Do Not Disturb

by Freida McFadden

for the first time since I’ve known him. Even when Derek is sleeping, he’s tense. He grinds his teeth loud enough to wake me. Maybe in death, he’s achieved that total relaxation that the meditation app on his phone failed to provide. Maybe he’s finally achieved a sublime state of complete bliss. Would it be a terrible thing to say that I hope he hasn’t achieved bliss? Would it be terrible to say that I hope he’s burning in hell right now?

I run upstairs to our bedroom. I made the bed this morning, the way Derek likes, with our Seraphina Ivory Damask bedspread folded neatly over the bed and the pillows propped up and fluffed. My mother always had me make the bed when I was a kid, but I stopped doing it as an adult. Until I got married, and I realized Derek required it. And it didn’t just have to be made—it had to be made in a very particular way, according to his specifications. I flash back to a moment a couple of months ago, when Derek walked into our bedroom and discovered that I had folded the bedspread over the pillows, rather than under. He narrowed his eyes as I felt my stomach sink. So this is how you leave our house in the morning? he said. Looking like a pigsty?

Stuffing your face again, Quinn? You’re getting pretty chunky. During dinner with some friends of his, he became enraged when I ordered a chocolate mousse for dessert. He marched me to the bathroom scale when we got home, and after that, we did regular weigh-ins. He would write the number each week in a little notebook. As I would step on the scale, I would hold my breath, knowing if my weight was even a pound higher than last week, he would go out of his mind.

precipitously

And, of course, after one of our huge fights, Derek would always fall over himself to apologize. There would be flowers, expensive jewelry, maybe a dinner out at a nice restaurant. He would be nice for weeks until I forgot the fight and remembered the man I had fallen in love with. So I stayed. When I was younger, before I met Derek, I would hear stories about women stuck in abusive relationships. I never understood why any of them stayed. I thought they were foolish or weak. It never made sense to me until it became my life.

“Will your wife be over here in the morning?” Nick shakes his head. “No. She doesn’t come to the motel anymore. She’s been… ill. I’ve been taking care of her.” “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. That must be hard.” He lifts a shoulder. “She’s my wife. In sickness and in health, right?” He looks pointedly at the wedding band on my left hand. “You know what I’m talking about.” I suck in a breath. I can’t tell him I just stuck a knife in the man who gave me this ring. “Yes. Of course.”

Yes, I killed him in self-defense, but I wanted him to die. Not only that, but I waited to make sure he was dead. I stood there, watching him bleed out. As he cried for help. He begged me to call an ambulance until he lost consciousness. And even after he was unconscious, I still waited. Waited until his chest stopped rising and falling. Waited until I couldn’t feel a pulse in his wrist.

Stupid storm. If that hadn’t happened, I would’ve been out of here ages ago. But I am praying I still have more time. After all, it’s only Saturday. It’s entirely possible nobody will notice Derek is missing until Monday. “In other news,” the anchor says, “the body of thirty-four-year-old Derek Alexander was found last night in his home…” My chest turns to ice. What?

I am a horrible person. I deserve everything coming to me.

Oop tea; shit's ab to get interesting

As I rifle through my purse, looking for my keys, I hear footsteps. I look up and see a figure approaching me. It’s so dark here, it’s hard to see who it is. I squint out into the blackness. “Hello?” I say. A raspy voice spits out, “How could you do that?” And then a second later the knife buries itself in my abdomen, between the open folds of my coat. I stare at it for a moment, watching the crimson stain spread across my shirt. And then everything goes black.

I’m still working at the restaurant, but it’s gotten very difficult. I’m struggling. It’s not just that I’m having difficulty walking and getting around. My brain is muddled. I mix up orders and forget what I’m doing in the middle of doing it. It’s embarrassing. “Rosie? Do you need help sitting up?” I stare at him. I have to get up and get to the restaurant. To my job that I love, that I dreamed of all my life. Except I just… don’t want to. The idea of getting out of bed, taking a shower, getting dressed… even running a comb through my hair is so exhausting. I can’t even contemplate it.

“Who am I speaking to?” a voice says. It’s a male voice, deep and overly formal. It’s not what I expected. “I’m Claudia’s husband,” I say. “And you’re busted. I want you to leave her alone from now on. You got me?” Another long pause. “This is Robert Delaney?” “Yeah. Who’d you think it was?” A throat clears on the other line. “Mr. Delaney, this is Officer Higgins. We found this phone number on a burner phone in the pocket of your brother-in-law, Derek Alexander.”

had to find Quinn. And then I promised myself I would make her pay for what she had done to the man I loved. I triple dipper promised with a cherry on top.

“Whoa! Jesus Christ, Rosie!” I pause for a breath and look up. Nick is standing over us, gawking at me. I look down at the mystery woman under me, and there’s blood all over her face. I think she might be unconscious. I roll off her, gasping for air. “Nick,” I manage. “She… she was…” “I know.” His face is grim. “I saw her through the window in room 201. I saw the knife. I ran over here as fast as I could, but I thought I might be too late…” He looks down at the woman, out cold on the floor. “Little did I know, my wife is a ninja.” I start to laugh, but instead I burst into tears.

“I was miserable after our conversation earlier. I don’t want to live without you. Ever. I’m sad about… the way things are. With us. But I’m not giving up. I love you too much.” “Oh,” I say. “And,” he adds, “I think you still love me too.” My cheeks grow warm. “You’re right. I do. I really, really do.” He takes my hand in his. “I knew it.” “Also,” I say, “I think this dining room would make a really great bedroom.” For the first time, maybe in years, I see his eyes light up. “I think so too.” And so we sit there for the next hour, holding hands, and making plans for the future.

Some days, it’s just nice to be alive.

I step down the walkway to his car. He dashes around the side of the vehicle so he can open the door for me. I always tell him he doesn’t have to do it, but he wants to. It’s sweet.