Rock'n Tapestries by Shari Copell

barely heard a word he said. I’d been up for
over twenty-four hours, and all I wanted to do now was sleep.  Every time I
closed my eyes, Scott kicked me until I opened them.
    One
miserable heap of regret, that was me.  I was too exhausted to be frightened
anymore.  I stared at the dust bunnies surrounding the ornate leg of the couch
and made a mental note to do better the next time I vacuumed.
    Scott
finished his Asher-rant and sat down on the couch, planting his feet right in
front of my face. 
    “Are
you scared?  You should be. You’re on my shit list now, and that’s a bad place
to be.  I mess people up when they’re on my shit list.”
    I
wanted to laugh. I had always been on Scott’s shit list. By now, I was so
exhausted and numb I didn’t care what happened to me.
    “Just
shut the fuck up and do whatever it is you’re going to do to me. You make me
sick.”
    He
grew quiet.  Now that he could no longer taunt me with my fear, would he
escalate to torture? I hoped not. I wasn’t someone who could tolerate a great
deal of pain.
    When
he said nothing further, I moved my head a fraction of an inch and glanced up
at him.  He had his head back, eyes closed, mouth open. The drugs had kicked
in.  I wasn’t stupid enough to think he was sleeping though.
    I
had a lot of time to reflect then—on my parents and my love/hate relationship
with Asher.  I was glad I’d gotten one last chance to talk to Asher, at least.
I wouldn’t be going to my death with hate in my heart.  It’s funny how you
cling to the little things when your world is about to go down in flames.
    A
pounding on the door shook me from my thoughts.  “Chelsea, are you in there?”
    Asher.
    Scott
jerked awake and pointed the gun at the door.
    “No! 
It’s me you’re pissed at. No one else needs to get hurt today, Scott. Please.” 
I went to my knees in front of him.
    “Then
get rid of that little fuckwad, or he dies too.”
    I
drew in a deep breath, pushed myself up to a sitting position, and turned
toward the door.  “Go away, Asher.  You were supposed to come over last night,
and you didn’t bother to show up.  I want you to get lost.”
    My
heart was racing a mile a minute. Would he get the message? 
    There
was nothing but silence from the other side of the door. I clenched my fists so
tightly I cut grooves in my palms.  Get out of here, you dumbass.  
    Finally,
Asher said, “Have it your way, bitch,” and I heard him stomp away. Relief and
regret flooded through me in equal measure.  He never called me a
bitch.  Had he understood? If he hadn’t, I was screwed.
    Scott
relaxed and dropped the pistol into his lap. He was tired too. I eased myself
back into the recliner.  I needed to be able to move quickly if Asher realized
something was wrong and managed to get in.
    Even
as I hoped, I knew it was hopeless.  I’d thrown the deadbolt, and the sliding
chain was firmly in place.  Asher wasn’t that big of a guy.  He’d never be able
to break the door down by himself, and if he took too long trying, Scott would
put a bullet in my brain.  And still, I refused to give up.
    Scott
nodded off again. I sat back, my mind numb, wondering how this was going to
end. 
    I
shifted in the chair and woke him up. More pills, more crying, more ranting
about how unfair life was. I was surprised Scott hadn’t killed himself with the
amount of drugs he was taking.
    I
glanced up at the wall clock. It had been more than two hours since Asher
knocked on the door.  Scott leaned forward on the sofa, breathing heavily, his
elbows on his knees, gun held loosely in both hands and pointing at the floor . 
Just pass the fuck out already.
    Suddenly,
there was the sound of a small explosion from the kitchen—it sounded like
someone was pounding on the door with a baseball bat—and a multitude of things
happened all at once.  I jerked, and Scott slid off the couch to his knees on
the carpet, dropping the pistol as he lurched forward.
    A
voice