by L. D. Davis
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. Misinterpreting her question, my wrong answer only made matters worse. “Two, maybe three times. Maybe four. I don’t remember…”
Her jaw again hung open, but then she looked pissed off instead of surprised and quizzical.
“Interesting how he’s never mentioned that to me.”
“It was a long time ago, Tabitha,” Donya snapped before turning back to me. “So, Kyle got pissed off and broke your damn arm?”
“No. Back at the hotel, we started arguing about it and I got pissed off and left. I went back to Leo’s, drank a lot of alcohol, and things got a little heavy.”
“You fucked him again?” Tabitha yelled.
“No,” I said bitterly. “He didn’t want to take advantage of me apparently, because I was drunk.”
“What the fuck,” Tabitha grumbled.
“Then what happened?” Mayson pressed, and then “Wait! Did you sleep with any of my boyfriends?”
“No, I promise.”
“Okay, good,” she said, relieved.
“I just made out with one.”
“You see?” Tabitha said. “She’s a whore bag.”
“Cum bucket,” Mayson nodded in agreement.
“You guys,” Donya made a disgusted sound. “Can we save the name calling for later? I want to hear the hoe’s story.”
I told them the rest of the story, all the way up to the night the bracelet was presented to me.
“Okay, Mayson wins that bet,” Donya said, digging into her purse. She handed Mayson a few bills. “I thought it was like a promise gift, you know?”
I was too drunk to care that my closest friends had bet on me behind my back.
“Now you have to spill the beans about New Years, Emmy,” Mayson said seriously.
“What happened on New Year’s?” Tabitha asked. “Did you try to hump Leo again?”
“Okay, you need to deal with that another time,” Donya said. “Leo didn’t do anything to you. Nobody knew you would end up with him.”
Tabitha slumped in her chair and mumbled “He knew.”
“New Years,” Mayson pressed.
“I’ve never spoken about the New Year’s incident,” I said quietly.
“Speak about it now,” Donya insisted. Even Tabitha looked interested underneath her anger.
I had to pour myself another drink before I started.
Chapter Forty
It’s funny how I can omit certain, crucial details and have you believe one thing, when in fact circumstances were completely different. I’ll bet the average onlooker thought Kyle was squeaky clean and was only a dick by nature. Maybe he was a dick by nature, but crystal meth had a way of turning a dick into a monster.
My broken wrist in Miami was the result of jealousy and a little bit of meth up a nostril. Up until New Years, there was nothing worse than some shoving and aggressive yelling and empty promises of getting off of the drug, along with promises of ending his relationship with Jessyca.
I was smarter than my actions proved. I knew that I should have broken up with Kyle months before Luke left, and especially afterward. I knew that when he started taking hits of meth for “therapeutic reasons” that I should have bowed out, but I guess my addiction to Kyle was just as bad as being addicted to any drug. The results were the same: on the surface it felt really good, but the damage to one’s body and mind was irreversible and even deadly.
In the early hours of the New Year, our addictions consumed us. Kyle had struck me, and even as I sat there on the floor in confusion, thinking it had to have been a mistake, he was already lost to me. When he took a handful of hair and tried to force me to my feet, I clawed at his hand. The blood seeping from the gouges I created did nothing to deter him before he slammed my head into the mirror over my vanity. As the glass shattered to the floor, all I could think about in that moment was about the destruction of the last gift my grandmother had given to me before passing away when I was only nine years old.
While Kyle roared like a beast and destroyed other mementos in my room, I crawled through the glass to the side of my bed and pulled myself to my feet. I watched with an open mouth as he overturned a tall dresser, still full of clothes and other miscellaneous items. When his eyes turned on me, I didn’t see Kyle. I saw only madness, and it took my breath away. As he yelled at me, cursed at me, and threatened my life, I understood that there would be no reasoning with him, and there would be no escape, because my Kyle wasn’t in there.
I would like to tell you that I defended myself, that I fought back, and I kicked his ass, but then I would be lying. The meth made Kyle’s level of strength inhuman. I was a mere mortal, with no stupid drug in my blood. Nothing short of a miracle was going to turn me into Wonder Woman or some other awesome female super hero. My life wasn’t one of those happy ending hour-long prime time shows where the heroine stands up to her attacker and overcomes him with wits and luck. My wits and luck were MIA. If I provoked Kyle by fighting back, he was going to kill me.
I avoided his blows as much as possible, but my primary goal was to protect my unborn child. Instead of holding up a defensive arm, I covered my belly and took whatever he was delivering. When I was shoved to the floor, I had enough sense to put my hands out so that I wouldn’t fall, literally right on top of my baby.
I don’t know how long the attack lasted. I don’t know how long the monster residing inside Kyle’s body abused me. I don’t know how many kicks, punches, slaps and shoves I received. I begged for him to stop. I pleaded for my baby’s life. My words never reached him. They were a waste of breath.
As soon as I was able, I escaped into my bathroom and locked the door just as he reached it. Kyle screamed from the other side of the door, kicking and punching at the door, demanding that I open it. I was afraid that he would eventually kick it down, but when it seemed that the door would hold, I slid to the floor with my back against the tub. I stared at the shuddering door in horror, bleeding all over my white rug, every part of my body throbbing in pain.
I didn’t cry. Crying wasn’t going to help my situation. There was nothing to help my situation—my phone was lost in the chaos that was my bedroom and my neighbors were a little too far away to have heard my screams and Kyle’s yelling. I had to wait for him to either leave or pass out, and eventually he did pass out, but so did I.
When I woke up, sunlight was pouring through the bathroom window onto my face. I was stiff and sore and it took me a few minutes to get to my feet. I looked at myself in the mirror and shrunk back at what I saw. My head was covered in dry blood, cuts, and bruises. My lip was busted, my eyes blackened, and there were bruises forming on my arms. I lifted up my shirt and forced myself not to cry when I saw the light bruises on my chest and belly. I felt Lucas moving around as he always did first thing in the morning, and I took some comfort from that.
I looked away from the mirror and plucked glass from my hands before putting my ear to the door. I listened hard until I heard the unmistakable sound of Kyle’s light snoring. Carefully, I opened the door a crack and peeked out. Kyle was asleep on the floor right outside the bathroom, his head leaning up against the doorframe and his legs across the length of the door. As quietly as possible, I stepped over him and tip toed through the carnage and out of my room. I went into the kitchen, picked up the phone, and slumped into a chair.
I didn’t know who to call. It would have been wise to call the police, but I had relatives on the police force and no matter what secrecy they were sworn to, this would get back to my parents, and then my dad would shoot Kyle, only after my mother cut off his nut sack with a rusty knife. I didn’t want to see my parents go to prison for my mistakes, so I didn’t call the police, and I didn’t call my mom and dad. I could call Donya, but the result would be the same—prison for dismemberment and murder. I wish I could tell you that I was exaggerating.
After a few more minutes of thought, I decided who to call and punched in the number. Walter Sterling answered on the second rin
g. He sounded tired and hung over. He probably had a hell of a night at the party, and the after party he no doubt went to at the gentleman’s club.
“Your son is unconscious in my bedroom,” I said into the phone. My voice sounded terrible, like I had screamed all night.
Probably because I had.
“Sounds like a personal problem,” Walter said.
“It’s going to become your personal problem if you don’t come get him right now.”
“I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands, Miss Grayne.”
“Oh, but I jest, Walter. Kyle had a cocktail of meth, alcohol, and god knows what else last night. He destroyed my bedroom and beat the shit out of me. So, you have a choice. You can come get him and you and I can have a little talk, or I can call the police to come and get him and you can have a talk with them. Please choose quickly, because my patience is non-existent right now.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then “Fuck.”
Twenty-five minutes later, Walter Sterling and three big goons were standing in my foyer. The goons showed no emotion, but Walter looked at me with regret—not regret that I was hurt, or that his son was a derelict, but regret that his pockets ran deep and that I was about to dip into them.
“Take Kyle to the guest house on the estate,” Walter told the goons. “Keep him there, don’t let him leave. I’ll be in touch.”
They nodded and went upstairs. Walter followed me into the kitchen. I took a long sip from my third bottle of water since escaping the bedroom while he poured himself a glass of my Tequila. It had been sitting on my counter for months, untouched, except to clean under it. Okay, I didn’t clean under it.
A couple of minutes later, we heard incoherent mumbling from Kyle coming down the stairs. The door opened and a blast of cold air blew through the house before the door slammed shut and all was silent.
“He may need a doctor,” I said.
“I’ll take care of it. What do you want, Emmy?” He looked tired, worn out, and old. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not really.
“I need to see a doctor, someone who won’t ask too many questions or report what he sees.”
He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. There was a short conversation with very little information exchanged and then the call ended. He wrote down on a napkin the name and address of a Doctor Larkin.
“He’s expecting you and he will be discreet. What else do you want?”
“I need someone to come clean up the mess Kyle created when he hulked out. The bedroom is trashed and there’s blood in the carpet.”
“I will send someone before the morning is out. Surely, that isn’t the end of your demands.”
I was not in need of anything. I had more than enough money for myself and the baby. I didn’t need extravagant things, a house on the Mediterranean or a fancy car, but I wanted to hurt the Sterlings, and the way to hurt the Sterlings was through their pockets.
I didn’t know the whole story of the mess that the company was in, but I knew enough to be dangerous, at least to Walter.
“I know you’re not straight with your business dealings, Walter. Pillow talk, you know. So, why don’t you ante up and I’ll pretend to be completely ignorant of your fraudulent behaviors?” I sounded so badass, but I was really weak, tired, and pretty much shattered inside. If he gave me a hard time, I was going to jump across the table and try to kill him with my water bottle.
Walter Sterling studied me carefully. “A year ago, I would have never taken you for an adversary. You were such a good girl.”
“Yeah, well. Shit changes. Are you going to pay me or is Jessyca going to dip into her allowance again?”
A half hour later, arrangements were made for my money, and Walter promised to have Kyle in rehab by the following morning. I figured by the time he was out, I wouldn’t be easy for him to find.
The cleaning crew arrived as I was on my way out the door to go see the doctor. Doctor Larkin only asked me questions about my age and my pregnancy. He didn’t seem surprised by my injuries, as if he did this kind of thing all of the time. I imagined him pulling bullets out of members of the mafia or stitching up hookers that were beaten by politicians. By the time I returned home, the cleaning crew was gone, and so was the mess, blood included. I packed my things again, and this time took more time to collect special items that held some kind of sentiment. I packed it all inside of my car and by the early evening, I was ready to go.
As I pulled out of the driveway, away from the home I spent most of my life in, I allowed myself a moment for tears. I loved that house and I had loved the life I had in it, even with my mother. Leaving it behind was probably inevitable, but not under these circumstances. If I stayed, Kyle would come back, and the ugly cycle would never end, and next time my baby could be hurt. I had to go.
I drove south, newly homeless, heartbroken, and forever fragmented.
***
The girls all stared at me with their jaws practically on the table. I sighed, feeling tiny pin pricks of pain in my chest at the memory and from reciting it aloud. It was most likely the most painful twenty-four hours of my life and I was unlikely to experience anything like it again, especially since I wouldn’t allow myself to ever be put in a position like that again.
Mayson went to speak, sputtered a few words, and then burst into tears. Tabitha poured four glasses of tequila and passed them out with shaking hands and Donya sat there staring at me, stunned into silence. May downed her tequila and poured another.
Donya abruptly stood up, knocking her chair over in the process. She looked around as if she had lost something, before marching into the house. We looked into the house with curiosity until we heard the familiar jingle of keys. I jumped up and ran after her, catching her before she could make it out of the front door.
“What are you doing? Where are you going?” I asked, alarmed by her sudden departure.
“I’m going to go kill that mother fucker,” she said with wild eyes.
“No, no,” I shook my head adamantly. I knew she was serious, too. If she got into her car, she wasn’t going to stop until she reached Kyle’s place, where she would attempt to kill him.
“He needs to be dead,” she argued.
“No, Donya, you can’t go kill him. You have a baby here.”
“You can take care of the baby.”
“I can’t! Listen, calm down. Come on back to the back yard.” I tugged on her arm, but she was like a brick wall.
“No, Emmy. He hurt you—he put his hands on you!”
“D, I know, but he doesn’t even remember it. Come on, you can’t go to prison. Your baby needs you.”
“You can take care of her,” she insisted. This was madness. This was a true example of temporary insanity.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” She demanded.
“Umm…I don’t…like…” I couldn’t say diapers. I had my own baby! “I don’t like…black…babies…”
She stared at me as if I had just grown a second nose and a third eye. I stared back at her with a stern expression, as if to really impress that I didn’t like black babies. The corner of her mouth twitched for a moment, and then she let out a bark of laughter, but quickly covered her mouth.
“Oh, my god…” she said from under her hand. “This isn’t even funny.”
“No, but if I didn’t make you laugh, I would have had to hit you with something to make you stop.”
She wrapped her thin arms around my neck in a fierce hug.
In all of the years I’d known Donya, I had only seen her cry three times. The first time was when her dad died. The second time was when her mom died, and as we stood in a tight embrace, I witnessed the third.
You would think it would be reversed, that I would be crying on her shoulder, but I understood. She and Mayson, and even Tabitha, felt that they had somehow let me down. They felt that they were deficient in their friendships and love for me for not knowing and for not being
there for me after that day. They watched me transform into an entirely different person with no solid reasons as to why. They watched me detach myself from those I loved and the life I had once enjoyed. They were clueless as to how to pull me out of the hole I had dug for myself. It hurt them that I had suffered in silence.
In a matter of seconds, I was being embraced by three sets of arms, and I didn’t push them away.
***
“I want to hear more about Luke,” Tabitha said later, after I was sure Donya wasn’t going to go murder Kyle.
I had insisted that we not discuss that night with Kyle again. I had asked them to never bring it up, pretend that they didn’t know. This didn’t go over well, and turned into a big argument, but it was Mayson who convinced the other two. Unfortunately, they jumped from talking about one man to talking about the other.
“What about him?” I asked too lightly. I was feeling extra raw and talking about Luke wasn’t going to help.
“Is there anything going on there?”
“I had no idea you were such a nosey person, Tabitha.”
“Give me a break, Em. You and I have been out of touch for a long time and I don’t know what everyone else already knows. I don’t know if you and Luke are sliding around between the sheets or at each other’s throats.”
Thankfully, the candlelight wasn’t enough light for them to see my face burn when she mentioned sliding around between the sheets.
“How is his mom?” Donya asked.
“She’s better,” I said, pouring a glass of wine. “She wants to move into an assisted living home, but the siblings are fighting her on it. They should let her go if she wants to, if it’s a decent place, because it isn’t like any of us can take her in. Lorraine and Lena don’t have the space or the time to care for her, and Luke and I don’t have the space either. Even after we buy a house, I’m not sure if that’s a responsibility we want to have.”
“Wait a minute,” Mayson said, waving her hand to stop me from continuing. “You guys are buying a house together?”
