Into the Aether_Part One(24)

She remembered when Brent suggested they move in together and pool their resources, to make rent more manageable. She was hesitant at first, but he hadn’t been aggressive in months.

After they moved in together, though, their fights turned into a monthly occurrence.

“He'll change,” Cybil had said to herself after a particularly nasty fight. This was the first time he left bruises on her body. “He's just under stress at work.” Later it became, “He’s under a lot of pressure from...” his boss, or the rent, or anything she could think of. Cybil was starting to run out of excuses, but found herself afraid of him, afraid of what could happen if she left him.

She had frequent dreams of him beating her, or him drinking. One recurring dream was of Brent in his brown Buick. He was drinking and came out of the car, staggering toward her, a bottle in one hand, a gun in the other.

Cybil thought these dreams were just her stresses manifesting themselves. For a time, Brent was helping to support them financially while Cybil went to nursing school. She continued to work as a waitress, but with her increased workload from school, she had to cut back her hours at work.

If she didn’t talk about going to school or her job, they wouldn’t argue. After a time, he proposed to her. Cybil was taken with the idea of having a big white wedding, and considered her options.

Her father, however, took her off to the side one day. “Is he hurting you?” he asked.

“W-why would you say that?” she asked, nervously brushing back a wisp of hair.

“I see the bruises, Cybil.”

“Dad, I told you. Those were from my nursing training. Things can get pretty physical in there!” she said with an awkward laugh.

“If he’s hurting you, I will kill him.”

“Oh, Dad!” she said smiling, but when she looked at him, her smile faltered. Her father, a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, had a cold intensity in his eyes. It scared her. He was serious. She left the room crying, unable to say anything else.

A month later, Cybil’s father died due to complications from a stroke. Brent comforted her in her grief, and he was there for her as she made funeral arrangements as well as for the funeral itself. Still shaken by her father’s passing, Cybil said she would marry Brent. He suggested she take time off from school and go back to waitressing full time, to help pay the bills for the wedding. Originally, she planned to take a year off and go back the following September. But one year became five. There would always be an unexpected expense or too little money for her to finish her education. Brent got a promotion at work, but with his new position came even more stress. He found comfort at the bottom of a bottle. Odd how there always seemed to be enough money for his new habit.

After a long day of waiting tables, the other waitresses surprised Cybil with a cake to celebrate her five-year anniversary at the restaurant. Although Cybil appreciated the sentiment, they might as well have written, ‘You’ve just wasted five years of your life’ on that cake. That night, she mustered her courage and told Brent she was finishing her nursing degree. As she progressed through the remainder of her program, he insulted her more, degrading her and her future career. That little voice began to yell at her from the depths in which she had buried it, telling her to leave.

“You really think you're going to become a nurse? You’re even stupider than you look,” Brent said after one of his frequent drinking binges.

“Yes, I will be. Brent, I’m going to give you one last chance. You are going to stop drinking, or I am leaving.” He turned around, swaying for a moment, bracing himself against the wall.

“And just where the hell are you gonna go?” he asked.

“Away from here. Away from you.”

Brent mumbled something under his breath and stumbled away.

Cybil jogged around a corner; an empty field lay ahead of her. A large sign read ‘Future home of Crosley Plaza—Another quality project by Rathbone Construction, Inc.” She set herself into a full sprint, channeling her anger.

The morning after she gave Brent his ultimatum, Cybil had the dream again of him stumbling out of his car with a gun. Disturbed by it, she awoke to find him about to leave for work. She ran out into the living room to meet him.

“Brent, you have two weeks,” she said. He stopped at the door, looked over his shoulder, and then left without saying a word. Over that time, Cybil started to slowly move some of her clothes and personal items over to a girlfriend’s house. Brent must have been aware of what she was doing, with the gaps in the closet and items missing from the house, but still he would come home, night after night, and watch television and drink himself into a stupor.

On the last day of the two weeks, he didn’t deviate from his usual routine of him leaving for work without saying a word.

“Brent, you haven't even tried to stop drinking, have you?” she asked.

No answer.

“Do you even plan to stop? Do you even give a damn?” Brent stood at the door, facing away from her. “Why won’t you say anything to me? Why are you acting like such a child?” she asked, raising her voice. She wanted to pound her fists into his back, force him to turn around and talk to her. Anything to show that he was at least acknowledging what she was saying.

“If you leave me, I will find you,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. She was taken aback and her heart pounded as the door to their apartment closed with a bang. She turned, gathered the rest of her things, and left.