Tears burn under my eyelids as I stare at the machine, flashing with the horror of my situation. I’m at the doctors, seeing them about an illness I’ve had for a few weeks, and now I can’t pay. I don’t understand. I’ve been so careful with money. Maybe the monthly transfers didn’t go through.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“I’m sure. Do you have another card we can try?”
I hand him all of them, but none work.
“Is there anyone you can call?”
Shame rises in my throat and I nod, pulling out my cell and calling my sister, Tina.
“Hey sweetheart, what’s happening?” she asks, answering.
“Ah . . . I . . . I was wondering if I could borrow some money, just until I get home. I’m at the doctor, and my cards are declining. I must have forgot to transfer money.”
“Of course, is everything okay?”
“Just a virus.”
“Okay, well put me onto whoever is taking payment.”
I pass the phone over and Tina gives out her details. I take the receipt, thanking them and leaving before shame gets the better of me. I rush to my car and slide in, fingers trembling. I text Tina with a thank you, and promise to return the money, then I head home, wondering where the hell my money has gone.
When I get in, no one is there, so I go to the laptop and check our bank accounts. All of them are empty. Empty. Today, they have been emptied. Frantic, I start ringing the banks, and find out that Max took the money out this morning. My heart pounds as I try to ring him with no answer.
I’ve had enough of this.
For nearly two months my husband has shut me out, and now I’m going to find out why. I run upstairs and into the room he’s decided to sleep in for the last fortnight, claiming he was restless and needed space. I dig through the drawers and the cupboards, but find nothing. I slide under the bed, pulling out anything I can, until I find an old backpack.
I crawl out from underneath the bed and sit, back against the double mattress. I open the pack and find some boxing gloves, as well as some random cash notes. I did further, unzipping pockets, until I find a bag of . . . oh my God . . . is that marijuana? My heart skips a beat and tears form in my eyes, as I open it and take a smell. It is. Max is smoking pot. He hates drugs. I don’t understand.
With trembling fingers, I keep digging, but I don’t find anything else but a couple of numbers and addresses. I stand and take my phone, dialing the club. “Hello?” a woman answers.
“Yes, hi, it’s Anabelle. I was wondering if Max is there.”
“Ah, no, sorry we don’t see much of him these days. He said you were unwell.”
My blood runs cold. “He doesn’t come in to work?”
“No. He’s given us all extra shifts. Last time I saw him was three nights ago.”
Oh my God.
“O-o-okay, thanks.”
I hang up and stare down at the numbers I found in his backpack. I dial the first one, which goes to a disconnected number. I dial the second and a husky-voiced woman answers the phone. “Hello?”
“Ah, hello,” I say, throat thick with tension. “Who have I called?”
“You’ve got the Southside Casino.”
Casino.
No.
Oh God, no.
“Oh, wrong number, thanks.”
I hang up and the tears come hard and fast. I cry until my body aches, and then I get angry. I get so damned angry I stand, storm down the stairs and go to my car. Fury is washing through me—raw, broken fury. How dare he? How dare he take everything we’ve saved and gamble it away? How dare he turn everything off as if it doesn’t matter? How dare he shut me out and lie to me?
He’s my husband, and tonight this ends.
I drive to the casino and find a park in the parking lot. I get out, hands trembling, and storm inside. There are pokie machines and tables scattered everywhere, with hundreds of people playing. Thick smoke fills the air and I can smell booze all around. Why the hell are so many people in here during the day? What is wrong with them?
I let my eyes scan the room and finally I see Max, sitting at a table, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, beer bottle in hand. I stop in my tracks and just stare at him. That man right there? I don’t know him. He looks drawn out and tired, but mostly he looks like a stranger. What the hell happened to him? What the hell changed in his life that made him like this?
What the hell did I miss?
Was it the accident he saw? He said it wasn’t bad; he assured me it wasn’t that.
So what the hell is it?
Anger bubbles up in my chest as I watch a woman lean over him, breasts near his face, giggling as she lines up some cards. No. No more. I storm over and the moment I reach him, I start screaming. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He jerks and spins around, staring at me in shock. Yeah, he just thought I’d sit at home, acting as though nothing was going wrong in our lives. He was wrong, so incredibly wrong.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Anabelle?”
His use of my full name is like a slap to the face. “What am I doing here?” I breathe. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious.”
“You have run all our money dry, and you’re doing drugs and . . .”
He launches up, curling his fingers around my upper arm and jerking me out of the casino at a rapid rate. He leads me down a few halls to a secluded room. He swings the door open and shoves me inside, slamming it behind him. “What the hell are you thinking? Screaming our shit out like that.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I yell. “You’re wasting our money, smoking drugs, drinking and pushing me away, and you’re seriously wondering why I’m here?”
“I’m havin’ a bit of fun!”
I shake my head, losing everything I’ve been holding together.
“Fun? Fun? Are you fucking serious?”
His eyes widen because I scream so loudly.
“What about us, Max?” I say and my voice breaks on his name. “What about this? I had to go to the doctor today, and I couldn’t even pay because I had no money left in the account!”
“Why did you need a doctor?” he asks, studying me.
“You’re seriously asking that? Don’t act as if you care. You haven’t noticed a damned thing in the last few weeks, so don’t pretend like it matters now. I obviously don’t matter.”
“I was going to get it back,” he says, his voice almost dead. That scares me.
“You took every cent,” I whisper, my bottom lip trembling. “Jesus, Max, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
I screech loudly and lift a lamp from a nearby table, hurling it across the room at him. I shock both himself and me, because I’ve never acted so violently before. My hands are shaking, my body is exploding with rage, and I can’t keep it in.
“If you want me gone, why the hell don’t you just say so? What did I ever do to you to deserve this kind of hell?”
“I never said I wanted you gone!” he roars.
I step forward and put my hands on his chest, trying to shove him. He curls his fingers around my wrists and jerks me, catching me off-guard. I stumble forward and my head bounces off his chest.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“I’m sure. Do you have another card we can try?”
I hand him all of them, but none work.
“Is there anyone you can call?”
Shame rises in my throat and I nod, pulling out my cell and calling my sister, Tina.
“Hey sweetheart, what’s happening?” she asks, answering.
“Ah . . . I . . . I was wondering if I could borrow some money, just until I get home. I’m at the doctor, and my cards are declining. I must have forgot to transfer money.”
“Of course, is everything okay?”
“Just a virus.”
“Okay, well put me onto whoever is taking payment.”
I pass the phone over and Tina gives out her details. I take the receipt, thanking them and leaving before shame gets the better of me. I rush to my car and slide in, fingers trembling. I text Tina with a thank you, and promise to return the money, then I head home, wondering where the hell my money has gone.
When I get in, no one is there, so I go to the laptop and check our bank accounts. All of them are empty. Empty. Today, they have been emptied. Frantic, I start ringing the banks, and find out that Max took the money out this morning. My heart pounds as I try to ring him with no answer.
I’ve had enough of this.
For nearly two months my husband has shut me out, and now I’m going to find out why. I run upstairs and into the room he’s decided to sleep in for the last fortnight, claiming he was restless and needed space. I dig through the drawers and the cupboards, but find nothing. I slide under the bed, pulling out anything I can, until I find an old backpack.
I crawl out from underneath the bed and sit, back against the double mattress. I open the pack and find some boxing gloves, as well as some random cash notes. I did further, unzipping pockets, until I find a bag of . . . oh my God . . . is that marijuana? My heart skips a beat and tears form in my eyes, as I open it and take a smell. It is. Max is smoking pot. He hates drugs. I don’t understand.
With trembling fingers, I keep digging, but I don’t find anything else but a couple of numbers and addresses. I stand and take my phone, dialing the club. “Hello?” a woman answers.
“Yes, hi, it’s Anabelle. I was wondering if Max is there.”
“Ah, no, sorry we don’t see much of him these days. He said you were unwell.”
My blood runs cold. “He doesn’t come in to work?”
“No. He’s given us all extra shifts. Last time I saw him was three nights ago.”
Oh my God.
“O-o-okay, thanks.”
I hang up and stare down at the numbers I found in his backpack. I dial the first one, which goes to a disconnected number. I dial the second and a husky-voiced woman answers the phone. “Hello?”
“Ah, hello,” I say, throat thick with tension. “Who have I called?”
“You’ve got the Southside Casino.”
Casino.
No.
Oh God, no.
“Oh, wrong number, thanks.”
I hang up and the tears come hard and fast. I cry until my body aches, and then I get angry. I get so damned angry I stand, storm down the stairs and go to my car. Fury is washing through me—raw, broken fury. How dare he? How dare he take everything we’ve saved and gamble it away? How dare he turn everything off as if it doesn’t matter? How dare he shut me out and lie to me?
He’s my husband, and tonight this ends.
I drive to the casino and find a park in the parking lot. I get out, hands trembling, and storm inside. There are pokie machines and tables scattered everywhere, with hundreds of people playing. Thick smoke fills the air and I can smell booze all around. Why the hell are so many people in here during the day? What is wrong with them?
I let my eyes scan the room and finally I see Max, sitting at a table, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, beer bottle in hand. I stop in my tracks and just stare at him. That man right there? I don’t know him. He looks drawn out and tired, but mostly he looks like a stranger. What the hell happened to him? What the hell changed in his life that made him like this?
What the hell did I miss?
Was it the accident he saw? He said it wasn’t bad; he assured me it wasn’t that.
So what the hell is it?
Anger bubbles up in my chest as I watch a woman lean over him, breasts near his face, giggling as she lines up some cards. No. No more. I storm over and the moment I reach him, I start screaming. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He jerks and spins around, staring at me in shock. Yeah, he just thought I’d sit at home, acting as though nothing was going wrong in our lives. He was wrong, so incredibly wrong.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Anabelle?”
His use of my full name is like a slap to the face. “What am I doing here?” I breathe. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ serious.”
“You have run all our money dry, and you’re doing drugs and . . .”
He launches up, curling his fingers around my upper arm and jerking me out of the casino at a rapid rate. He leads me down a few halls to a secluded room. He swings the door open and shoves me inside, slamming it behind him. “What the hell are you thinking? Screaming our shit out like that.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I yell. “You’re wasting our money, smoking drugs, drinking and pushing me away, and you’re seriously wondering why I’m here?”
“I’m havin’ a bit of fun!”
I shake my head, losing everything I’ve been holding together.
“Fun? Fun? Are you fucking serious?”
His eyes widen because I scream so loudly.
“What about us, Max?” I say and my voice breaks on his name. “What about this? I had to go to the doctor today, and I couldn’t even pay because I had no money left in the account!”
“Why did you need a doctor?” he asks, studying me.
“You’re seriously asking that? Don’t act as if you care. You haven’t noticed a damned thing in the last few weeks, so don’t pretend like it matters now. I obviously don’t matter.”
“I was going to get it back,” he says, his voice almost dead. That scares me.
“You took every cent,” I whisper, my bottom lip trembling. “Jesus, Max, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
I screech loudly and lift a lamp from a nearby table, hurling it across the room at him. I shock both himself and me, because I’ve never acted so violently before. My hands are shaking, my body is exploding with rage, and I can’t keep it in.
“If you want me gone, why the hell don’t you just say so? What did I ever do to you to deserve this kind of hell?”
“I never said I wanted you gone!” he roars.
I step forward and put my hands on his chest, trying to shove him. He curls his fingers around my wrists and jerks me, catching me off-guard. I stumble forward and my head bounces off his chest.
