Me:
He just tried to kill me. I’m alive, but I need help.
Her reply is instant, disbelief bleeding through her words:
His boss:
Are you serious? Are you okay?
Me:
I wish I was kidding. He just smashed me in the head with antlers.
Smashed my face.
His boss:
Oh my god! Call the cops.
He’s so busy raging that he doesn’t notice what I’m doing.
The chaos in the bathroom suddenly subsides, a moment of eerie silence, and Timmy stumbles back into the room, panting, his eyes wild. His face is red and sweaty, a twisted mask of fury and desperation. “You stupid fucking bitch,” he hisses, leaning in close, his breath hot against my ear.
He returns to his feet and storms out to the balcony, glaring at me, and I hear more smashing. I’m frozen. My brain screams at me.Get out. Get out.But before I get a chance to make a dash for it, he returns inside, and he’s suddenly back on me, breathing raggedly in my ear. “You stupid fucking bitch. Look what you’ve made me do.”
“Timmy, I don’t?—.”
He notices the phone in my hand, and he tries to yank it from me.
“Who the fuck are you texting?!” he roars, even more enraged.
Fuck. What have I done?
I don’t know what to tell him, other than the truth. “Your boss. I?—.”
“You’re texting myboss?” He looks even more furious now, hisyelling even more guttural. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’ll kill you, stupid bitch!”
“Timmy, I?—.”
“Shut the fuck up! Just shut your fucking stupid mouth!” he screams, cutting me off.
He brandishes his pink-handled hammer, now, raising it just high enough for me to see the malicious gleam in his eyes. “I will fucking kill you with this hammer.”
He has me on the ground again, and this time he drags me across the floor.
He lifts up the hammer, as if he’s about to strike me in the head with it. But then he drags it across my hip instead, and I wince as the claws scrape across my skin.
My heart hammers against my ribs. My brain screams at me to move, to run, to do something. I have to get out of here.
Somehow, I manage to wriggle free from his loosened grip, adrenaline giving me strength. His coordination is faltering, his movements sluggish and sloppy now, motor skills severely compromised, like a drunk giant stumbling through a nightmare, an elephant that’s just been shot with a sedative.
I feel frozen, but I manage to fumble with my phone and dial 911.
I get to my feet and dash for the door. I open it just as he tries to drag me back into the apartment, growling like a wild animal, but I slip free. He lunges, grabbing at me again, but I’m faster. I burst into the hallway, barefoot and terrified.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I hear heavy footsteps.
“Help!” I cry out, my voice breaking with panic.