I held myself against the door for what was probably twenty minutes as she battered against it with her fists. In the back of my mind I said a quiet prayer of thanks that I had replaced the door just a few days prior. All at once the pounding stopped, and I could hear her stomp off towards the living room. Minutes dragged by without a sound. Eventually the shock started to wear off and I became very tired, I ached from every fiber of my body. My scalp was on fire, my testicles were numb and it hurt to breathe. I was certain I had broken a couple of ribs. I slid down and sat with my back against the door. I could taste blood on my lips.

I remember my thoughts being shockingly mundane, it’s as if my brain was protecting me from dealing with the obvious catastrophe that had just occurred. The toilet paper was getting low, I need to switch that out. I saw my work slacks laying on the floor next to me. I need to get a load in the washer soon. I had to work the next day. Eventually a mental fog came over me and I sat there for an indeterminate amount of time, staring at the bar of soap in the alcove of the shower.

After what could have been hours or minutes, my revere was broken by a sound from the living room. Jenny was crying. This wasn’t the anguished wail that I heard when she had cut herself, these were the tears of a human being. The sobbing drew nearer and I heard her call out my name. I dared not answer, I was safe behind the bathroom door, this was my sanctuary, my cocoon. Jenny couldn’t hurt me in here.

She called my name again, begging me to open the door. I said nothing. She apologized, screaming that she hated herself for what she had done. If I would just talk to her she would make it better. She loved me, she couldn’t live without me. She was afraid that I liked Mary more than her. Her jealousy was because she couldn’t bear the thought of losing me. I’m sorry, she repeated over and over, in between sobs. Still I said nothing, I was completely numb.

She said nothing for a time, with only the sound of her quiet weeping there to break the silence.

“I’m going to kill myself.”

I heard her footsteps walk towards the living room, the jingle of keys and then the slamming of the front door. I waited, I had to be sure she hadn’t staged her exit. After a prolonged period I stood up, my body screaming in agony. I planted my arms on the sink and looked in the mirror. The visage before me was not that of the twenty-one year old boy I had seen that morning, this was a grotesque caricature of that boy. The entire right side of my face had swollen up to double its normal proportions. Dried blood from the scratch marks on my forehead caked my face and neck. These observations were quickly forgotten however, when I saw my hair. A fist sized chunk of my hair line on the right side was simply gone. An angry red patch of skin and a few straggling hairs were all that remained.
As I took in the absurdity of my current condition, the haze that had surrounded me before began to retreat. The realty of my situation could not be avoided any more. I began to cry.