I Ain't Me No More

by E. N. Joy

  I hope you know, Helen, that reporting me to the warden only pissed me off more, which makes things a lot worse for you. You’re still dead when I get out of here, but I’m going to torture you first. Just wait and see.

  I’m going to cut your throat. Slice you from ear to ear. I can’t wait to see the blood pour out. I’ll probably have to just kill myself afterward, because you are not worth me spending the rest of my life in here. So once I kill myself, I’ll see you in hell to torment you all over again.

  Enjoy life while you can. Because in one week and counting, I’m out of here . . . and so are you!

  Dub

  While reading the letter, I could hear Dub’s voice say each and every word. I could feel his hot breath on my neck as he snarled the words through gritted teeth. I felt so trapped, I didn’t know what to do. At that point, I just wanted to take my own life in a slow, painless manner before Dub got the chance to do all the bodily harm he anticipated doing to me.

  “Helen, I need you to—”

  I heard the sound of a male voice and felt a hand rest upon my shoulder. The next thing I knew, I was hunched over, crying my eyes out. I thought it was Dub’s voice that I’d heard and Dub’s touch that I’d felt. My mind was playing tricks on me.

  “Helen, are you okay?” I heard the male voice ask, not recognizing that it belonged to my boss.

  “Helen?” This time it was a female voice. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” I felt the woman’s arms around me as she continued to ask me if I was okay.

  I couldn’t see who it was, because my eyes were so filled with tears. After a few seconds I felt her release me and bend down. I blinked away as many tears as I could and was able to make out who the woman was. It was Jina, my boss’s secretary, and she was rising back up from bending down, having retrieved the letter, which had fallen at my feet. I watched her scan it and then hand it to my boss.

  “Have a seat,” Jina suggested to me, and then she helped me to get situated in my chair. “I’ll go get you some water.” She walked away as my boss stood there reading the letter.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, apologizing for making such a scene.

  “No apology necessary, Helen, if your reaction is to the words on this piece of paper.” My boss stood there, holding Dub’s letter in front of me. “Is this what has you upset?” My boss had an appalled look on his face from the words he’d just read.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “It’s from my ex-boyfriend. My son’s father. He’s going to kill me.” Once again I lost control. I could see other employees peeking over into our area to see what was going on, but I didn’t care. For once, I did not care what people thought. What would it matter, anyway, once I was dead and gone? “Oh, God, he’s really going to kill me!”

  “Calm down, Helen.” He rested his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go into my office and talk about it,” he suggested just as Jina returned with the water.

  “Here you go, Helen.” She handed me the water.

  “Jina, I’m going to talk to Helen in my office. Can you please come and sit in?” my boss asked her. I could tell the last thing he wanted was to be in his office alone with a hysterical woman who was going nuts. The next thing he knew, I’d be accusing him of harming me or something. I didn’t blame him for not wanting to take any chances, because at that moment, I had to admit, I wasn’t in my right mind.

  “So how long have you been receiving these types of threats?” my boss asked me once the three of us were secure behind the closed door of his office.

  “He sent me several a while ago. He started sending them again, so I just got a restraining order against him,” I replied. “I guess some jailhouse lawyer broke down the restraining order to him, and he realized that it didn’t prevent him from sending letters here, to my workplace.”

  “Do you take these threats seriously?” my boss asked me. “I mean, obviously, you do, but I just need to hear you say it.”

  A confused look crossed my face, and I guess my boss detected it, as he began to explain his reason for asking.

  “See, I need you to tell me this, because by doing so, you are officially putting your place of employment on notice about this domestic threat. By putting your employer on notice, your employer is now obligated to take every precaution necessary in addressing this situation in the workplace.” My boss took a deep breath and then asked again. “Do you take your ex-boyfriend’s threats seriously? Has he ever physically harmed you before, giving you cause to believe he would see his threats through?”

  I swallowed hard. Answering my boss truthfully would mean having to tell him that I had allowed Dub to physically harm me. That I had stayed in a relationship for over seven years with someone who was mentally, sexually, and physically abusing me. I’d never had to do that before, confess outright to someone who knew me. Telling that prosecutor had been different. He didn’t know me. Well, he knew me, but not like that. He knew me because of the hundreds of other women just like me who had occupied his office chair. Same story, different girl.

  My boss knew me, though, and so I couldn’t fix my mouth to confess it. What kind of stupid idiot would my job think I was? They thought they had hired someone smart, someone college educated who was in the process of earning their bachelor’s degree. They’d probably fire me when they realized how dumb I was, after all.

  As if Jina, who was sitting next to me, could see my anguish, she rested her hand on my knee for comfort. I looked up at her, and she nodded, as if to say, “You can do this, Helen.”

  I sighed and finally spoke. “Yes. Yes, I take the threats seriously, and yes . . . he has physically harmed me before.”

  Jina sighed just as deeply as I did, as if she’d been holding her breath, as if she somehow knew exactly what I was going through. Who knows? Perhaps she did.

  Now that I had confessed to my coworkers out loud that I was a victim of domestic abuse, I had only one question. “So are you going to help me?”

  “Yes.” My boss nodded. “Yes, indeed. We are going to do everything we need to in order to ensure your protection while you’re here.”

  And that was just what my boss did. He immediately called a meeting with the owner of the company to enlighten him about my situation. The receptionist and her backups were notified, as well as the mail room staff. The building security was even asked to be more vigilant. A description of Dub was given to everyone who might encounter him, as were emergency safety procedures. The very next day my company even installed an emergency call button under the receptionist’s desk and a button that gave her the capability of automatically locking the glass double entrance doors to the office at her discretion.

  I wouldn’t call it a false sense of security. I appreciated the steps my job had taken to protect me. But I couldn’t stay inside my workplace forever. I had to eventually go out into the world, a world in which I felt one day, and sooner rather than later, Dub would be waiting.

  Stone Number Thirty-one

  “Helen,” the receptionist said through the phone intercom, “you have a call on line three.”

  “Thank you,” I told her, then waited for the call to come through. “This is Helen,” I said, picking up after the first beep.

  “Five days left and you’re dead,” was all I heard. It was all I had allowed myself to hear before slamming the phone down in its cradle as if it were a hot potato.

  Dub’s chilling voice had come through that phone like a killer’s voice in a horror movie, just before the victim got killed. I couldn’t believe it. Dub was, once again, taking advantage of the loophole in the restraining order, and he was using it to his advantage to the fullest. First, the letter to my job and now the phone call. He’d left me with no choice. I’d have to go back down to the prosecutor’s office and see if there was a way to fix the restraining order to include my workplace. But with him being released in less than a week, did it really matter now?

  My eyes immediately watered. Dub meant business. He wasn’t going to let up. He was consumed
with thoughts of killing me and my loved ones and wasn’t going to let up until he did.

  “Helen.” I jumped when I heard the receptionist’s voice blaring through my telephone intercom once again.

  “Uh . . . uh . . . yes,” I stammered.

  “You have another call, on line one this time.”

  I remained silent for a few seconds. I was trying to think of a lie the receptionist could tell the caller as to why I couldn’t take the call. It was too late; the call was coming through.

  After the first beep I thought about allowing it to go to voice mail because I knew it wasn’t anybody but Dub, but then I’d eventually have to hear his chilling voice on my voice mail. By the second beep, I’d convinced myself to just get it over with. The clock was ticking. Days were passing by. Sooner or later I’d have to face Dub. I needed peace of mind back. And fast.

  “Listen, you bastard,” I began in a low whisper, not wanting my coworkers to hear the language I was about to use. “If you are going to kill me and my family, just do it. Be a man about it and just do it, but don’t be a coward, sending me letters and calling me on the phone. Do you hear me?”

  There was silence on the phone. I assumed Dub was in shock as my standing up to him was a rarity. I hadn’t stood up to him since I’d discovered the naked woman in my house. That had been the first and the last . . . until now. And although I was making a death wish, I felt good about it. I felt empowered, for lack of a better word. I quickly went from feeling empowered to feeling embarrassed when the voice on the other end of the line finally spoke.

  “Helen . . . this is your aunt Lisa.”

  I burst into tears. For the first time in my life I’d finally stood up to Dub, or at least I thought I had, only to find that it wasn’t even him on the other end of the phone. I couldn’t take it anymore. I just couldn’t. Not only hadn’t I stood up to Dub, but now I’d definitely have to explain to my aunt what my rant was about. And through plenty of tears, I did just that. I told her all about the years of abuse, my escape from Dub, his letters, threats, and phone calls. “I just don’t know what to do, besides plan my own funeral,” I said, sniffing through the phone receiver.

  “I feel so bad. I should have known. I should have done something.” I could tell she was now crying.

  “Please, Aunt Lisa, this is hardly your fault. There was nothing you could have done about it,” I assured her.

  She paused for a moment, sniffing and then blowing her nose. “You know what? You’re right.” Her voice lightened up just a tad. “Maybe there wasn’t anything I could have done about it then, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do something now.” Then I could almost hear the wheels churning in her head. “I’ve got an idea,” my aunt Lisa said.

  Once Aunt Lisa shared with me her plan on how to help me deal with my situation with Dub, I was on the fence. Going along with her idea meant opening myself up big-time. It meant taking a big risk, but the more I thought about Dub and his threats, which I knew beyond a doubt he would go through with, the more I realized I didn’t have anything to lose. After all, what could be worse than losing my own life? So hesitantly at first, but eagerly at the end, I agreed to my aunt’s idea. Her idea definitely trumped just running down to the prosecutor’s office again.

  “Come in,” Nana said to the Channel Ten news reporter. It was now four days after I talked to my aunt Lisa. One day remained before Dub would be released from jail.

  “Thank you,” the reporter said as she entered Nana’s living room, followed by a cameraman.

  My heart raced, but there was no turning back now. I’d given my aunt Lisa permission to call the news station and tell them my story, how I had remained in an abusive relationship without even my family knowing. How most of my family would be finding out about the abuse for the first time ever as they watched it on the news.

  “You must be Helen,” the news reporter said to me when she saw me sitting on the living-room couch. “I’m Andrea Storm with Channel Ten News.” She extended her hand.

  I stood and shook her hand. “I’m Helen Lannden. Please have a seat.” I sat back down and gestured for her to sit next to me. I felt like I had butterflies flying through my stomach. It wasn’t a nervous fluttering; it was a feeling of anxiousness. Even though I was about to tell the entire world of my humiliating ordeal, my spirit felt at peace in doing so.

  “Your aunt gave me some background on your story, but I’d like for you to tell me about your situation in your own words.” She took out a pen and notebook. “You don’t mind, do you?” she said in regards to her writing down what I was about to tell her. “I just want to talk with you before we begin taping to make sure I’m going in the right direction with the story.”

  “Oh, okay,” I agreed. After all, the world would hear the story in my own words in a matter of minutes. Who cared if she had it down on paper as well? So I began to tell her about the years of abuse I’d suffered at the hands of Dub. I even told her about how he had shattered my car window, which ended in a trip to the hospital due to glass in my eyes. I dug up every single threatening letter Dub had written me and allowed her to read them.

  Andrea took steady notes, but at certain points, when I caught myself off in a daze, talking, reflecting, and providing her blow-by-blow details of my mental, physical, and sexual abuse, her pen would remain frozen in her hand, as if she was too stunned to even write.

  After about a half hour, Andrea closed her notebook. “Well, Helen, I think we have enough.” She looked at me with such pity, almost as if she couldn’t believe I’d lived through all that I’d shared with her. “As a matter of fact, I think we have more than enough.” She thought for a moment. “Before we begin taping, do you have a photo of Dub?”

  “I might,” I said. That was when I realized that Dub, Baby D, and I had never taken pictures together. There were no family portraits, or even father and son pictures, for that matter, but then I remembered one picture that I did have. “Just a minute,” I told Andrea as I went upstairs and retrieved my senior year memory book, which had been packed away ever since I moved into Nana’s house. In the memory book was a prom picture of me and Dub. “This is the only one I have.” I handed Andrea the picture as I sat back down on the couch.

  Andrea admired the picture of the lovely couple smiling for the cameraman. All of a sudden she looked up at me. “Had he already been abusing you at the time this picture was taken?” I nodded. “Hmmm. I wonder how many mothers and fathers have their daughter’s prom picture sitting on the mantel, with no idea that the very date in the picture is abusing her. Even worse, I wonder how many mothers and fathers have their son’s prom picture on the mantel, with no idea that their son is abusing the very date in the picture.”

  I shrugged. Abuse wasn’t something girls sat around discussing in the girls’ locker room. It was the best kept secret I knew of. So whoever said that girls couldn’t keep secrets was wrong.

  “Well, let’s get ready,” Andrea said, looking at the cameraman, who had managed to set up everything while Andrea and I were talking. He gave her a nod, letting her know that he was all set. She then looked at me. “One last question, Helen. Why are you doing this? What do you want out of this interview airing? I mean, I know Dub is scheduled to get out of jail tomorrow, but he’s locked up on unrelated charges. So what is your purpose for doing this?”

  I didn’t even have to think about the answer to that question. The answer to that question was what had allowed me to give my aunt the go-ahead to contact the media in the first place. I had literally felt as though I was living my last days on earth, so without flinching, I looked Andrea in her eyes and said, “I am going to be murdered, and I want the world to know exactly who killed me.” I then turned to the cameraman. “I’m ready!”

  Stone Number Thirty-two

  “I can’t believe you did that! Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have taken care of the situation. Now I look like a punk, like I can’t protect my family!” Dino ranted and raved as he paced
back and forth across Nana’s living room. It was just seconds after my story had appeared that evening on the five o’clock news.

  The morning Andrea came to Nana’s, I’d taken off half a day from work. But right after we wrapped up, I’d headed back to the office, feeling like even if Dub came straight to my house once he was released from jail the next day and carried out every threat he’d ever described, I was going to live that last day free, which was something I’d never truly really been since getting trapped in Dub’s clutches. He’d always held a piece of my mind captive.

  Nana had called me and told me that the story had aired at noon, but with everybody at work, virtually no one had seen it then. Those very few who had made sure to get on the horn and let everyone know to tune in to the five o’clock news to receive the shock of their life, which was the truth about mine.

  “Look, Dino, I’m sorry. But I felt as though this was my last resort,” I told him.

  “But you didn’t even give me a chance. I’m sure I could have talked with Dub man to man and—”

  My mom, who had come over to Nana’s after seeing the story on the news, burst out laughing. “Talk? Boy, please, Dub don’t do no talking. Trust me, I’ve dealt with that fool.”

  “I didn’t want to tell you and have you all caught up in the middle,” was what my reply to Dino was. I think that was one of the reasons why a lot of abused girls and women didn’t tell what their mate was doing to them. They knew they got that crazy daddy, brother, or cousin who would do something they’d have to repent for later, or serve jail time for. Not telling was their way of protecting the people they loved. So they sacrificed themselves. “I was just trying to protect you.”

  “Protect me? From what?” Dino fumed. “Dub ain’t nothing but a man just like me. I could have talked to dude, and if he tried to jump bad, then we’d take it from there.”