by K. A. Berg
As though it’s contaminated with a deadly toxin, I drop the phone instantly. I want nothing to do with that man. I don’t want him in my life, in my apartment, or even in my ear on the phone. Scott brings me nothing but hurt and pain. I’m not answering the call. The phone can stay on the floor and ring until the battery runs out. I will not speak to him.
“Danielle!” It’s as if I can hear him yelling my name, taunting me, in my head.
Jesus, Danielle. Get it together.
My toe throbs and glows red.
Ugh, that’s going to bruise.
Scott’s voice still echoes in my head.
Christ, am I losing my mind?
“Danielle? What the hell? Hello?”
Glancing down, I see that Scott’s yelling isn’t in my head but coming from the phone. Our call is connected. The phone must have hit a corner of a book when it fell and accepted the call. God damnit!
“Danielle! I know you’re there. Stop playing games!”
Do I talk to him? Just hang up? Shit! What do I do?
Sweat breaks out across my forehead as the pounding in my head comes back faintly—just waiting in the wings to rear its ugly head again.
He screams my name once more. I need to do something. I can’t just keep staring at the phone praying it will disappear.
I bend over and pick it up. “What do you want, Scott?”
There’s a ton of noise in the background. I can hear someone making an announcement about a flight’s gate change. “You canceled the fucking flights? You’re a bitch!”
Oh, this is rich.
I erupt in an evil cackle. “You told me you were going to take your whore on our honeymoon, and you thought I’d just be okay with that?” I laugh harder. “You really went to the airport thinking you and Mandy were going to get on our flight and take our vacation? You’re a fucking idiot Scott.”
What did I ever see in this man? How did I think that the sun rose and set with him?
“You didn’t want to work it out Danielle,” he shouts into the phone. “I wanted to fix this, and you didn’t, so what does it matter if I take Mandy away?”
“There’s nothing to work out.” Has he always been this stupid? “And, what does it matter? You cost my parents tens of thousands of dollars. All of my savings was spent on this wedding. You are not taking Mandy away on my dime! You want to take her away, use your money.”
“My parents and I lost money on this wedding, Danielle,” he argues. “This was my trip too.”
I hang up on him. There’s no way I’m going to listen to him play the victim. He fucking cheated on me! He and his parents lost money too? Bullshit. They lost nothing compared to what we did. Scott’s parents paid for the rehearsal dinner, that’s it. We went the old school route where the bride’s parent foot the bill. That’s just how my father is. If he were so worried about his parents’ investment, maybe he should have kept his dick in his pants.
Fuck you Scott!
Then it occurs to me. I bet he was planning on using the money from our Honeymoon savings account to fund this romantic getaway.
Not fucking happening!
Ignoring the pain in my poor bruised toe, I slip my feet into my flipflops. I snatch my purse off the hook by the door and slam the door to my apartment behind me. I march out of my building and down the block to the corner ATM like a woman on a mission.
I can’t believe him.
He’s got another thing coming.
How did I not see any of this side of him before?
He’s not getting another dollar from me.
There’s a person using the ATM when I arrive at the bank. I tap my foot angrily as I wait, everything stewing inside me.
The woman waiting for her cash looks back over her shoulder at me. Her eyes dart down to my tapping toe and up to my face. “I’m going to be a minute,” she says, clearly telling me to back off.
Realizing I probably look like a lunatic, I give her the politest smile I can muster. I probably look more like the Joker than a friendly neighbor, but it’s all I’ve got in me at the moment. “Take your time,” I reply. “Don’t mind me, I’m just plotting ways to murder my ex-fiancé and the woman he cheated on me with.”
She winces. “Oy. I’m sorry.”
“He was just about to take her on our honeymoon.”
“Wow,” she whistles. “I hope you stick it to him.”
An evil smile stretches across my face. “Oh, I plan on it. I’m about to drain our account. It won’t come close to covering the money my family lost on the wedding, but it’s something.”
She turns back to the machine and finishes her business. She places her card and cash in her bag before saying, “Clean him out, honey. You get back what’s yours.”
It took me a little while to figure out what to do with the money. I don’t want him to have it, but I don’t really want it either. It’s tainted. Mercy thinks I should buy something lavish for myself, but that’s not really my thing. So, I do the one thing that actually makes me feel good. I call a few wedding vendors and convince them to refund my parents’ payment and accept mine instead. My parents would never take the money from me, but my dad will be thrilled to cash a refund check from the caterer.
Around six, my phone starts to ring. Scott.
Decline.
He calls back—fifty times! I’ve never seen him this committed to anything.
The calls stop, and I think I’m in the clear, until it sounds as though he’s trying to bust through my door.
“Danielle, you bitch! I know you’re in there! Open up and give me my fucking money.”
I pick up my phone and call the police. “My ex-fiancé is outside my door threatening me. I’m really scared. Can you send someone?”
“I’ve called the cops, Scott. Go home before this gets any worse?”
“Good!” he shouts. “I’ve got a few things to tell them about how you stole my money!”
It takes the police a little longer to get here than I thought it would. Scott’s rage intensifies with every minute that I don’t let him in. I worry my plan is about to backfire and I’m going to end up the victim on an episode of 20/20.
Scott stops screaming, so I peek through the peephole. Finally, the police are here!
“What seems to be the trouble here?” a burly cop asks.
Scott, red faced and sweating, tries to pull it together. “My ex-fiancée has stolen my money. I want it back.”
The cop looks up and down the hall. “Well, we’ve gotten a number of calls about someone threatening a tenant.”
Scott rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t threatening her. She just wouldn’t open the door. I was trying to get her attention.”
The second officer is a short, stout man standing next to Scott. He leans toward Scott and sniffs. “Have you been drinking, sir?”
“I’m not driving, so what difference does it make? You need to focus on making her give me my money back.”
The first officer knocks on the door. “Police. Open the door.”
I step back and open the door. “Thank goodness you’re here. I thought he was going to break the door down.”
“I’m Officer Shaw and this is Officer Lee,” the first officer says pointing to the second. “We’re responding to---”
Scott tries to push past the officers. “Danielle! Where is my money?”
The second officer acts as a wall blocking him. In Scott’s flailing, he ends up punching Officer Lee in the face.
“That’s assault, buddy. You’re going in.” Officer Lee pushes Scott up against the wall and reads him his rights.
“That was an accident,” Scott yells struggling against their hold. “If anyone is an assaulter, it’s her. See the bruises under my eyes. She tried to break my nose yesterday. Then, she also kicked me in the dick. I want her taken in too.”
“Well, then, you should’ve called it in yesterday.” Officer Lee says. “Right now, it’s all about you and your assault. Come on, buddy.”
I can’t help but smile as Scott is dragged down the hall in handcuffs. That sight almost makes everything okay again. Almost.
Officer Shaw stays behind and asks me to explain what’s going on. I tell him everything, including how I used money from our joint account to pay for the wedding. Just as planned. I even show him the emails with payment confirmations.
“This guy sounds like a real charmer,” Shaw says as he puts his notebook in his pocket. “We’ll bring him downtown, let him sober up. What happens after that really depends on him. He probably won’t be in for long. If he bothers you again, you call us right away. You may want to consider getting a restraining order.”
I hold out my hand. “Thank you, officer. I feel better already.”
Chapter Seven
Danielle
Mercy tosses a bottle of water to me as we watch the kids run on the blacktop behind the elementary school. “It’s freaking hot today. This humidity is so thick. I wish it would just rain already.”
“Then, we’d be stuck inside with sixty energy-packed kids and no place for them to run it off,” I point out as I chug half of the bottle.
Mercy’s right. It’s hot, as in Amazon rainforest hot. “That would be worse,” I say.
Mercy shakes her head as she wipes her forehead with the bandana she had tied around her head. “I think I’m melting. Thank God it’s Friday.”
We’ve been working this camp together for the last three years. The city has a camp program run through the schools, giving kids something to do all summer to keep them occupied and out of trouble at a price parents can afford. The city is riddled with private summer programs for children, but they’re expensive, and living in the city is costly enough. So, the Board of Ed and the Parks and Rec department came up with this program, and a lot of teachers work as counselors during their off months.
“Still nothing from Scott?” Mercy asks just as Robbie Henderson spikes the kickball to the ground in celebration for getting Johnny Michaels out at second.
Robbie shouts, “You suck.”
“Robbie,” I call out. “That isn’t nice. Do you want to sit out while I talk to your mom and tell her you’re being mean?”
“No, Miss Jacobs.” Robbie shakes his head.
I stare at him. “Anything else you’d like to say?”
He turns to Johnny. “Sorry, Johnny.”
“Thank you, Robbie,” I praise him and turn back to Mercy. “Nope. I blocked him, remember?”
I want nothing more to do with that man! He did a great job of hiding his true colors all these years.
“I know, but you never know, he might try to call you from a different number. Doesn’t seem like he has two working brain cells to rub together anymore so he probably wouldn’t get the hint or even realize he’s been blocked”
My shoulder hitches. “He hasn’t tried that yet. I think the trip to jail and the threat of a restraining order scared him from doing anything else”
Thank God for small miracles. All I want is a clean break. Or as clean as I could get from a man I’d spent six years of my life with.
So many places and things have memories involving Scott. I just have to move forward with my life without him. It’s been almost two weeks, and while it hurts whenever I think about things, it doesn’t feel as though the sky is about to drop anymore. The fact that Scott isn’t who I thought he was is probably what is making it all a bit easier to digest. It’s more a blessing than something to be sad about now. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone like Scott.
“Shouldn’t this have hurt more?” I say to Mercy as my eyes dart around the area, scanning the children.
“What do you mean?”
“Scott was supposed to be the one. Shouldn’t I be devastated? Shouldn’t I still be glued to my bed with Netflix and gallons of Rocky Road? If he was really the love of my life, why have I been able to move on so quickly? Did I really get this so wrong?”
Mercy shrugs her shoulder. “I don’t know, honestly. Maybe you dodged a bullet. You’ve spent all of your adult life with Scott, so maybe what happened was a blessing in disguise. It would’ve been horrible to find out about him and Mandy after you guys were married.”
“True,” I reply. “The part that’s getting to me most is that I’m starting over. I was ready for this new phase of my life. I was looking forward to marriage and kids, but now I’m back to square one.”
“Honey,” she says, gripping my hand in hers, “you’re twenty-seven. Your life is just beginning. You’ve got plenty of time to start over when you find the right person.”
“I know,” I sigh as I finish the rest of my water.
We sit and watch the teenage counselors-in-training play with the different groups of kids. I just need to focus on my job right now. I love my jobs. Working with kids has always been my passion. It fulfills some deep-seated want to be needed, to make a difference.
A pain spikes in my lower regions, and the sudden urge to pee hits me like a Mack truck. This is the second time this morning I’ve felt like this.
“Crap,” I mutter low.
“What?” Mercy asks.
“I think I might have a UTI. Or getting one.”
“Oh, man, really? Those are the worst.”
I pick up my walkie-talkie and call for Renee, my assistant head counselor.
“What’s up, Danielle?”
“I’m heading to the restroom. I’ll be back in a few. You okay out here?”
I spot her across the schoolyard, and she gives me a thumbs-up.
“Yep, go ahead. I’m going to take my break when you get back.” One of us has to be present with the children at all times.
“All right.”
Mercy and I head inside to the faculty restroom, and it feels like a thousand razor blades leaving my body as I pee.
“Holy shit!”
The pain is intense and burning.
“You okay?” Mercy calls out.
“No,” I cry out while I try to squeeze my muscles to stop myself, but I can’t because the urge to keep going wins. “It feels like I’m peeing fire, and I need it to stop. Holy cow.”
“Sounds like you definitely have a UTI. That sucks. I’m sorry.”
This is the last thing I need right now. Haven’t I suffered enough these last two weeks?
“Oh my God, Mercy. It hurts so bad.”
“You should call your gyno and see if you can get an appointment later,” she tells me as I exit the stall, feeling both relieved and uncomfortable. “It’s only going to get worse.”
She’s right. This morning, I felt a slight sting when I used the bathroom but nothing like this. I can’t imagine what I’ll feel like later. I pull my phone from my pocket and call the doctor’s office. I need to get this taken care of ASAP.
“Your symptoms are consistent with a UTI,” my doctor says. “So, we’ll do a urinalysis to be sure, but I also want to do a swab just in case it’s something else. It will save you a trip back here.”
“Okay.”
I follow his instructions and scoot to the end of the table. I place my feet in the stirrups and try to think about anything other than what’s going on under the paper blanket.
“How’s your summer going?” he asks from his spot between my legs.
I hate this part of being at the gynecologist. Like, why does he have to make small talk while looking at my vagina? It feels like he’s talking to her, not me. So weird.
And he chooses to ask the worst question ever.
Well, Doc, my fiancé cheated on me, and I found out ten minutes before I was supposed to marry him. Then, he proceeded to act like a total douche canoe. Then, I had great rebound sex, only to be pumped and dumped. Now, I have fire leaving my body when I pee. I think summer’s been great so far. How about yours?
I choose the most PC option and go with, “It’s good.”
“That’s nice to hear,” he says as he pushes back from the table. “We’re all done here. I’m going t
o put a rush on these, so we’ll have the results by tomorrow. The office is open until noon, so someone should call you before then. I’m going to give you some antibiotics in the meantime. You might also want to pick up some over-the-counter phenazopyridine to numb the urinary tract while the medicine kicks in. Drink plenty of water and cranberry juice. It will help flush out your system.”
I’ll stand on my damn head if it helps. Anything to take this pain away.
“Okay, thank you.”
Trekking back out into the heat, I hail a cab and stop at the pharmacy down the street from my apartment. I drop off my prescription and look for the meds the doctor told me to get in the aisle while I wait.
The urge to pee again hits me like a ton of bricks, and I shift from one foot to the other as I look at the various choices.
Uristat. Azo. Store brand.
Does it matter which one?
Do they all work the same?
Last time I had a UTI, I was, like, sixteen, and my mom bought my meds.
“Hi, Miss Jacobs,” I hear someone behind me, who is definitely not using his inside voice say. “Look, Mommy, it’s Miss Jacobs.”
I turn to see one of my students from last year—Michael Rochester.
“Hi, Michael,” I greet him, trying to seem casual. “How’s your summer so far?”
“Miss Jacobs, do you have to go potty? You’re doing the pee-pee dance.”
The flames of embarrassment lick up my neck and into my cheeks.
His mother looks from Michael to me to the part of the aisle I’m standing in front of.
“Honey,” Mrs. Rochester admonishes him, “it’s not polite to ask things like that.”
“But maybe she doesn’t know where the potty is. We should tell her.”
His tiny voice carries, and I feel like the entire store is staring at me.
His mom gives me a sympathetic look and then redirects her son’s attention. “I’m sure she knows, and if she needs to use it, she’ll be fine. We should let her get on her way, so we can go get the ice cream and get it home before it melts.”
