Cackle(87)

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

“I don’t understand,” he says, literally scratching his head.

I stand up.

There’s something new pulsing through me. Or not new. Awakened. An electricity. A vibrance. There’s glitter in my veins.

“I don’t want this,” I tell him. “I don’t want you anymore.”

The look on his face is so delicious I could eat it. I could eat it in one bite.

“I think you should go,” I say. “I’ll give you a minute.”

I walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me so I can take a moment to admire myself. I linger in a reciprocal gaze with my reflection.

We’re smiling.

“Tell me the truth,” I say to her.

She does.

You must surrender everything for everything.

“I’m ready now,” I tell her. “I surrender.”

I surrender, she says back.

It’s transcendent. An injection of straight sunshine. Pure fucking gold. It binds bone and sinew. It’s in me; it’s of me. It’s me, it’s me, it’s me, it’s me.



* * *



—

I don’t know how much time passes, but when I open the bathroom door, Sam’s no longer on the couch. I don’t see him, but I hear him.

He’s talking to someone.

“Just guy stuff . . . Yeah . . . Yeah . . . Miss you, too. Tomorrow night? Yeah, but make reservations. They’re always crowded. . . . Okay . . . Me, too. Bye.”

“Who was that?” I ask. But I already know.

He’s standing in the kitchen with his phone in his hand. Guilty.

“Annie,” he says, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “Actually, I’m feeling pretty incredible.”

For the first time in our relationship, I’m in control. And what makes it extra sweet is that he knows it. He’s squirming in the corner.

“Ow,” he says. “What’s happening?”

His legs give out from underneath him, and he falls to the floor.

“You’re still with her, huh?” I say “Shannon.”

“Annie, what’s happening?”

I ease up, and he stops his wriggling.

“You didn’t break up with her before coming to see me, did you? Tell me the truth,” I say, reaching out my hand and pinching the air.

He screams, clutching his kneecap.

I release my fingers.

“No,” he cries. “I’m sorry.”

“Insurance,” I say. “Smart. In case things didn’t work out with us, you wouldn’t end up alone.”

“I wanted you,” he says. “I wanted things to work out between us— Ahhh!”

This, this I’m not doing intentionally.

He’s writhing around on the floor, his limbs twitching madly, his face gravely distorted. There’s blood coming out of his eyes. Not in neat drops, not in tears, but in a steady stream.

“Annie!” he screams. Blood begins to spray from his mouth now, too.

I close my eyes and take deep, unhurried breaths. If I can calm down, maybe I can make it stop. But . . . it’s hard to let go of my animosity at the moment. It’s hard not to torture him when it’s so easy. When I can.

I open my eyes, and he’s turning a pale blue color. I admire it for a second, the color, before realizing he might be dying. I might be killing him.

With that, he scrambles to his hands and knees, wheezing.

I allow him to catch his breath. He manages to pull himself up and prop himself against the fridge.

“What the fuck?” he keeps saying. “What the fuck?”

“I gave you so much of myself,” I say, “and you wasted me.”

His face. Such pure, exquisite horror. Such fear.

I don’t mind. He fears me because he is small. I will not meet him there. I will not shrink myself down to his size, or anyone else’s, for their comfort. For their appeasement.

I actually find it kind of amusing, his fear. Kind of funny. It’s making me laugh.

I laugh.

No.

I cackle.

“I believe we’re done here,” I tell him. “Leave.”

He rushes, tripping over himself as he grabs his backpack.

“Sam,” I say.

He turns to me, a nervous glance over his shoulder.

“You never told me if you liked my hair.”

I go on cackling, though he doesn’t seem to find it too humorous. I guess that’s fair.

“Good-bye,” I tell him. “And thank you.”

With that, he’s gone.

“Well,” I say to myself, listening to the sound of his car speeding out of the driveway, “there goes my dark fate.”

And I know now. I’m finally free of doubt. I’m so glad I’m not with him in that car. I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Exactly who I’m meant to be.

What I’m meant to be.





LET’S PRETEND IT NEVER HAPPENED

The night sky is smeared with stars, glowing vigorously from far, far away. I count them with the eyes on top of my head. I walk these familiar woods buoyed by the thrill of my transformation. Otherwise, I might be too afraid.