Firstly and Secondly - Experiment #4

     It was his scent that hit me first.

     It was as if every last drop of Calvin Klein's marketing career was spread in a thick layer across his skin. It filled my eyes with stinging musk, but to be completely honest, I was crying before he even got within sniffing-distance. And he was smiling again. Why does he always smile when we fight? Is that really the same smile that made me fall in love with him? He pulled me into his chest - an unwelcome hug that printed his stink in perfect lines on my skin. He spoke as he smothered me.

     "I know things have been rough lately, Mills, but I think we can do this." He pulled away enough to look at me. "I promise I'll be better."

     His famous line. "I'll be better" has been around since the first time I threatened to leave him. I had had a few drinks that night, so I wasn't thinking properly when I believed him. Then again, that doesn't excuse why I've stayed with him three years since. I suppose it's because I'm scared - of him or myself, I'm unsure. I paid special attention to a small stain in the carpet. Weak, I thought to myself. I willed myself to meet his gaze.

     I nerved myself. A deep breath, and then; "I don't believe you, Luke."

     There's something off-putting about autumn. If you've ever lived through a true autumn, you'll understand what I mean. It's a melancholy beauty that thrives on death. As the beautiful fruits of spring ripen under summer suns and grow fat with juice, autumn arrives with gravity, pulling leaves from their nodes and fruit from their flowers. They're then raked to the side to decompose into mulch. 

     Luke's face was like autumn, then. I was the mulch. 

     He raked me aside by the hair and threw me against the wall. Shoulder first, I crashed into the ivory wall, making the surrounding windows rattle precariously. I crumpled into a pile on the ground, my shoulder burning and my ankle screaming from under my weight. I shifted and waited in dripping, silent agony, bracing myself to receive whatever punishment Luke felt fit. It was his release that was my reprieve. 

     Nothing. I slowly peered up from behind a curtain of hair - my only defense. Luke sat on the bed with his head in his hands, his shoulder blades crashing against one another in a fitful weep. My heart hurt for him - I really did care for him - but my ankle told me to stay put. His breathing began to slow, and he lifted his forehead from his palms. His blue eyes struck me, wet and red with irritation, and my heart jumped to my throat. He looked so hurt. What had I done?

     I spoke from behind my veil. "I'm sorry, Luke. I didn't mean that."

     "I know."

     "I really didn't. I know you only hurt me because I make you angry."

     "I know."

     "I'm serious. If there's anything I can do to-"

     He was on his feet, a vein in his temple pushed itself against his glistening skin.

     "I know! I know! I know!" His approaching footsteps felt like thunder in a summer storm, my veil like rotting wooden shutters against a window with no glass. "Jesus Christ, woman, what will it take to make you understand such a simple sentence as 'I know'? You make me want to fucking blow my brains out! Right out of my fucking skull!"

     My veil was broken. He was on top of me.

     It was his fist that hit me second.