Hell and a Hard Place

by Lindsay Paige

  “You never told me that! You can’t go without me and I already told my parents we would come over there.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m going to my parents’.” As if I’m on autopilot, I keep packing.

  “How will it look if you show up for yet another holiday at your parents’ without me, FC? You went down there for Thanksgiving and left me behind.”

  “You weren’t feeling well and didn’t want to go,” I remind her.

  “And now,” she continues, “you’re going for Christmas and leaving me here. They will think something is wrong with our relationship, FC! You can’t go.”

  “I’m going,” I state simply as I zip my suitcase up. I grab it and walk past her. I’m almost to the front door when I hear it. The sound comes a second before the blow. The muscles in my back clench as the bag falls from my grasp.

  Lila yells, going on a rampage, but all I hear is the quiet sound before each crack of the whip. Normally, she only hits me once or twice, but she’s fucking livid and out of her mind tonight. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, easily sending tears down my face like a waterfall. Once she stops, all I hear is her saying, “Fucking leave, FC.”

  My back screams and my head swims as I slowly pull myself up, grab my bag, and stand. It takes twenty minutes for me to take the walk to my car. After I manage to put my bag in the trunk, I crawl into the backseat with my face and knees against the seat. There’s no way to get comfortable or to ease the pain.

  I call my dad, thankful when he answers on the third ring.

  “How’s it going, FC?” he says.

  “I need you to come get me. I’m fucking done, Dad. I can’t drive. Just come get me.”

  “Are you okay, son?”

  “No.” I choke back tears.

  “I’m on my way. I’ll call you when I’m close.”

  We hang up. The pain seems to intensify with every breath. The thirst for alcohol that I fight every day is as impossible to ignore as the unbearable pain. It takes ten minutes before I officially can’t take it anymore. I slowly get out of the car, nearly faint as I pull on a jacket, and begin my walk across the street to the liquor store.

  It’s the longest, most painful walk of my life. But the moment I step out of the store to head back to my car and take a long pull from the tequila, I swear my pain alleviates a bit. The jacket comes off before I get back into my car. I drink the tequila like it’s water and I’ve been dehydrated for months. I don’t know if it’s the pain or the alcohol, but thankfully, I pass out.

  “Oh, my baby boy.” The soft words pierce my eardrums, causing me to groan, which leads to a treacherous ripple effect. My stiff back screams in protest at the smallest movement and my stomach rolls. But a hand runs through my hair and I smell my nana’s soft perfume.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” I mutter.

  “Your mother insisted on coming to drive the car back and I thought you might could use some of Nana’s love. But if you puke on me, I’m leaving you out of my will.”

  I chuckle, but immediately regret it. My hands tighten around something as we hit a bump and tears fall once more. I’ve relapsed. Again. No wonder Nana’s worried about me throwing up. I feel worse than I did when I left the apartment and I didn’t realize that was possible.

  “You’ll be okay, FC,” Nana reassures me.

  “We’ll make sure of it,” Dad says from the front seat, surprising me. I would’ve thought Mom would’ve driven my car back instead of theirs.

  “Why are we stopping?” I ask when we slow to a stop. “Are we home already?” I manage to sit up and puke rises to my throat. “No.” I can’t go into a hospital. There will be questions I can’t answer and I’m sure it’ll be documented that I’ve fucked up and have been drinking.

  Nana cups my cheek. “FC, your back is in bad shape. You need to see a doctor.”

  “I’m fine. Dad, I can’t go in there. How am I supposed to explain what happened?”

  He turns to look at me. “Think of it this way: this will be further evidence to use against her in the future.”

  “No,” I snap. “I’ll get custody and prove she’s unfit without telling them about our relationship. I’m not doing it.”

  “Then why are you documenting every time she’s hit you?” he retorts.

  Mom walks up to the car and opens the passenger door, getting in. “What’s going on?”

  “He doesn’t want to go in and says he’s not telling anyone about the abuse.”

  “She’s not abusing me!” I shout. Licking my lips and tasting salty tears doesn’t slow me down. “It’s…it’s…” I try to think of some other explanation. To think of something I could say other than my girlfriend is abusing me. A lightbulb explodes. “I’m an alcoholic. There’s no telling what happened and how I get these injuries.”

  “FC,” Mom whispers.

  “No! I’m tired of this. I’m tired of being this way. I can’t take it anymore. I’m not going back. If that means I lose my son, then I’m a big fucking deadbeat and sorry ass dad, I don’t care. I can’t take three more months of this. I’m not being abused!”

  Before anyone can respond, I pass out again. This time when I wake up, it’s in a hospital bed. Apparently, being whipped and drinking so much alcohol after being sober wasn’t a good combination and my body couldn’t handle it. I ignore my family as they attempt to talk and tell me what was done to me. I don’t want to be in a fucking hospital bed.

  When two police officers walk in, I struggle to sit up, but I’m easily able to glare at my family.

  “What did you do?” I accuse them.

  “You said you were done and we don’t think you should go back. When the nurses asked what happened, we told them,” Dad answers.

  “Sir, your parents say you’ve been in an abusive relationship and it’s escalated to where she’s using a whip on you. Is this true?”

  “No,” I lie.

  “FC.” Nana surprises me with her chide. “Don’t lie to them.”

  “How am I supposed to get custody of my baby if I can’t prove she’s unfit for him until he gets here?”

  “We will get custody another way,” Mom says. “You can’t go back there, FC.” She walks to the side of my bed and squeezes my hand. “Tell them what they need to know. Do it for Sawyer.”

  We have a staring contest for about thirty seconds before I give in and answer the officer’s questions. This is not how everything was supposed to happen.

  When I’m officially on my way to my parents’ house, my phone buzzes incessantly in my pocket. There’s no way I want to check and see who’s calling. The only person it can be is Lila, and police officers were supposed to talk with her yesterday after speaking with me. It’s been recommended that I go in first thing next week, after the holidays, and get a restraining order against her.

  My nerves are shot to hell. She’s called me over twenty times already. All I want is my son and to have him away from her. I don’t know what will happen now. Reluctantly, I check my phone. Surprise stuns me when Idaline’s number is on the display. She’s not supposed to call me, which makes my gut twist in agony and my soul automatically cry out in pain at the thought of something being wrong with her.

  I swipe my finger and slowly lift my phone to my ear, hearing, “FC? FC?”

  “Idaline? Is everything okay?” A bump jars me and I wince. Being an alcoholic sucks. Pain killers weren’t prescribed, especially since I just relapsed. I can find a way to deal, like I deal with everything else. Dad glances at me in the rearview mirror, but I ignore him.

  “I’m fine. I know I’m not supposed to call and I’m sorry, but I’ve had a bad feeling since yesterday. A seriously bad gut feeling that’s nearly panic-inducing and it has something to do with you because I haven’t been able to stop thinking that something is going on with you, something really bad, and I needed to call, hear your voice, and make sure you’re okay. Are you okay?”

  “Never been better,” I grit
as we hit a hard bump driving onto a bridge.

  “You’re not reassuring me, FC,” she whispers.

  “I’m sorry. Now isn’t a good time.” Primarily because I’m not okay. It’s fucking good to hear her voice, though. If I could fully relax into my seat, my body would do it in a heartbeat. “I’m okay. Not in a hospital.” Not anymore. “I’m not in jail.” Wonder if that’s Lila’s fate? “I’m actually on my way to see my parents.”

  Each moment of silence stretches between us and pierces a hole in my heart, killing me because things still aren’t settled yet.

  “Since you’re okay, I should go. Thanks for answering.”

  “Take care of yourself, Idaline.”

  Her voice is so soft now that I can barely hear her reply. “You too, FC. Goodbye.”

  She hangs up and my defeat triples. Part of me wants Idaline back in my life, especially since it’s possible that Lila might officially be out of it, but at the same time, there’s a long fight ahead of me regardless and there’s some part of me that doesn’t want Idaline around for that.

  “Idaline,” Dad says when I pull my phone away from my ear. “That’s your old pen pal, right?”

  “Yeah,” I reply with a sigh.

  “Your mom says you two are still real close.” When I don’t acknowledge him, he continues, “Why are you lying to her, son?”

  I rest my head against the window, wishing I was facedown, drunk as hell, and in a bed somewhere. “For every reason I can think of to tell her, I can think of a reason I don’t want her to know. Not to mention, she doesn’t need to be weighed down by this. When Sawyer is all mine and everything is over, I’ll figure out a way to tell her.”

  Dad lets me rest in peace the rest of the way to Raleigh. Lila calls my phone so many times, I eventually turn it off. The only people who should want to get in touch with me now, that I’ll want to talk to, is my family and I’m with them.

  But peace isn’t really what I have. Injuries aside, my mind is a whirlwind of problems. Did Idaline sound happy enough? Should we have caught up since I had the opportunity? Is she still with Justin? And there’s the more important issues. What the fuck will happen now that I reported Lila for domestic abuse? How much harder will it be to get custody of my son once he’s born? What if Lila somehow makes it impossible for me to have anything to do with him because of what I’ve done?

  “I need to go back,” I say as Dad parks in the driveway of my childhood home.

  “FC,” he begins.

  “No. I need to go back to Lila and fix this because if I don’t, there’s no telling what she’ll do. I’m not losing my son over a few slaps on the back.”

  “The last thing you need to do is go back to her. A lot has happened since last night. You wanted to spend Christmas with us, so you should at least get some rest, sleep on it, and see how you feel tomorrow.”

  That’s too much time. What if she decides to smoke or drink or dear god…what if she decides to hurt herself and in turn, harm the baby? Do I think she’ll do any of those things? I don’t know. I’d like to think not, but I also never thought she’d beat the shit out of me either.

  I hold my hands out for my keys. Defeat passes over his face. “I’m going for a drive to think about it. I know exactly what y’all think and I just need some fucking peace. I’ll call you if I decide to drive back.”

  Reluctantly, Dad hands over my keys and I get in the driver’s seat. Mom questions him the moment she sees me get back into the car. I can’t worry about her, though. I have my own life to worry about. My own messy, out of control life that seems as if it’ll never get straightened out and fixed.

  Staying with my parents versus going back to Lila is most appealing because I’ll be able to relax for the first time in a while. I won’t have to worry about walking on eggshells, pissing someone off to the point of being hit, or random outbursts. But I don’t know what she’ll do and the only way to be assured Sawyer is okay is to be near her.

  I wish I could fast forward to his birth and to me obtaining custody of him. That’s all I want, for both of us to be safe and happy. How much more hell do I have to endure to get that? What number of scars is the right number to have to make all of this end?

  Instead of returning to Lila, I buy a pack of cigarettes and drive back to my parents’, smoking one along the way. Idaline chastises me in my head the entire time. She hates it when I smoke and she wouldn’t be happy to learn that I’m smoking again, but I need some kind of happy right now. I can’t drink. I can’t exercise. Smoking is all I have. This will be the only pack I buy, I promise to the Idaline talking to me in my head. Maybe I won’t even smoke all of these.

  But it turns out I’m a liar, even to the Idaline in my head. I end up smoking two packs as my back slowly heals and I spend time with my family with only a short visit back home to file for a restraining order. My gut has done nothing but churn constantly with worry. Even when Lila finally stopped calling and texting due to being served with the order, my worry doesn’t lessen.

  It’s New Year’s Eve and I’ll be returning home tomorrow. Apparently, since I live with Lila at the apartment and I’m the one who took out the restraining order, I can have her removed until the hearing. That’s what I’ll be doing until I can find an apartment. I’m not too worried about her since I know her parents will take her in and it’s not a permanent thing either.

  However, being at my parents’ is making me antsy. Tomorrow can’t get here fast enough. Almost every night I’ve gone for a drive and I think I’ll do the same tonight. On the off chance that I decide to drive on back home, I sneak my bags into the trunk before letting my parents know I’m going out for another drive.

  Hours later, I find myself in South Carolina. Once I realize where I am, I’m tempted to turn around and leave, but I find myself acting like a stalker. I park in the shadows far enough away from Idaline’s apartment and car that she shouldn’t recognize my car. My breath stalls when I see her step onto her front porch, Justin right behind her.

  My soul sighs with happy relief, although I frown. It looks as if they’re arguing. Justin has his arms folded over his chest as he glares at Idaline, who has one hand propped on her hip while the other flies around, motioning and gesturing as she talks. Between how far away I am and how quiet they’re being, I can’t make out what the argument is about. It must be something serious to cause a tiff right after Christmas.

  Carefully, I lean against my window, watch Justin shake his head, and then he leaves. Idaline hugs herself as she sees him go. She doesn’t go inside immediately. It looks as if she sighs and then she takes a seat on the porch steps. She should go back inside. It’s too cold to be out here, and why is she not going back in anyway? Idaline hugs her legs to her chest and rests her forehead on her knees. A truck comes into the parking lot and blocks my view. Damn it.

  A guy gets out of the truck and it sounds like he’s talking. Once things go quiet, my stomach drops when Idaline walks around the truck toward me. It takes her knocking on my window before I open the door.

  “When my neighbor said I should go inside because someone was being suspicious and sitting in a vehicle he didn’t recognize, I couldn’t help but think of my friend, FC. I couldn’t believe it when he told me the make and model of the car. And I really can’t believe my eyes right now.” She opens the door wider. “What are you doing here?” She squints her eyes to study me. “You lied to me about being okay, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Idaline sighs, but holds out her hand. “Come on. We might as well go inside.”

  I first notice that FC isn’t walking quite like he normally does, as if he’s in some discomfort. Then, when we get inside, he eases himself back slowly until his back touches the cushions of the couch.

  “FC, what’s wrong with you?”

  He thumbs to his back. “I got hurt while working. Look, Idaline, I didn’t intend to come here. I decided to go for a drive, get away from home, and next thing I know, I’m
here and spying on you.” He dips his head to study his lap. “Hope everything is okay with you and Justin.”

  Great. He saw part of our argument. Ever since Justin told me he loves me, he’s been alternating between patiently and impatiently waiting for me to say it back. Tonight, he was extra impatient because he was apparently expecting me to say I love him on Christmas Day and he was already annoyed with me because I’ve been preoccupied with worry over FC. This feeling I had had nagged me all day that something was wrong with FC and that I needed to call him. The longer I ignored it, the louder it got and the more I worried. I had to call him. However, FC stayed on my mind long after I talked to him because I didn’t believe that he was actually okay.

  So, Justin was mad about that and it constantly came up how he loved me and I apparently didn’t love him. I keep telling him I’m not going to rush myself into saying something until I’m certain of my feelings and I’m simply not certain yet. He doesn’t understand how I don’t know for sure at this point. I don’t know either, but that’s the way it is.

  And that’s how I lost my boyfriend right before the new year.

  “Do you want something to drink?” I ask. FC winces as if I just slapped him. “What is it?”

  “I relapsed recently,” he admits. “I almost don’t regret it either.”

  That doesn’t sound like a positive thing to say after a relapse.

  “I’m not ruining your life by showing up here, am I?”

  “You’re always welcome, Festus Camry.”

  FC grants me the most handsome smile I’ve seen in a while. “You think I might be named after a car?”

  I shrug. “How do I know your family doesn’t have some kind of history with Toyotas?”

  FC grunts a little as he leans over to hug me. “Don’t hug me back because I’m still sore and sensitive, but I had to at least give you a hug. I’m glad I’m here even if I didn’t mean to show up.” He pulls away with a smile.

  “How have you been sleeping?” He seems okay, but not exactly comfortable.