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A Thousand Years
It was midnight when Jack finally retreated upstairs to sleep. I remained behind in the living room, the soft glow of the TV illuminating the floor as Queen played. The music wrapped around me like a fragile shield. Then—the sudden, heavy thud of footsteps on the stairs froze me in place. My breath caught, each pulse hammering in my ears. I had no idea what was coming.
Jack burst into the room, wordless, yanked the DVD player from the outlet, and stormed back upstairs. I froze, unable to grasp what had provoked him this time. His outburst was so abrupt, so baseless, that it left me more perplexed than frightened—a bewilderment deeper than anything I had felt before. I muttered curses under my breath, shaken but trying to steady myself. I moved to the kitchen, hoping a cup of tea might reclaim some sense of calm. The water began to boil, and then—the thudding returned. Fear prickled along my skin. I grabbed a knife from the chopping block, hiding it behind my back as instinct surged.
He appeared in the doorway. My heart pounded. I didn’t want to use it, but the primal need to survive flared. Moments flashed—then, before I could react, he snatched the knife from my hand, twisting it violently.
“You’ve got this for me?!” he roared, and without waiting for an answer, slammed me to the ground. The kettle toppled at the same time, spilling boiling water across the floor. I lay drenched, shaking, helpless. Towering over me, he grabbed my legs and dragged me through the scalding puddle for a few terrifying seconds before leaving me there, soaked and trembling. Throughout the whole encounter, he never said a word except for his curses—the rest was carried out in a chilling silence that cut deeper than the violence itself. Even now, I cannot say what provoked him. Perhaps it was the noise I made, or simply that I hadn’t come up to bed when he expected. I could only wonder.
Weeks later, Jack introduced me to David, a friend he planned to rent a small room to on the ground floor—a space we had only used for clutter. I had no objections; our house was large enough, and I clung to the hope that another person’s presence might curb Jack’s violent outbursts, if not stop them entirely. Jack hated witnesses. I prayed David would settle quickly.
At first, it seemed promising. The three of us were in the kitchen; David and I discovered shared interests. Clash of the Titans—every plot point, every character dissected with enthusiasm. Jack stood in a corner, whiskey in hand, draining it with a predator’s pace. The electricity of his gaze sliced through the room. I stifled my excitement, retreating into silence.
It was too late. I saw him crush the glass in his hand, leap from the counter, and sit at the table where I had been talking. David, startled, excused himself quietly, retreating to the living room. I prayed he wouldn’t leave entirely. Fear radiated from Jack like a living, tangible thing.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” he bellowed.
Words failed me. He wasn’t asking; he was asserting dominance. I bolted upstairs, hoping the presence of a stranger might restrain him. I was wrong.
I bolted through the house, Jack close behind me, my heart hammering, breath sharp and shallow. My vision tunneled on the narrow path ahead, walls and floorboards blurring as I ran. Every shadow, every creak made me flinch—I was a deer fleeing a hunter, trapped, with nowhere to hide.
I barely reached Julian’s little room before he caught up, throwing himself on me with full force. There was no door to slam, no sanctuary—he pinned me down on the bed, his weight pressing heavily, arms crushing mine above my head. My lungs burned, my chest heaving in sharp, ragged gasps. I kicked, over and over, managing only to push him off me a few times, each movement a struggle, my legs trembling, heart pounding like a drum in my ears. He was like lead, relentless, unstoppable. I screamed for help—David would come, surely—but no one came.
“You won’t do this to me! I’ve known you for a thousand years!” he shouted, trembling, eyes wild. The terror radiating from him mirrored something I had known before, but darker, more consuming. The comfort of my own home offered no protection.
Then, abruptly, as if a switch had been flipped, he collapsed beside me and fell into a heavy, unnatural sleep. I lay frozen for a few moments, heart hammering, utterly stunned. It was almost impossible—how could a body so violent and relentless suddenly go limp like that? It felt as though some malevolent force had drained him, leaving only an empty shell, heavy and inert atop me.
I waited, trembling, every nerve taut, my chest rising and falling in shallow, cautious breaths. My mind raced, heart hammering so violently I feared it might betray me, every instinct screaming to stay still. Inch by inch, I wriggled free from under his weight, my hands and legs shaking uncontrollably, muscles protesting with each careful movement.
Finally, I rose, disheveled, hair tousled, tears rushing down my cheeks. I descended the stairs slowly, each step a trembling negotiation with gravity, legs unsteady and muscles screaming in protest. My heart hammered so violently I feared it would betray me, each beat echoing in my ears. Shadows from the staircase stretched and twisted around me, and every creak of the wood made me flinch.
When I reached the bottom, the lit living room came into view. David sat calmly on the couch, silent but alive. Relief and lingering terror collided as I realized I had made it—another human being was there. For the first time in what felt like forever, I could almost—almost—breathe again.
“You didn’t hear me calling?” I asked, voice trembling, brushing tangled hair from my face.
“I heard something… but I didn’t want to get involved. I thought maybe you were just arguing,” he said, though it sounded empty, devoid of real concern.
I told him everything, my voice trembling, confessing the struggles and constant tension I endured with Jack. Words offered no real protection—no shield against what had happened—but there was a strange comfort in being heard, in having someone acknowledge the reality of my life under his shadow. Hours crawled by, each one heavy with lingering fear and disbelief. By morning, we had ordered a box of cigarettes by taxi, a small, mundane task that felt almost absurd after the emotional weight of the conversation. David left shortly afterward. I was alone, left to face Jack once more.
That day, I confronted Jack, expecting at least a trace of remorse. Instead, he launched into an accusation that shook me to my core: he claimed I had slept with David while he was out. My stomach dropped, disbelief colliding with anger and fear. The audacity of turning the victim into the culprit—of twisting reality so casually—hit me like a physical blow. I could barely process the words, the sheer manipulation of the moment leaving me stunned and trembling all over again.
Seeing the hopelessness of the situation, I decided to take measures I had never taken before. I called Tamara, my long-time friend and one of the few who could anchor me. Jack feared her. He never dared raise his voice or isolate me from her. She was my only ally.
We agreed she would accompany me home. As I tried to reach my belongings in my room, Jack blocked the entrance, standing in the doorway, arms spread wide, determined not to let me leave. Tamara stood firm on the other side, her voice steady, pleading as though speaking to someone teetering over a cliff. After tense minutes, he finally relented.
I grabbed my few belongings. We fled. I contacted Jack’s parents, explaining his violence. They arrived at Tamara’s house, silent, perhaps unwilling to fully accept what their son had done, and helped move my things to temporary safety. Jack pleaded, desperate, lost, begging me not to leave.
“It was a mistake! It’ll never happen again, I swear!”
Only his father’s presence protected me, scolding him as a parent might a wayward child.
“Jack, this isn’t acceptable!”
Jack tried to downplay everything, but my resolve solidified. I packed up my life, leaving him behind, never to return. That day, a weight lifted as his father drove me to Tamara’s house.
And yet, the memory lingered—the smell of the kitchen, the echo of his footsteps, the shadow of his rage. A thousand years might pass, yet the fear etched into those nights would never fade.
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