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He blinks hard after the punch knocks him from his feet and onto the floor. It hurts like hell, of course it does, but he doesn’t cry this time. He wipes under his nose and in the corners of his mouth out of habit and finds no blood.
Simon must be getting weak.
He looks up at him from the floor and stares hard. It’s not the first time Simon has hit him but it is the last. Ray stands up, flat palms dragging across the wall as he pulls himself to his feet.
“That’s enough.” Ray keeps his voice steady as he glares at Simon.
“What are you doing?” Simon’s eyes are still glazed with that manic look that Ray is used to seeing following the first punch or slap.
“You don’t hit me anymore.” He doesn’t know where the courage is coming from but he prays it lasts until he has his bags packed and a taxi called.
“I will do whatever the hell I want with you. You’re mine.” Simon grabs his arm, desperate and tight.
Ray pulls his arm free and tries to remember the last time he smiled. “Listen to yourself.”
“Don’t speak to me like that.” He crowds into Ray and the air shifts, different from anything before, even with Ray standing up for himself.
“I’m leaving.” Ray takes a step back but Simon lunges forward and grabs his throat, tight and squeezing.
His hands fly up and he tries to pull Simon’s hand away but he throws him against the wall, Ray’s head slamming against the faded paint. “You’re mine.”
Ray scrambles again, nails digging in to Simon’s hand as he fights to get out of his grip. He digs into the soft underside of Simon’s wrist and his hand flinches away at the sudden pain. Ray shoves Simon but his hand is instantly back against his neck.
Everything is blurring around the edges and Ray almost relaxes as he realises that this is how he is going to die, that his torturous life with Simon will finally be over but his brain clicks and Ray claws at Simon’s eyes.
In all the years Ray has been with Simon he has never once hit him back. Not even when Simon first hit him six months into dating.
Wanting to live does strange things.
Simon pulls away and Ray collapses to the floor as Simon’s hands hover over his face, torn at how to relieve his stinging eyes. Ray presses his knees into his chest, trying to protect himself if Simon kicks out at him, and swallows air. He knows he should run but his head is swimming and his vision is still crumbling at the edge. Simon looks down at him and something flashes over his face.
“You could have killed me.” Ray whispers.
“I didn’t-“ Simon starts but Ray interrupts.
Louder. “You could have killed me.”
Simon turns and leaves.
Ray waits until the front door slams closed before he pulls himself from the kitchen floor for the second time. He runs up the stairs and packs everything he owns and can carry into three backpacks and a suitcase. His heart hammers at every noise and he catches sight of himself in the mirror and bites back tears. His neck is red and a new bruise is forming along his cheek bone, merging with the black eye Simon gave him a week ago. He debates on calling a taxi but decides he can’t risk waiting in the house. He looks around the room one last time to see if he missed anything and a creeping sick feeling of doubt starts to settle in his stomach as he wonders whether he should actually leave.
He almost killed you, a voice in his head says, he would have killed you.
Ray races down the stairs and out of the house before he can think about it.
The night air is cool and dry as he walks down his street, head down and hands shaking as he tries to juggle the backpacks and a suitcase into a position that doesn’t knock against his bruised and aching body. He walks for fifteen minutes before he flags down a taxi. The driver pulls up to the curb and looks at Ray’s face and bags. For a minute Ray thinks he’s going to drive away but instead he gets out and eases the bags from Ray’s shoulder.
“Go get in, I’ll put these in the trunk.” The guy tries his hardest not to slam the trunk closed but through the back window he can see Ray flinch.
“Where do you want to go?”
The driver looks at Ray in the rear view mirror. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Ray buries his face in his hands and the guy turns of the engine.
“It’s okay.” The guy unbuckles his seatbelt and turns in his chair. “Do you have any family here?”
Ray shakes his head and the guy nods softly. “Are you safe here?”
“No.” Ray’s fingers trace around his neck, prodding lightly at the bruises he’s sure have started to develop.
“How far do you want to get away?”
“I’m not sure. He almost killed me,” Ray finally meets the guys eyes and they’re as tear-filled as his own. “Oh my god, he almost killed me.”
“I think you need an airport. Do you have your passport?” Ray tries to remember whether he packed it.
“I think so.”
“What bag would it be in? Where did you put it?” The guy speaks softly and encouragingly.
“My backpack, the black one.” Ray says after a few seconds. “It’s in the front pocket.”
The guy gets out and Ray turns as he once again opens the trunk, disappearing behind it for a minute before holding up Ray’s passport and getting back in the cab. He presses the passport into Ray’s hand. “Keep it in your hands. I’m going to drive you to the airport.” The guy pauses again, debating on the right words. “You’re safe now. I’ll keep you safe.”
The kindness floors Ray into silence.
It takes ten minutes of driving before he finds his voice. “Thank you.”
The guy says nothing.
“How did you know?” The question is broad and Ray wishes he could express himself better, express his gratitude.
“My daughter.” The guy looks in the mirror briefly and Ray meets his eyes. “She would come home looking like you every few weeks, swearing she was leaving him. Swearing she would never go back. I got a phone call from her one day, she was screaming and crying and I could hear him.” He inhales sharply and Ray’s stomach knots. “She’s okay now. I should have started with that, sorry. I got there before he managed to smash the door down. And I’m not proud of what I did to him but I would do it again. In a heartbeat. I got her in my car before the police came and asked her most of the questions I asked you. She left two weeks later.”
"I'm glad you got her out."
The driver, Nick, shakes his head. "She got herself out. Meg wouldn't let me walk her into the airport because she knew it was time to start trying to live. It was heartbreaking to watch her but never in my life have I felt so proud."
"Thank you. Thank you for telling me this." Ray straightens his spine and despite the tiredness, the bruises and worn confidence he lets himself feel a surge of hope.
“Where did she go?”
Ray can see in the mirror the corners of the driver’s mouth turn up, soft at the edges.
“Austin.”