Darkness Before Dawn

by Contreras, Claire

  He runs up behind me and closes a rough hand over the top of my arm, making me shriek in surprise as he jerks me to him. He turns me around to face him and lets go of my arm, taking a step back to narrow his eyes at me.

  "The FUCK do you think you're going?" Benny snarls. "You thought you could be slick and get the fuck out?"

  I clamp my mouth shut and shake my head vigorously, refusing to answer him with words. How did he find me so fast? Was he on to Dean and me the entire time? Did he hear our conversations? Where in the world is Dean? Was it all a set up?

  "ANSWER ME!" he booms, jarring me from my thoughts. "Did you think you could get away from me? I'M NOT DONE WITH YOU!"

  With the dim streetlight, I can make out the wildness in his dark eyes before he charges toward me.

  I don't have much time to react, my only instinct is to curl up and protect my barely visible pregnant stomach before he reaches me. He grabs me by the hair and jerks me forward, dragging me along with him. Tears well up in my eyes and a scream escapes me when I realize he's heading back toward the house. I can't go back there. I can't. Shivered sobs rake through my body as I lurch forward and carve my fingers into the wet grass below me, but he's stronger than I am and in one hard pull has me tumbling over myself.

  "GET UP! GET UP, BITCH!" he shouts loudly. So loudly that I can just silently hope that somebody in the party hears him and comes out front.

  I shake my head, still sobbing and look around at the neighboring homes that are too far to detect any noise. The chatter from the party hasn't died down so I know they haven't heard his shouts or my sobs. I place the palms of my hands flat on the ground relying on them and my scraped knees to keep myself up as I try to steady my breath. My eyes find his black pointy dress shoes and I notice he's wearing dress pants. I make the effort to crane my head, taking in his formal attire before I see the grim look on his scarred face. When his eyes meet mine, he hawks a spit at me that grazes the tip of my nose before landing on my chin. I close my eyes, sobbing louder at the pain, the thought that I don't know how I'll get out of this if I can't even let go of the ground long enough to wipe my face. I try to take a breath to calm the waves of fear that are radiating through my body.

  He shifts his feet so that his body is beside me, and suddenly kicks my stomach with such bluntness, that I instantly fall over and gasp for air. I roll onto my side, placing my hands over my lower abdomen to keep it safe, mentally praying, BEGGING the God I was taught but have never really known to believe in, to help me and my baby get through this. After finding out I was pregnant, not once did I touch my stomach, not once did I speak to it, not once did I feel excited about it, but now that it's in danger I feel like it's the only thing I have. It's the only part of me that I want to keep safe. Need to keep safe.

  He crouches down and grabs me by the hair, making me squeeze my eyes shut at the pain before placing his lips over my ear. "You never answered me, bitch. You thought you were gonna leave here? You thought I was done with you?" he rages.

  "No," I whimper.

  "NO WHAT?" he shouts, causing an instant ache in my eardrum.

  "Didn't think-" I begin.

  "NO! YOU DIDN'T THINK!" he shouts again before grabbing a handful of my hair and pounding my head to the floor.

  He gets up, scooping my body with him before slamming me back down on the ground, making my head tilt back and forth like a rag doll. He gives me no time to collect myself before kicking sharply on my right side.

  "Ah!" I shriek. "Please!"

  "Shut up, bitch! Shut the fuck up!" he yells.

  "Please stop!" I say, my voice low and guttural, before he slams his fist against my face. I hear more than I feel the crack and instantly taste the iron in my mouth.

  He kicks me again, closer to my stomach, right over my left hand making me scream in agony. "Please!" I beg in a whisper, feeling the strength in my fight fade with each blow. "Please...baby..."

  "What? You don't like to be hit? You think I didn't scream when they did this to my fucking face? THIS," he shouts, and I know he's pointing at his face, but my heavy eyes won't open to let me see. "OPEN YOUR EYES, GODDAMMIT! THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

  I pry my eyes open as far as they go, tears spilling down my face and sobs sputtering out of me. "Baby," I plead, my voice barely a whisper. My eyes shut again before I can stop them.

  The next time I flutter my eyes open a little, I see him put his arm behind his back and bring something to the front of his body. My eyes open as wide as my face allows and I bring my hands up to shield my face. I hear Dean screaming loudly and rushing toward us. The last thing I see are Benny's dark hateful eyes before he slams the bottle of liquor over my head and pushes me into blackness.

  The sound of my ringing phone makes my heart and stomach simultaneously clench. Anytime it rings, a surge of hope streams through me only to be quickly covered in dread because every time it rings it's a let down. I stare at it for a second longer before answering.

  "Hello?" I ask and hold my breath.

  "This Cole?" asks a male voice I don't recognize.

  "Who's this?" I ask quietly.

  "Blake's at St. Joseph's Hospital. You should probably go as soon as you can. Critical."

  The air swishes in and out of my body so quickly, I barely have time to recover my breath before answering. "What? Who...who is this?" I stammer.

  "Blake. St. Joseph's. Critical. Don't got time." Then the line goes dead. I look at my phone for a minute and shut my mouth before my brain kicks in again, adrenaline already a resident in my heart. I grab my keys and run out of the apartment dialing Aubry's number on the way to the car. When it goes to his voicemail, I try Connor's number instead to see if he heard anything. Today was supposed to be the day he picked me up to get Blake wherever she is and my stomach is in knots thinking about something going wrong.

  "Yo, bad news," he says as a greeting.

  "What?" I ask, anxiety overtaking my body.

  "It's not happening today," he replies, sounding exhausted.

  It occurs to me that this wasn't a prank call—this wasn't a way for them to get me there so they could take me too. This is real. Blake's really at the hospital, and the thought of the words Blake, hospital, and critical being in the same sentence hit me like a ton of bricks.

  "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I just got a call," I mutter, letting go of a sharp breath.

  "No shit? What's going on?" he asks and sounds genuinely confused, but then, he always does.

  "Some guy said Blake is at St. Joseph's and critical."

  "Fuck. Meet you there," he says and hangs up.

  I contemplate calling Mark or Aubry but I can't process anything more. My mind is a jumbled mess, yet blank at the same time, so I just repeat the mantra: Please let her be okay, all the way there.

  I arrive at the hospital and run full speed to the ER. I tell the front nurse that I'm looking for Blake Brennan.

  "Are you family?" she asks.

  "Yes."

  "What's your relation?"

  "Husband."

  She crinkles her salt and pepper eyebrows together and eyes my ring finger before her eyes trail over my wrinkled shirt.

  "Uncomfortable," I explain as I wiggle my fingers. "I don't wear it."

  "So you're Mr. Brennan?" she asks with a raised brow.

  I let out a breath. "Yes," I reply through gritted teeth. I swear to God, I'm going to marry that fucking girl and change her last name as soon as she gets out of this damn hospital.

  "Hmm."

  "Hmm? What does that mean? Where is my wife?" I growl, no longer able to keep my feelings pacified.

  "With her husband," she replies with a raised eyebrow. "I'm assuming the two of you should probably have a little chat? Unless of course there is such a thing as brother husbands?"

  I grind my teeth together a couple of times. "Look..."

  "Ginger," she replies quickly, still looking at me with naked amusement.

  "Ginger, if there's another man playing the role o
f her husband, I'm going to advise that you start calling security right now. I am her husband. I'm the only husband she's ever had and ever will have, and I'll be damned if there's another man holding her hand in there right now instead of me."

  Ginger smiles. "She just got out of surgery, she didn't have her insurance card or any information when they brought her in. I'm assuming you would have that since you're her real husband?" The way she emphasizes the word real as if she doesn't believe me, makes me want to choke her. Thankfully, I have all of Blake's shit in my wallet, so I just give her a tight smile and hand over the stuff.

  "Where is she?" I ask again, more impatiently.

  "She's upstairs in room 4020, she's stable," she announces as she clicks through the computer.

  Apprehension hits my stomach. Hard. "Stable?" I ask quietly.

  "The doctor will speak to you about that, you can go up to see her after you fill out her paperwork," she says as she hands me a clipboard. I look at her with my mouth hanging open. She cannot be serious.

  "Can I take these with me and give them to the nurse in there? I need to see my wife!" I shout out.

  She rolls her eyes. "Fine."

  I run to the elevators and take them up to the fourth floor. When I get there, I have to check in with the security guard and go over who I am—again. When I round the corner and finally reach the hallway to her room, I see a doctor talking to a guy I don't know. The guy's clothes are covered in blood, he has a black eye that's closed shut and stitches above his eyebrow. He's a little shorter than me, less built than me and has a worried look on his face. For a minute I feel like we're feeling the same thing. That is, until his body turns toward room 4020 and any sympathy I might've felt is slapped away from me.

  "Who the fuck are you?" I demand, shoving his shoulder away from her door. His eyes snap to mine and he just stares, saying nothing. "Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?" I ask again.

  "Dean," he responds after clearing his throat.

  "Dean," I repeat, the name tastes like straight shit in my mouth. I turn my back to him and take a couple of deep breaths while I count to ten. I feel unshed, angry tears sting my eyes thinking about this asshole being with my girl every day for the past three and a half weeks. I decide not to waste energy thinking about that and turn back around to face him and the doctor.

  "How is she?" I ask the doctor, who looks at me with a confused expression on his face. "Get out of my way," I grit, pushing past them to find out for myself. Seeing her in the dim light of the room, surrounded by white walls, draped in teal hospital blankets makes it real. My girl, my beautiful girl came back to me. My chest heaves in suppressed sobs as I toss the clipboard full of papers by the sink. The closer I get to her, the clearer she becomes. I take in her messy hair, the bruises on her pale face, the gash on her temple, and the slow rise and fall of her chest. I take one more uneasy step toward her before the enormity of this moment crashes down on me and my legs give out. I fall to my knees, my chest rising and falling in heavy pants and my sobs begin to break free.

  "She's okay," Dean says quietly behind me, his voice barely registering over the pounding in my ears. "She's going to be okay. She's out now because of the meds, but she's fine."

  I shake my head because I don't want to hear his voice, I don't want to hear his words, I just...

  "I'm sorry," he says before I can respond. "I tried to get to her, I tried to-" his words fade into my strangled sobs and I can no longer hear them. When I'm able to compose myself again, taking a series of deep breaths, he clears his throat before continuing, "I got there too late, I failed her."

  I nod slowly and wipe my face not able to answer him or confirm that he did fail her. Even though I have a million questions and accusations to make toward him, I have no words right now. I pick myself up using the edge of the bed as a crutch, lift up her sheets and crawl in beside her.

  I adjust my body toward her and wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her neck before I lose it again. The bed creaks from my shaking body, and I have to remind myself to loosen my hold around her so that I won't crush her tender body.

  I hear the door open but don't look up, I'm assuming Dean is leaving and I don't care to watch him walk out.

  "I'm Dyann. I'm taking over for Ronda," a woman's voice says, making me lift my head and wipe my face quickly.

  I blink a couple of times trying to focus on the blonde nurse in the green scrubs.

  "Which one of you is the husband?" she asks, looking between Dean and I.

  I clear my throat. "Me," I reply while glaring at Dean, daring him to say anything.

  He shakes his head and puts up his palms defensively.

  "What's your name?" Dyann asks me.

  "Cole. Cole Brennan," I respond, not missing a beat and not caring how ridiculous Blake's last name may sound as mine.

  Dyann nods and gives me a small smile while jotting something down on her chart. "Mr. Brennan, I'm sorry for your loss. I'm just going to adjust Mrs. Brennan's morphine, and I'll be out of your hair in a bit."

  Despite my confusion at her choice of words, my heart constricts in my chest. What loss? Is Blake not okay? Please tell me she's okay. "What loss?" I ask hoarsely.

  Her eyebrows pinch together as her green eyes look from mine down to her chart and back to mine. "Oh...the um...the baby," she responds quietly. "I assumed you knew?" she continues with a worried look on her face as she adjusts Blake's morphine and pillow.

  I clamp my mouth shut with a sharp nod when she apologizes one more time before walking out of the room.

  I'm frozen in place, my heart hammering against my chest as I continue to stare at the door she closed behind her. Her words echo in my head: The baby. The baby. The baby.

  I shift my body to face Blake again, ignoring Dean who still hasn't moved an inch from his spot by the bathroom. I lift up one of Blake's hands in mine and kiss the palm.

  "Baby," I whisper as I caress her bruised cheek. "It's me." She doesn't respond, doesn't move. The only sound in the room is coming from our breathing and the beeping machines she's hooked up to.

  Dean clears his throat, making my eyes snap in his direction. "I'm going to go out into the hall."

  I glare at him. "Who did this to her? Connor said you were trustworthy, so how the fuck did this happen?" I spit.

  "I told you, I tried to get there as soon as I could. She didn't come outside to meet me where we agreed and-" his voice cracks and he shakes his head, unwilling to finish his story.

  "The baby?" I ask in a hoarse whisper.

  "Was yours," Dean replies firmly. "I'm sorry." His hazel eyes are laced with regret, which makes me believe him, but not hate him any less.

  "You can leave now," I quietly inform him, and he nods in agreement.

  "I'll be back later," he replies.

  I get up, careful not to hurt Blake, and stomp over to Dean until I'm right in front of his face.

  "Listen to me, you little shit," I say quietly, hoping to scare him, but one look at him and I know I don't scare him at all. "If you EVER refer to yourself as Blake's husband again, I'll fucking kill you."

  His lips curl up in response. "Well, I don't think of myself as her brother and I had to be family," he explains with a smirk and a shrug that I don't care for.

  "Get out! You've done enough. If I never see you again, it'll be too soon. In case I'm not being clear enough, don't come back!"

  Dean takes a step back and looks at me, at Blake, and back at me again before he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him. I lie back down and turn my body to Blake's again, braiding our fingers together and burying my face in her hair. I inhale her, the hospital smell on her overpowering her natural scent, but I don't mind.

  "I'm so sorry," I whisper into her hair. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you."

  I stroke her face lightly before running my hand to finger comb her hair some. She looks so pale, so small beside me. It cracks my heart to even fathom what they've done to my girl. And a baby. She was pregnant
with my baby this entire time? I shake the thought away from my head, not wanting the pain of that loss to overshadow my happiness of having her back in my arms. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I take it out to see Aubry calling me back from earlier.

  "Hey," I croak, picking it up on the first ring.

  "What's up man? Rough day?" he asks.

  "Blake. I'm with Blake," I stammer and I start sobbing hard when it hits me—really hits me—that I am really with her, that she's really lying beside me and that this nightmare is finally over.

  "What?" he whispers. "Where are you? Is she? Oh my God. Is she-"

  "She's okay, we're at St. Joseph's."

  "On my way," he says and hangs up.

  I can't bring myself to call anybody else so I send Connor a text message saying where I am and one to Mark asking him to get us security. The paparazzi has been security enough for me since Blake's been gone. They're annoying as shit, but nobody would think of coming near me when they're around, and they're always around trying to snoop for a new story.

  I lie back down and for the first time in three and a half weeks, I drift off to sleep without the help of alcohol.

  BANG! BANG! BANG! are the sounds I hear before running down the stairs and into the kitchen. I let my eyes roam over the princess decorations and the cupcakes with the number four on top of the counter before I look at my daddy holding a knife in his hand. An angry dark-eyed man is standing before him with a gun in his hand, and my mother is lying in a pool of blood. My chest heaves, my eyes filling with tears before I let out a scream, "Mommy!" The man narrows his black eyes, and tears roll down my daddy's face as they both look at me. My daddy starts to cry loud and scream at the man with the black eyes before the man hits him in the stomach and carries him over his shoulder out of my sight. I run up to Mommy and drop next to her on the floor, shaking her roughly, begging her to wake up before a young man comes into the kitchen.

  "Let's go, baby girl," he says to me.

  "Mark! She won't wake up! Wake her up!" I shriek.