As I’m eating dinner, I nervously glance at the clock. It has been over an hour and no call. Perhaps the florist is busy. I pick up the phone and call them to ask if they have delivered the flowers.
“Yes, Mick, they went out right away. We delivered the flowers more than forty minutes ago.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
As I hang up the phone, the unfamiliar pang of rejection sets in. It does not sit well. I need to know how Sam feels, and I need to know now! Picking up my phone, I send her a text.
“Did you get the flowers I sent?”
There is still no response. I wait around another hour, but she still doesn’t text me back. Damn, Sam’s a tough one, or maybe she’s just out for the night. That’s probably it. When I go to San Onofre tomorrow, I will be able to talk to her face to face.
The sound of breaking glass interrupts my thoughts. The alarm sounds and my heart leaps straight into my throat. I run to where the noise originated to see what’s happening. A fire is burning my living room. The bamboo floors are no match for the flames and are instantly engulfed. The long, white drapes are hastily burning to the ceiling. It’s a big fire. My eyes follow the wreckage of window shards and I notice a bottle with a rag in it, lying broken on the floor. I can hear sirens in the distance, even as I’m rushing for a fire extinguisher. There’s one in the kitchen. I stumble to pull the pin and run back to where the fire is. I spray it as best I can to try and put out the flames, but it is not enough—the fire has just gotten bigger. It’s time for me to either die in this house, or save myself.
As I run out of the house, a piece of wood falls from the ceiling, striking me in the back. It stings and makes me realize that getting out now is the right thing to do. I open the door and stand outside, awaiting the firetrucks.
Chapter 10 – A lover scorned
“Mick, get the fuck out! I don’t ever want to talk to you again!”
Slamming the door behind me, I am immediately brought to tears. How is it that I keep letting this happen to me? Am I some kind of love idiot? One thing is for sure: I do not want to get into a situation like I was in before with John. Sometimes I wonder if I am meant to find love at all.
I can’t believe I let Mick fuck me. Again. Tears stream down my face as I fall asleep, wracked by sobs.
My alarm shocks me awake. It’s eight a.m. and I have a lesson at nine. No time to go for an early morning surf. Recalling the events of the night before, my mood immediately sours. I quickly pack my bag and rush out the door. Arriving at the beach, I empty the van and begin prepping all the gear. An older couple approaches me, holding hands. They look very much in love. Being so lost in my thoughts, it takes me a while to catch on to who they are.
“Hi, are you Sam?” It’s the McCalls, here for their nine a.m. lesson.
“Yes, I am. You must be the McCalls.”
“We are, and we’re ready for our lesson.”
“Perfect, let’s get started.”
I take them through the same lesson I’ve taught a million times before. Today it seemed monotonous, somewhat cold and uncaring. Perhaps because I am too consumed with my own problems to remember this is supposed to be a fun time for them. It pained me to watch them holding hands, helping each other, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. That kind of love seems so far away for me. I must have been staring too long as Mr. McCall—or Jim, as he asked me to call him—turns to me and begins to speak.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” The question seemed overly intrusive.
“What?! Oh, no… not really. Well, it’s complicated.”
“Young lady, it’s always complicated. Is that what is on your mind? Is that why you seem so distracted?” There is something about his face that makes me feel like I can talk to him. He’s a kindly gentleman who has obviously seen his share of ups and downs.
“Yes. I’m sorry, has this lesson not been what you wanted?”
“The lesson has been great. You’re a wonderful teacher. But can I give you a piece of advice?” he asks with a somber look on his face.
I shrug. “I guess I could use a little advice right now.”
“I am not a man of infinite wisdom, but there are some things I do understand. So forgive me if I am sounding too much like a Hallmark card. Love is not about where you start, but where you finish. At the start of anything, it is complicated, but there is something to be said for perseverance. Love is not easy—not always. It is easy to be in love when everything is good, but true love is staying in love when things are hard. When I met my wife, I was in a relationship, but it was a lifeless, soul-draining relationship. She freed me from the confines of it, and fifty years later, we are still together.”
As if I wasn’t consumed in thought before, his prophetic words thrust me deeply into thought now. Jim seems so happy, so much in love. I never gave Mick a chance to explain. I at least owe him that. Maybe he is in a relationship that is stifling. Maybe he wanted out long ago. I won’t know unless I ask. Before I can turn to thank him, he and his wife are already waving goodbye and making their way down the beach.
I stand, silently staring at them as they hold hands. I wish I had someone to hold my hand. Just before they leave my sight, Jim turns around and nods, as if to say, “I know where you are. I have been there before.”
I sit awhile, staring out at the ocean, wondering what the best next steps are. Am I being naïve to think of talking to Mick, or am I being naïve if I don’t? I have no idea anymore. I don’t remember packing up the van, nor do I remember much about the drive home. My mind was just that consumed in thought.
As I pull into the garage, I am numb. Tonight, the van can stay full. There is too much to think about, and honestly, the thinking has exhausted me. Walking out of the garage in a daze, I don’t notice someone standing right in front of me.
“Hello, Sam.”
My heart pounds. I recognize that voice. That is a voice I will never forget. It runs through me like a paper cut. Slowly, I turn, hoping the voice will not match the person I know it belongs to.
I look into the eyes of my abusive ex and swallow thickly. “…hello, John.”
“Where have you been, Sam? I have been looking all over for you.” The creep factor in his voice is like something out of a horror movie. I’m scared. Very scared.
“Uh, I have been around. Just wanted a change of scenery.”
Thankfully, my phone is in my hand. Long ago, I made preparations for this very moment. All I have to do is press and hold 7 on my phone, and it will text the local police a message.
This is an automated message of distress. I cannot tell you what it is, but most likely I am being attacked by my abusive ex-boyfriend. I added my address into the phone when I got my new place and I am thankful I did.
“You know I don’t like when you go away. Why don’t you come back home with me?”
I realize, at this point, I am in some trouble. I press and hold 7 several times, hoping that the message works. There is no way I can look down—that would be too telling. My best play here is to stall John as long as I can until the police arrive.
“John, I think we need to talk about this. Can you do me a favor, though? It is always so hard for me to get all the boards and gear out of the van. Can you help with that?”
“Of course you need help. You never could do these things on your own.”
Ah, that didn’t take long. Already starting with me. I bite my tongue so as not to respond. If he only knew now who I was, he would eat those words. Regardless, now I have some time. John grabs me and begins hugging me. It is difficult, but I fake the enjoyment of his touch. John moves in for a kiss.
“John, let’s get the work out of the way first.”
John grunts his dissatisfaction, but eventually relents. He smiles and backs away. His touch feels like someone has stuck a needle in my back.
As John gets into the van to remove more of the supplies, it dawns on me. I am going to lock him in the van. If I can close the doors quickly en
ough, I’ll have enough time to run away and call the cops. The timing is critical. John begins to speak again.
“So, I assume your business is not doing as well as you thought.”
“Well, we are doing okay. I am just at the start so… things are survivable.”
“Haha, you were always such a dreamer. Not to worry, I can support you.”
“Yeah, that would be nice.” I hate pretending I need him.
I watch as John begins to inch his way deeper into the van. It has to be the perfect moment. If I miss, it will not end well. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I want to look, but the fear of him finding out what I’m up to is too great.
“John, can you pass me the sheet there on the front seat?”
“Yeah, sure.”
As John reaches forward, I lunge for the doors. The surprised look on his face as the doors close is priceless. He almost loses his finger. I run back to the driver’s side door. That’s the only one that can be opened from the inside, once the car is locked. Leaning on the door with my back, I press my feet on the wall, jamming it shut. The sounds of John screaming should help to alert the neighbors. He threatens me, pointing his finger and shaking it. I can hold this door for a while, as long as the police will eventually get here.
John begins to try and kick out the window. I did not think of that. Now I have to run.
I hear the crash of glass and know John is close behind. I wish I would have run sooner. Looking over my shoulder, I see he is in hot pursuit. The gap between us quickly evaporates and he grabs me by the wrist. He begins to drag me back to the house with one hand over my mouth and the other around my wrist. Screaming into John’s hand does nothing and no one comes out to save me. Trying to dig my heels into the ground is pointless, as he just carries me. We are now at the garage door. Taking the keys from my pocket, he opens the door to my house and drags me in, locking up behind him. Never have I felt a fear as deeply as I feel it now.
“You little whore, you haven’t changed one bit. Now you are going to get it.”
John takes off his belt and lifts it over his head as I cower on the floor, awaiting my fate.
Chapter 11 – Firetrucks Mick
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“My house is on fire! My fucking house is on fire!”
“Calm down, sir. Please give me your address.”
“Holy shit! Calm down? You’re telling me to calm down?! My fucking house is on fire!”
“Sir, please give me your address so we can send firetrucks.”
“I am at 546 Blue Terrace.”
“Stay out of the house, we are sending help now.”
I watch in terror as my house is engulfed in flames. The fire emerges from the window at the front of my house and wraps itself around the roof, licking the treetops. Running to the garage, I take the hose and pull it as far as I can. I begin trying to quell the fire. It seems hopeless, but I am not going to let my house go up in flames. The tiny hose doesn’t do much, but it is better than nothing. Where the fuck is the firetruck? Why do I pay for extra service?
Sirens blare in the distance. It is deeply disturbing to watch helplessly as my personal belongings and the place I live in goes up in smoke. Finally, the firetrucks pull in. When the firemen come out, they cast me sidelong glances upon realizing I have been trying to put the fire out with a hose. The supervisor comes over to me and begins peppering me with questions.
“I think we can take it from here. Is anyone inside?”
“No.”
“Are there any animals inside?”
“No.”
“Is there anything combustible—explosives, gasoline, or a high-pressure vessel of some type?”
“No.”
“All right. Do not leave the property. We have some more questions to ask you.”
I feel numb. This is one of the most surreal moments of my life. I broke up with my girlfriend, I lost my opportunity with Sam, and now it seems the fire department thinks I set my own house on fire. That’s the only reason I can think I was asked to remain here. It seems like he is telling me that this is my fault. Fuck him!
I walk around the driveway, apprehension slithering through my veins as the fire crews extinguish the fire. It doesn’t take them that long. The damage, however, looks extensive. The front room of my house is now exposed to the open air; you can see through the gaping hole that the walls are now black. I cannot believe it. I walk over to my steps, sit down, and put my head in my hands, only to be rudely interrupted by the supervisor.
“Tell me what happened.”
I tell him everything that I know, all the way down to the Molotov cocktail. I hear one of the firemen call out.
“Found it.”
The fireman brings over the remains of the bottle with a rag in it. Who would do this to me? Why would anyone want to do this to my house? Delia came to mind, but that would be just too much, even for her. Is this something Sam would do? Nah, she doesn’t even know where I live.
“Do you have any idea who would want to do this to you?”
“No.”
A police car pulls onto my driveway and stops right in front of me. With his window open, the officer begins to speak.
“Are you Mick Anderson?”
“Yes, sir.”
I notice Delia in the back of the car.
“Do you recognize this woman?”
Delia avoids my gaze, looking straight ahead, tears streaming from her eyes. Her blonde hair is all dishevelled and makeup is running in lines down her face.
“Yes, that is my ex-girlfriend. Did she do this?”
“Well, we found her walking around outside of your property with burn marks on her hands. We don’t know for sure, but we are pretty sure. We are going to need you to come down to the station to give us a statement.”
“Of course.”
How could someone be so angry with me that they chose to do this? I knew she was crazy, but this took it to a whole new level. She destroyed my house. I am going to be sure to nail her to the wall.
“Do you need a ride to the police station?” the officer asks me.
“No I have my own car, I will meet you there.”
I immediately get into my car and drive to the police station. When I arrive, I have built up such a head of steam that I’m ready to rip her head off. Storming out of my car, I almost push a police officer over, rushing into the station. At this point, I couldn’t care less. I want to be sure that Delia is not going to get away with this. She is a menace and always has been. I see it now more clearly than I have ever seen anything before.
As I enter the building, there is a long desk was in front of me with two officers behind it.
“How can I help you?” one of them asks.
“My girlfriend just set my house on fire. I am here to see her go down!”
“How do you know she set your house on fire?”
“The police arrested her, that’s how.”
“Okay, sir, I know this is a pretty emotional time. Do me a favor: go sit over there and we will get the report from the officer on duty, then take your statement.”
I turn and storm away as the front doors of the police station burst open. The police are trying to control someone in handcuffs. He is thrashing and kicking around, trying to get free. I watch as the melee ensues and they wrestle the man to the ground. It takes five officers, one at each limb and one on his back, to contain him. Once they establish control, they place cuffs on his legs and arms and carry him into the station.
I sit, waiting impatiently on the uncomfortable, long bench. My leg shakes uncontrollably, which just makes me more antsy. Watching the police take down that guy distracted me a little and reminded me of the power the police had. The doors of the police station open again.
As I look over my shoulder, I am shocked. It’s Sam.
Chapter 12 Day 14 – Samatha’s Vindication
“You little whore, you haven’t changed one bit. Now you are going to get it.�
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John starts to take off his belt as I cower on the floor, awaiting my fate. A loud bang rings through my ears and then mayhem. I’m very confused by all the commotion, but realize that it’s the cavalry coming to save me. There are a band of police officers standing, shouting, guns drawn.
“Freeze! Put down the belt!”
With John’s hands already over his head, he has no choice but to let the belt drop to the floor. His pants fall down to his ankles, revealing his tighty whities. A smile forms on my face as this somehow seems like just desserts for him. As soon as his pants fall down, the officers jump in, tackling John to the ground. I am shocked by the violence of the act, but secretly glad to see it. Now he will know what it is like to be on the other end of a beating.
An officer looks over to me. “Ma’am, are you okay?”
I am okay. Better than okay. Finally, something has gone right. Finally, John has been caught red-handed with no chance of ducking out. “I guess so,” I reply. “Thank you.”
“Just glad we got here in time. That text message really did the trick.” John looks over to me, as if to say, what the hell is he talking about? “ We will need you to come with us to the station, to make a report. You may also want to apply for a restraining order against him.”
“I understand.”
“We can drive you, if you like, and have someone bring you home later on.”
“That would be appreciated.”
I am so shaken up, the last thing that I want to do is drive around and find the police station. The officer brings over a blanket and puts it over my shoulders. There is something very comforting about it, perhaps the warmth. He leads me to the car and helps me inside.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see John being led into the car and driven away. I hate him. I hate him with the whole of my being. Yet somehow, I felt guilty for getting him in trouble.
Vain: A Stepbrother Romance Page 6
