Deviation (3 page)

Dianne
was drunk when she pulled her car up in front of her apartment
building and shut off the ignition. She'd sat with Father Frank for
longer than she planned, gulping Wild Turkey from the bottle as they
passed it back and forth. She must have drunk five or six
mouthfuls, on top of the three or four beers. She felt fortified,
and full of vigor. For the past several weeks, the prospect of
getting out of her car and entering the apartment had filled her
with a sickening dread. Now she was almost looking forward to it.
She pictured Frank, sitting across the table from her and telling
her that he had faith in her. Confidence surged through her and she
paused to check her purse to make sure the little knife was still
there.

It was.

She stared at it, imagining it held a special energy.
Maybe it did. It was blessed by a priest, after all. A priest who
told her exactly what to do with it. She smiled to herself,
thinking that her first impressions of Father Frank were way off.
He really was helping her. To her amazement, she was actually
looking forward to going inside and seeing what would transpire when
Cliff went too far just one more time.

Dianne climbed out of the car, unsteady on her feet.
She was lucky to have gotten a parking spot so close to her
building. She stood there for a moment, looking up at the third
floor window. The sky had grown dark and she could see that the
lights in her apartment were on. Electricity being used. Cliff was
up there, playing his video game and wondering why she hadn't gotten
home from work yet.

Well, he'd find out soon enough. She found her keys
and climbed the steps to the front door.

* * *

Upstairs, she paused in front of her door. She took
several deep breaths, trying to calm her nerves. She was always
apprehensive about entering the apartment, but this time she felt
certain that something was going to be resolved.

It almost had to be.

Using her keys, Dianne let herself in. Cliff was
there, on the couch as usual. He wasn't holding his game
controller, though. He just sat there, staring at her, the TV tuned
to an old episode of Barney Miller.

“I had to work late,” she said before
Cliff had a chance to ask. She closed the door, set her purse down
on the table and began removing her jacket.

“Where the hell's dinner?” Cliff asked.
“It's almost eight o'clock!”

“I thought you would have eaten by now.”

“How was I supposed to know you were coming home
so late? You didn't even call to tell me.”

“Because I had to work. It was busy, too busy
to make phone calls.” She stumbled as she was closing the
hallway closet and had to catch herself on the wall. “Some
people work, you know.”

Cliff stared at her suspiciously. He was quite a bit
older than her, having recently turned 34. He had a sizeable gut
and his greasy black hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He wore
only his underwear and his socks, his big white belly looking almost
like a pillow in his lap. “What the fuck? Are you drunk?”

“No.” She walked past him to get a drink
of water from the kitchen. All that alcohol had really dehydrated
her. “I'm going to bed early. I have to work late again
tomorrow.” In truth, she just wanted to get away from him.
He disgusted her in more ways than she could count.

“You're not going anywhere!” Cliff
growled. “I haven't eaten a goddamn thing all night long! We
have no decent food in here!”

Dianne filled a glass with water from a gallon jug she
kept in the refrigerator. The water that came out of the faucet was
white and chalky and stank of chemicals; she avoided drinking it
whenever possible. “What the hell am I supposed to do about
it?” She didn't normally speak to him like this. She
realized she was trying to aggravate him intentionally.

Cliff clenched his fists, snarling. “You're the
one with the fucking job, remember? That means you're supposed to
be buying the food!”

“Every time I buy food, you just eat it and it's
gone.”

“That's what it's for, you idiot! What am I
supposed to do, save it?”

“Some of it. I like to have something to eat,
too, when I get home from work.”

He twisted on the couch to better track her as she
emerged from the kitchen. “Then stop at the fucking store on
your way home. You've got the car, you've got the money, use them!
I can't believe I'm still sitting here waiting for fucking dinner!”

Dianne drank from her glass. She hated this life.
She hated Cliff. She wanted him to leap up and strike her so that
she could end it.

“You're going to be waiting an awfully long
time.”

He looked at her, startled. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“You
are
drunk. Fucking cunt, you were out drinking, weren't you?” He
stood up. He was very tall. “So now you're a fucking liar,
too. Who were you with?”

“I'm going to bed.” She tried to step
past him and enter the hallway, but he blocked her.

“You're going to the store. Or to a restaurant.
Or you're calling up a restaurant on the phone and having them
deliver. Then you're going to tell me where the hell you've been
and what you've been doing.”

“I'm broke,” she said. “And tired.
I just want to go to bed.” She retrieved her purse from the
table and opened it up, checking to make sure the little knife
hadn't somehow disappeared. It stared back up at her, reassuring
her.

“Lemme see,” Cliff ordered.

She looked over at him, hating him. “What?”

“Lemme see your purse. You're not broke. You
always have something squirreled away. Cough it up, Dianne!”

“I said I'm going to bed.” She tried to
step past him again and again he blocked her, this time bumping her
with his bloated stomach.

“You're going to the store! Or calling the
Pizza Palace. Better yet, just give me your credit card.” He
looked down at her purse and made a grab for it. “Gimme!”

Dianne pulled it away, fury surging through her.
“Leave it alone!”

“Give it to me! Or call for that pizza!”
He straightened up suddenly, thinking it over. “Get me a
large, meat-eater special.” He smiled coldly at her. “That
way you won't eat any. In fact, get two of them, so I'll have some
left over for tomorrow.”

She took another drink of water and set the glass down
on the table. She considered just giving in to him and handing over
the credit card. It would be easier than fighting him. If she did
that, however, the entire ordeal would be perpetuated. She'd wake
up in the exact same mess she was in now, and she didn't know when
she'd again find the courage to rectify things. She closed her eyes
briefly and pictured Father Frank, trying to draw strength from him.
She wanted to end this misery, and she wanted to do it now. “I
told you already. I'm going to bed. If you want pizza, go get one
on your own.”

It was obvious Cliff wasn't used to hearing such talk.
His face turned red and his jaw muscles bunched as he clenched his
teeth. “What the fuck did you say to me?”

She stared at him, seething with hatred. She was
filled with it, overflowing. She tried her best to convert it to
courage and stand up to him. “I said, leave me alone. I'm
going to bed.”

“The fuck you are!” He backhanded her
across the face, the blow rocking her head hard enough to slam it
into the wall. Dizziness overtook her and she almost threw up. She
slid to the floor, her legs failing her as she clawed at the
plaster. She'd had too much to drink. She wasn't going to be able
to do this after all.

Cliff kicked her while she was on the floor. Then he
reached down and grabbed her by the hair, hoisting her up. “Did
you forget who you're talking to? You drunk little slut, where the
fuck were you all night, anyway?”

Dianne was fumbling in her purse. The knife was
there, it had to be. She'd just seen it a minute ago.

“Answer my fucking question!” Cliff
slapped her across the face again. “What, are you stoned,
too? Fucking bitch! You were probably fucking around behind my
back, too!”

Dianne's fingers closed over the handle of the paring
knife and she drew it out, brandishing it at the man she hated more
than anyone else in the world. He stood there, a fat imbecile,
gawking at the tiny blade in her fist. “Touch me again and
you're going to be sorry,” she said quietly.

Cliff laughed. “What are you going to do, clean
the dirt out from under my fingernails? Drop that fucking thing,
you dumb cunt!”

She dropped her
purse but held the knife out before her. It felt
right
in her hand, almost like a talisman. She knew it was going to work.
It
had
to work. “I want you to leave,” she said. “I
want you out of here, right now. Just take your stuff and go.”

“You're totally fucking drunk, aren't you?”
He moved fast, faster than she could compensate for. He struck her
hand and wrist with one meaty fist, sending the little knife flying
across the room where it landed on the carpet near the radiator.
“Are you looking to spend the next few days in the hospital?
Is that it?”

Dianne stared across the room at the ineffectual
little paring knife. What had she been thinking? Her hand and
wrist throbbed with a sickening pain. “You can't... do this
again...”

He grabbed her hair and swung her into the wall, her
forehead cracking the plaster. When she came away from it she
slumped to her knees, blood trickling from one nostril.

“You're going to be really fucking sorry this
time. This is a new low for you, Dianne.” He reached down
and picked up her purse from the floor. He began pulling things out
of it and tossing them haphazardly into the air until he found her
wallet. Then he threw the purse at her and busied himself examining
the wallet's contents.

Dianne was crying. She closed her eyes against the
new pain and tried to think of what she could do. Maybe she could
kill herself. If she killed herself, it would be almost as good.
It would be a way out, and no one could ever force her to come back.

“Fucking liar,” Cliff spat. He pulled out
a thin sheaf of bills and held them up. “You've got over
fifty bucks here!” He threw the wallet at her and kicked her
over so that she was on her stomach, her face resting on the carpet.
“I'll deal with you in a minute.”

She lay there for almost a full minute, listening to
him call the pizza place and get put on hold. She was trying to
ignore him. She was thinking of Father Frank and how she'd let him
down. She'd had little fantasies of returning to the church to
inform him of how she'd managed to overpower the big sack of shit
and chase him from her life. Now the big sack of shit was calling
to order pizza for himself, which he'd pay for using money he stole
from her after beating her up again. Rage surged through her veins
and she lifted her head, peering at him through a curtain of her
bloody hair.

He was on the couch, his little welfare phone pressed
to his fat face. He'd pulled out a copy of the pizza menu and was
studying it while waiting to place his order. “Yes,” he
said into the phone. “I want to order a couple of large
pizzas.”

Dianne pushed herself up a bit and slunk forward.
Cliff didn't seem to be paying any attention to her. The knife was
still there, at the base of the radiator on the far side of the
room. She was fairly certain she'd be able to get to it, but then
what? He'd already knocked it out of her hand once.

“For delivery,” Cliff said into the phone.
“Yes. Well, I'm looking at the menu right now. Is there any
way I can get the meat-eater special but without sausage? Yeah, the
rest of the meat is fine, I just don't want the sausage. It's too
greasy.”

“I can do it, Father,” Dianne whispered.
“You have faith in me.” She began to crawl, very
slowly. She tried to remain inconspicuous, but there was no way to
tell what Cliff was thinking or what he'd do if he sensed she was
going for the knife again. Then again, he hadn't seemed to take the
tiny weapon very seriously.

“I want two of them. Both large.”

Dianne crept closer, reaching the coffee table and
sensing that Cliff was watching her. He had to see what she was
doing. She tried to ignore him, thinking only of Father Frank and
how pleased he'd be when she waltzed in to see him tomorrow and told
him all about her success. He'd be thrilled! They'd go into the
kitchen again and knock back a few cans of Pabst. Maybe she'd have
some potato chips this time. Maybe they'd even finish off that
bottle of Wild Turkey. Maybe --

“Yeah, apartment 304. Cash.”

Dianne took a chance and glanced up at Cliff. He was
staring directly at her. His eyes moved momentarily to the knife
and then he looked back at her, frowning. She looked away and
crawled faster, intent upon reaching it while she still had the
chance.