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Lethargy
Jack drove through towns like a man tracing invisible lines on a map. I often rode with him, claiming curiosity, though in truth I sought the illusion of movement—an escape, however fleeting, from the monotony that weighed on our days. Most towns blurred together: beige walls, half-empty cafés, the occasional storefront with dust-coated displays. Jack would park, stride off to meet a client, sign a contract, and return, leaving me to sip lukewarm coffee, unnoticed by the passersby whose lives seemed to flow apart from mine.
Yet Ireland occasionally broke its pattern. New Ross, with the Kennedy family home, reminded me that history sometimes brushed close enough to touch. Hook Head rose from the water like a sentinel, a lighthouse perched among jagged stones where waves threatened to swallow anyone daring to stand at the edge. Rare moments of illumination punctuated the dull scroll of our travels.
Kilmore Quay was one such moment. A statue of two lovers embraced, staring across the infinite horizon, and for a few hours, the world softened its edges. We ate calamari in a tiny pub, then wandered toward the water, silent companions to the sea’s endless churn. Sand pressed against our feet; wind tugged at our hair. On a rocky embankment, Jack’s fingers brushed a lost wallet wedged between stones. Inside: five hundred euros.
My instinct was immediate. Return it. But Jack’s gaze lingered on the money as though hypnotized.
“If you want to take it, fine,” I said cautiously, “but leave the wallet with the ID. Someone’s looking for it.”
He didn’t answer. He stuffed it into his pocket. Hours later, near a deserted riverbank outside Carlow, he tossed the IDs and the wallet into the current. The cash remained. I stopped arguing. Some choices were his—burdens he carried alone.
Later, in the fragile sanctuary of my room, I tried to carve a line between us. The words trembled on my tongue. Speaking directly was dangerous—I could never predict what he might do.
“Jack, I need to talk to you seriously,” I said, measured but tense.
He seemed in good spirits. “Go ahead,” he said, ears pricked, unaware.
“I… I think we should take a break. Not end things entirely—just… a break. To figure out what we feel for each other.” My words felt brittle, like a paper boat on turbulent water.
He stared, unblinking. I braced for fury, for the eruption that always followed defiance.
“Yeah… well, that doesn’t sound bad,” he muttered, almost detachedly. Relief flickered briefly—a candle in a gust.
“But… that would mean living apart?” he asked.
I nodded. Perhaps understanding could exist in this small, fragile space between us.
Then, suddenly, the air shifted. Jack lunged. His hands clamped around my neck with terrifying weight. I was lifted, dragged to the floor. Darkness crept at the edges of my vision; the ceiling spun. Fear gripped me like ice. This is it. This is how it ends.
I have no idea how long he held me. Seconds? An eternity folded into a single breath. When he finally released me, he looked as if he’d run a marathon, then turned away, disgust in his retreat. I was left shivering, broken, on the floor. That was his answer.
Shock lingered like a storm cloud. I wept for hours, paralyzed. Where could I go? Everyone knew me. No friends to hide with, no money to vanish. I was trapped—and he knew it.
Desperation drove me to his sister, Caoimhe—my only lifeline. With Jack absent, I dialed her number, hands shaking, voice trembling.
“Caoimhe. I need to tell you something.”
Her concern was immediate. “What happened?”
“Jack… he choked me yesterday. I don’t know what to do. I’m trapped. He’s… I’ve never seen this side of him before.” My sobs shattered the words.
“Leave him. Immediately. Seriously,” she said, without hesitation. Her certainty stunned me. Perhaps she had always known. Perhaps this darkness was not new to her.
Because Jack was always ready to rewrite reality. Apologies, regrets, explanations—they arrived in a seamless performance. And when I realized Caoimhe knew, Jack spun a new story for her, painting me as unstable, imagining it all. Every escape route collapsed. Fear chained me in place: I had nowhere to run, and he would find me wherever I went.
I was left with one truth: sometimes safety is a fragile illusion, and courage is a small, trembling ember.
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