“What do you want?” He laughed. “Tell me what you want.”

I felt him gripping my hair, as he did during sex, but this was more forceful and way more irritating.

“Stop,” I said, pushing away from him. He grabbed my arm and squeezed, unexpectedly.

Something flashed in my mind then, and when I looked up to meet his eyes, he was dressed in uniform, a face of the past, threatening me. Something about his face, his expression, as if he were someone I didn’t recognize. “You’re hurting me,” I said. “Seriously, Vin, stop.”

“Come on,” he said, squeezing my wrist. “I drove all the way over here from downtown just to see you. Come on.”

I jerked my arm away more forcefully this time, pushing him away. “Stop it, Vin,” I told him. “That hurts.” Now I was angry.

“You’re a crazy Indian woman,” he said, releasing my wrist. “Just an old slut.”

Without thinking, I swung at him, but he grabbed my arm again and twisted it, dragging me down to the floor. I screamed, but he didn’t let go. Then he slapped me, hard, and I collapsed, covering my face.

I had never been struck in the face like that by a man I thought I knew. My cheek was burning from the blow, and the stinging only seemed to grow worse as I sat there holding my hand to my face.

I screamed “I’m calling the police!” at him and ran into the hall bathroom, locking the door behind me. My heart was racing. I quickly realized I didn’t have my phone, though, and paced in the bathroom until I caught my breath. It didn’t sound like he was outside the door, luckily. I wanted to scream again, start smashing things in there. I must’ve bitten my lip because I tasted blood. In the mirror I saw that my cheek and lips were red. I ran cold water over my face and over a washcloth by the sink, then held it to my skin.

I sat on the edge of the tub with my head in my hands, unable to bring myself to tears despite what had happened. A feeling comes in an instant, a restlessness, an irritability, that alerts you to leave before something terrible happens. I felt it pressing against me, suffocating me, warning me to separate myself from him. What was I supposed to do? There was no window to crawl out of. I was alone in a locked bathroom with no phone, trapped.

I stayed in the bathroom for at least twenty minutes, maybe longer. It felt like forever. Thankfully he never tried to open the door. At one point I wasn’t sure whether he’d left; it was so quiet, and I couldn’t hear him walking around. Even so, I needed to feel safe, I needed something for protection. I opened drawers under the sink, where I found a pair of scissors. I found rubbing alcohol, which I could throw in his face if I needed to. None of this made me any more prepared to face him. I stood at the door for a moment, listening, but there was still nothing but silence. Finally, gripping the scissors firmly, I unlocked the door and stepped out.

I walked slowly, quietly, into the living room. Vin was slumped on the couch, asleep. I hurried to retrieve my phone from the floor, against the wall, and returned to him. His mouth was open, and he muttered something when I said his name.

“Vin,” I repeated. “I’m calling the police, and you have to go now. Do you hear me? Hey, Vin.”

He was too drunk to even respond, and obviously in no condition to drive himself home. I wanted to slap him while he slept. I could’ve slapped him, right then, and he wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. I thought of calling the police, but the thought of Luka entered my mind. What would happen to Luka if his dad was in jail? I couldn’t do that to him. I couldn’t even think straight. Vin was completely passed out, and I told myself I was probably safe at this point.

I thought I could call someone to come get him, but it was four in the morning; who would I call? In the kitchen I poured myself a glass of wine, trying to think what I could do with him by the time he woke in the morning. As the minutes passed, I kept thinking about how I would not forgive him. I watched him sleep, thinking about how pathetic and weak he was. He slept deeply with his mouth open, snoring. I couldn’t stand watching him. I couldn’t stand to be in the same house with him.

In the hall I turned on the light and opened the door leading downstairs to the basement. I walked quietly back into the living room and shook him awake. “Vin,” I said over and over, “let’s go to bed. Come on, Vin, let’s go to bed,” until he stirred and opened his eyes. I kept pulling on his arm, and finally he got up and mumbled something, and I led him by the hand to the hallway and helped him down the stairs. At one point I thought he said something about Luka, but I ignored him. I just wanted to make sure he got down there. Once we were in the basement, I told him to lie down. “Go to sleep, go to sleep,” I said.

He lay down on his side, on my old bed, and fell back asleep. I was so nervous about it that I had to sit down on the basement steps and rest a moment. He stirred and mumbled something, which startled me. I could still smell the liquor on him. I stepped over to him, reached into his front pants pocket, and carefully took his phone. He still had his wallet and car keys. Then I went back upstairs, closing the door behind me and bolting it so that he couldn’t get out. I felt safe with him down there, locked inside.

In the kitchen, I set his phone on the table and stepped outside to the back porch, where I lit a cigarette. Then I walked down the trail near the lake, as I had done so many nights before, with the moonlight reflecting on the water and the soft dirt beneath my feet. I was calm, even being out alone so late at night. A little ways along the bank, I sat down and hummed a song, a lullaby my mom used to sing. The wolves go away, the wolves go away, and sweet baby will stay. I hummed other songs from my childhood, songs I didn’t understand or barely remembered the words to. Then I spoke a prayer to the Great Spirit to bless me with protection and to give me peace.