The fight was a humdinger. The neighbors stared as I tromped back into our apartment, with my eyes averted. I'd never had police involved in my life before, and although I was thankful for their arrival, I felt deep shame.
I sat down at the kitchen table and surveyed the mess. A lamp overturned, magazines scattered across the floor, a spilled bottle of beer. They could all wait until morning. I didn't have any energy left. I sighed and grabbed a rag. The beer would smell by morning.
I'd dated Jack for six months before he moved in. I thought I knew him. I didn't understand when things began to go wrong. My dreams began to fissure with every failure he heaped upon my shoulders. I wondered when I had become so incompetent.
I threw the rag into the sink and walked into the bedroom, disrobing as I went. I needed to sleep.
I awoke from the warm cocoon of my down comforter and stared into the icy blue eyes of my knife-wielding ex-boyfriend.
"I didn't hear you knock."