All He Could Give Me Was a Chill

Although this story stands on its own, it’s also a companion to my earlier piece, All I Could Give Her Was a Chill. If you’d like to see his perspective, you can read it here.

Sitting at my kitchen table, listening to the low hum of the refrigerator, I soak in the quiet of the house. All I can hear is the comforting sound of the TV playing in the other room, left on for company.

I realise this is exactly where I was sitting when I first learned about Tim’s death five days ago. He’d gone to work for the morning, so I was once again enjoying a quiet lunch. It must have been a cold day. I remember wrapping my arms around myself as a shiver shot down my spine and goosebumps broke out across my skin.

I’d gone to the lounge room to grab my cardigan and that’s when I heard it on the TV. They were playing continuous coverage of an accident on Cherry Lane a few streets over. They were still identifying the victims, but one had been driving a white sedan with a yellow smiley face bumper sticker.

And that’s when I knew. It was Tim.

The crude chime of the doorbell shatters my thoughts.

With a sigh, I walk towards the door. It’s probably another casserole; the neighbours around here are so nosey.

Not in the mood for polite conversation today, I press my eye to the cool, metallic ring of the peephole.

Through the bulging lens, I glimpse the warped reality of the world on the other side of the door. A large, brawny man in a black suit and sunglasses, bolt cutters in hand, overshadows the doorstep.

Okay, definitely not another casserole.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries. I’m just here to collect. My boss told me not to leave empty-handed. If I don’t get the money, a finger will suffice.”

This is definitely Tim’s mess, left for me to clean up one last time.

Leaning against the door, I sink to the floor and think back to when we met six years ago. I felt an almost sudden attraction… to his money. Growing up in the foster system, I never had a lot of money. All I had was a ring my mother left me before she died.

When I first started dating Tim, he seemed to have deep pockets and would always take me to exotic places. I couldn’t help but fall in love with the way he treated me. We were married not long after we met.

I fooled myself into thinking I was happy for the first few years, but then the problems began. I knew he was up to something. He was always on his phone, completely ignoring me. At first, I thought it was an affair.

Then there was the ring. One day I noticed my mother’s ring missing from my jewellery box. That’s when I figured out he was having money problems.

Each time I threatened to leave him, he promised he would straighten himself out, and I stupidly fell for it every time.

About a week before the accident, his workmate Matt called me to see if everything was okay. He told me Tim had asked to borrow a large sum of money. He said he’d given it to him, but this would be the last time.

You’d be surprised how easy it is to tamper with a car these days. A couple of YouTube videos, and I knew enough to cut the brake lines to make his brakes fail. He’d taken out a life insurance policy with a double indemnity clause. Once the money clears, I can pay off all our debts and start fresh.

I wasn’t going to let him go quietly though. That morning before he left, I confronted him, asked him directly if he was gambling again. When he admitted it straight away, I knew he was in real trouble this time.

I was livid. I started lashing out at him.

“When were you going to tell me?”

“So, stealing my mother’s ring wasn’t enough to keep you out of trouble. What were you planning to take this time?”

“When are you going to realise you’re a terrible gambler?”

I wasn’t anywhere near done laying into him when he suddenly got up and said he had an emergency at work to attend to… too bad he was never going to make it to work.

A sharp knock at the door reminds me this problem isn’t going away.

My mouth suddenly feels dry.

“Ah, can you give me a minute? I’m sure Tim left the money somewhere.”

Yeah, I bet I know exactly where it is. It’s burnt up in the car I stupidly tampered with. I bet if I’d just waited a few more days, Tim would have been able to pay this guy off with the money he borrowed from Matt.

I think I might have actually sabotaged my own plan.

“Okay, lady. I’ll give you one chance. Open up, or I’ll break the door down.”

My heart rate quickens as I crawl across the floor down the hallway to the bathroom. There’s a very small window in there, but I might be able to sneak out into the backyard and jump the fence.

I hear a loud thud as he starts to kick at the door.

I climb up onto the bathroom sink and try to open the window. Of course it’s stuck. I yank it harder a few more times until it finally releases.

I hear another thud at the door as I pull myself up onto the window ledge with sweaty palms.

With a sharp stab of pain, the flesh on my belly scrapes across the window sill as I pull myself through. My shirt rips as I heave myself out.

I hear the front door crash in as I land with two feet solidly on the ground outside. Good thing I was already wearing shoes.

I run across the yard and with shaking hands, I leapfrog over my fence.

I land on the other side and continue running.

I don’t know what I’m going to do now. All I know is I can never go back, not to that house, not to this mess I’ve made.