on the mantel that Terry gave me the only time we celebrated my birthday together.I held it in my hand, and he looked puzzled. That's mine, I said.You sent me.That was my birthday present. I was walking towards the door when I remembered something.Excuse me, Terry, I said.I don't have a wallet with me.I am penniless.Can you lend me some money?Ten pounds, twenty pounds, whatever. With a heavy sigh, Terry got up and walked behind the sofa where his jacket was draped.He rummaged around in his wallet.I can give you fifteen pounds, he said.Excuse me.I'm going to use the rest tonight though. It doesn't matter. He counted the money as if paying a bill.A ten-pound note, three one-pound coins, and a handful of change.I take it all.