Rewrite the Ending - Robert Duncan
“Get
out.” Her voice was nearly a whisper but he heard her clearly.
“What did you say?”
“What did you say?”
“Get
out Alex, and don’t ever come back here.” Her voice was shaking, her body was
still and her eyes never left his.
“Now
Jen-” He jumped back when she suddenly burst toward him, his hand falling back
against the island, shattering the vodka so only the jagged neck remained in
his hand. The rest, was shattered in a cascade of tinted glass across the
kitchen and living room floor, pieces scattering as far as the off kilter
coffee table. When he gasped out in surprise, Jen seized her opportunity in a
moment of blind confusion to grab the broken glass in his hand. His hands
immediately rose in surrender as she aimed the jagged edges at his chest.
“Get
the hell out of my house.” She growled, inching sideways towards him, slowly
leaving the mid-day sunlight streaming into the apartment. Now fully bathed in
residual light she saw his features for the first time that day. His face was
unshaven, his clothes wrinkled around the stomach and thighs, his eyes blood-shot
and bagged. He hadn’t slept since her accident. The tightness in her chest and
the pang of guilt that clamped around her throat only spurred her on more. She
pushed the bottle forward to gather more courage. “First you interfere in my
job and now you’re controlling how I handle my personal life? Alex you have
crossed way too many boundaries.” She shook her head, her voice dangerously
lower and shaking from the effort to contain her emotions.
“I’m
not controlling-”
“Oh
really?” His back was against the front door now and she was mere feet away,
the bottle quivering in her white knuckles. “And what would you call talking to
my mother about sending me to rehab
like I’m some junkie and not a woman who...” she chocked on the last bit of
air, unable to finish.
He bit
his cheek before responding. “Protecting you from yourself.”
She
stopped in her tracks, something stinging her eyes that could only be
considered pain. “Protect...” She couldn’t finish her sentence for fear of it
being true.
“Would
you rather I call the hospital directly?” A flicker of panic passed over her
still glassy brown eyes
“You
wouldn’t.” Her voice was cold now, tinged with fear. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Wouldn’t
I?” He tilted his head in defiance but she used the moment to stick the glass
to his neck, nicking the skin there and letting a moment of blood to trickle
across the glass. He gulped slowly, feeling each sharp, ragged edge of the
bottleneck against his unkempt face. Reaching blindly for some sort of shield
from her sudden wrath, his fingers wrapped around the brass door handle,
reminding him that he was cornered with one escape left. “Jen, you know this is
not the solution.”
“It
isn’t?” He felt her hands shaking as her strength drained from her body;
slowly. “If you were gone, everything could go back to normal.”
He
was silent a long moment as her words sunk in deeper than the cut dangerously
close to his jugular. “You can’t blame me for the things that have happened to
you.”
“Like
hell I can’t.” She breathed through her nose, sniffling in defiance to the
tears which had reached the backs of her eyes. As her hand shook traitorously,
she lowered it, slowly, with each exhale that Alex took. It was only until the
bottle was at her side that she spoke again. “Everything horrible that has
happened this year is because of you; you brought destruction into my life when
I didn’t even want you here.” The tears were brimming her eyes now and she
closed them to preserve her last ounce of strength. “If I could re-do the last
year I never would have let you in.”
So
now they were getting to the root of the problem. The little voice in his head that
told him it was a bad idea was drowned out by the exhilaration that he could
fix her. “Oh but so many good things have happened this year.”
“What?”
She stared up at him in shock, taking a step back in surprise at his confidence.
“I
mean you met a good friend-”
“-lost
my husband.”
“Really
opened up to new experiences-”
“-cheated
on my husband.”
“Reconnected
with your mother-”
“-almost
lost my mother.”
“You
finally started living-”
“-and
I nearly died.” The words hung in the air on strings, dangling just above their
heads before falling to the floor and leaving the room heavy and warm. Somehow
she’d made it back to her place by the kitchen island, staring up at him with a
quivering lip and a shaking grip on the glass bottle. Seeing her so close the
edge he took a chance.
“Jen-”
When she felt him take a step towards her, she squeezed her eyes tighter.
“Get
out!” The first time she raised her voice and the entire room shook with its
strength. On a reflex, he took a step back, his hand finding the nob and
twisting it. The click was deafening. With one last glance towards the shaking
woman in the middle of the kitchen, he thought twice about leaving her with the
broken bottle.
“Jen
can I-” He closed the door as she threw the bottle at him, shattering the glass
across the floor with the rest of its family. Fearing he may returning and
hoping he would try, she rushed to the door, leaning her weight into it as she
flipped the lock and holding her hand there as reassurance that it would stay
locked. Once she was certain, she closed her eyes and dropped her head against
the door, exhaling on an ‘oh’ as she felt the tears finally expel from her
body; leaving her to flow to the floor. Shell shocked, her legs betrayed her
and she collapsed to the ground, ignoring the crunching glass beneath her feet
and hands. Curled up against the door she brought her hand up to rest under her
nose and she released a breathless laugh as the smell of blood filled her
nostrils. The laugh broke into a sob on its way to the bottom, and her hand
remained where it was as her tears silently fell.
She
stared out the remains of the last five minutes. Broken glass scattered the
apartment, the coffee table was sideways to the couch where the sun was still
beating down on the corduroy that stained her cheek and hand. The sunlight
still filled the living room and streaked halfway up the kitchen floor but
didn’t quite reach her. As the blood from her own vodka bottle trickled down
her arm, she watched the blurry eyes as the daylight faded away from her.
Nice job! This was my favorite part: "The words hung in the air on strings, dangling just above their heads".
ReplyDeleteI noticed that you describe the tone of their voices often, rather than using dialogue to get the mood across. Also, look at the sentences that you start with "he" or "she" and see if you can turn them around for more impact.
For instance: "He closed the door as she threw the bottle at him, shattering the glass across the floor with the rest of its family"
could be...
"The bottle rocketed towards his head, but he slipped out the door before the glass exploded against the wood, splintering into tiny shards like all his lofty hopes of bringing her around."
Just a thought. Keep writing, my friend!
Cyndi
Thanks for the review. I REALLY appreciate it <3
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