***
When Gabby woke up, she felt like anything but an alpha female. She reached for her phone, but it was nowhere to be found. Then she remembered: under Maggy’s command, they had both locked their phones in a safe.
The sun shone through the blinds at just the right angle to torture her sore eyes. Outside, birds sang a happy morning tune. Gabby wished she could shoot them all.
“What time is it?” Maggy groaned from the other end of the sectional.
“I don’t know. You locked up our phones.”
“Oh, yeah.” Maggy giggled but then moaned and held her sore head.
After a time, they finally roused themselves off the couch. Gabby put on a pot of coffee, and Maggy went to get their phones. When she returned, her scowl wasn’t just from the hangover.
“The psycho left you like five hundred messages,” she said, tossing her the phone.
Gabby scrolled through her messages. There were twenty-seven. They started with Hey babe, where you at? at nine o’clock in the morning, and ended with This shit isn’t funny, Gabs at three in the morning.
She groaned.
As if to mock her dread, tires screeched to a halt outside.
“Stay in the house!” Maggy told her and grabbed a baseball bat from behind the door. She marched outside like a soldier in her short shorts and tank top, and Gabby couldn’t help but run to the window to see what was going to happen.
“Gabby! I know you’re in there!” Derek yelled.
She parted the curtain and saw Maggy blocking a very pissed off—and drunk—Derek. Their voices were muffled through the glass, but she could make out the conversation easily enough due to their screaming.
“I want to see my wife!”
“She doesn’t want to see you!”
“Get the hell out of my way, whore!”
Gabby winced when Maggy clocked Derek over the head with the bat. She nearly ran to the door to tell her to stop, but she was enthralled. When Maggy got going, all you could do was sit back and watch the show.
Her big sister kicked Derek in the balls when he was down and proceeded to smash his headlights, side mirrors, and windows in the span of five seconds.
He lurched to his feet and scrambled into the truck, spitting curses and promises of vengeance. Then he put it in drive, squealed the hell out—and slammed into the side of a passing car. Maggy came running back into the house like a little kid who had just pulled an outrageous prank and dove onto the couch next to Gabby. They both watched out the window.
The man driving the car was cursing out Derek and calling someone—presumably the police—on his cell phone. It was quite apparent that Derek was drunk. He kept lurching forward to take the phone, but the bigger guy kept pushing him back and threatening Derek with a meaty fist. Neighbors from the apartments across the road emerged from behind screen doors. It was turning out to be quite a spectacle. When Derek noticed the crowd and realized the trouble he was in, he jumped back in the truck and peeled out.
And how Maggy howled.
“That dickless fuck is in big trouble now!” She laughed like a mad scientist—and Gabby was glad that she had never made enemies with her sister.
“Oh my God, look!” Gabby screamed.
The cops had come from the direction Derek was headed in and were parked sideways in the street, ordering him out of his truck. They even drew their guns.
“Oh, shit!” Maggy yelled, enthralled.
Derek finally got out of the truck and was quickly slammed to the ground. Gabby couldn’t help but wince.
Maggie clucked her tongue. “That dude done screwed up now.”
***
When the chaos died down after Derek was taken away and his truck was towed, Maggy poured them coffee and whipped up a ham and cheese omelet.
“That crazy son of a bitch is gonna be in jail at least until tomorrow. You should head over to your place and clean it out. I’d go with you, but I’ve got an appointment with this filthy rich dirty boy from the city. I can’t pass him up. One night with this prince pays two months’ rent.”
“I’ll be fine. Like you said, he’ll be in for a while,” Gabby assured her.
“Get what you need to last you a week, and I’ll get my lawyer to work out everything else. When we’re done with that dickless wonder, you’ll even get half of his freaking pension.”
“I don’t want anything from him. I just want to get out.”
Maggy was already shaking her head. “Screw that noise. You’re going to get whatever the great state of Illinois says you are. And trust me, babe, between your cute little innocent smile and my lawyer’s teeth, he doesn’t stand a chance.” She regarded Gabby with deep consideration. “You still have that pic on your phone from when he beat you up and blackened your eye?”
“That wasn’t like all that. We were both drunk. I threw a chair at him!”
“So! Did he have a black eye?”
“Well . . . no. But—”
“But my ass. He’s a dickless pussy. Quit sticking up for him.”
Gabby left it at that. She didn’t want to argue when her sister was so worked up.
“All right,” said Gabby, hoping to placate her. “I’ll get my things, and then we’ll figure it out.”
Maggy kissed her on the forehead and headed to the front door. “Best thing that ever happened to you, babe. You’ll see.”
“I love you, Maggy.”
“I love you too, Gabs. It’s all going to be different from now on.”
Maggy gave her a wink and headed out into the sunlight.
Chapter 4
After her sister left, Gabby sat at the island in the kitchen and methodically drank the entire pot of coffee while she mindlessly scrolled through Facebook and updated her blog. She didn’t want to go get her stuff. Sure, she had talked about leaving Derek for months, but she never really thought she would go through with it.
When the pot was gone, she sighed and snatched up her keys. She might as well get it over with.
During the entire ride, the radio played songs to remind her of her plight. She flicked from “Babe I’m Gonna Leave You” by Led Zeppelin to “Irreplaceable” by Beyoncé. Even the commercials mocked her. “Need representation in a divorce? Shafter, Shafter, and Percy are here for you.”
By the time she parked her car in front of their house she was out of tears. Luckily she hadn’t bothered with makeup, knowing that it would just run all over her face, making her look like some kind of CoverGirl zombie.
Reluctantly she got out and went into the house. The place was dark, and judging by the bottles strewn about the living room and kitchen counter, Derek had downed about a case since getting home the morning before. He was working the four-on, three-off shift, and he usually spent the long weekend hammered. There was a time, back before everything got fuzzy, when she would have been right there with him. They used to get shit-faced and have the best sex in the world. She sighed; it seemed like such a long time ago.
Every picture she looked at reminded her of the way things had been. But life was not lived in pictures. Now, looking at them, Gabby felt as empty as the fake smiles made for the photographer. She turned from the pictures and went to her room. In the bedroom, she stuffed clothes into duffel bags and collected a ridiculous amount of toiletries.
When she had gathered her things, she went to her broken jewelry stand—one that they had found on the back deck in the snow after a particularly hairy night of boozing. Neither knew how it had gotten there. She lifted the lid and took out the only thing worth two shiny nickels—her mother’s sapphire pendant.
“What are the bags for?”
Gabby gave a cry and guiltily stuffed the necklace in her pocket. “Derek . . .” Her mind raced. How had he gotten out of jail so fast?
“That’s my fucking name. Answer me!”
“Look, I’m just getting my things . . . just let me leave, and I’ll be out of your life. You can go around screwing whoever the hell you want. I don’t
care.”
Derek seemed to take up the entire doorway. He was one of those tall, stocky guys made for football, tailgating, country music, and raising hell. Gabby found herself eyeing the glass door to the back porch.
“What the hell are you talking about? Why did you spend the night at your whore sister’s?”
Anger flared inside her, and she tried to summon some of Maggy’s strength. “I’ve got a tracker on your phone. You weren’t working overtime. You were out screwing some dirty slut.”
He was caught, but he showed only a hint of guilt. Soon it was gone, replaced with rage. “You’re tracking my goddamned phone. What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t turn this around. You’re the one cheating.”
“What? Because some dumb-ass website said I was somewhere else? That shit hardly ever works. Just think of what a pain in the ass the GPS in the car is.”
He had a point, but . . .
“Gabs.” He took pensive steps toward her. “Babe—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, throwing up her hands and causing him to halt. “It’s been over ever since Jolene. I guess I was just the last to figure that out.”
“What are you talking about? That was two years ago.” He was closer now, opening his arms to hug her—to control her.
“No!” She pushed him away as hard as she could, hurting her wrist in the process and hardly budging him.
“Gabs . . .” He had ahold of her now and was pulling her close. “You know I would never do that again.” His hands went from loving to groping in two seconds flat.
“Let me go.” She tried to stay calm, but his grip was like a vice.
One hand held her pressed to his body, the other dove beneath her sweatpants and found her sex. She wiggled around and pressed her thighs together, but his searching fingers found her.
“Let me go!” She thrashed, and all the while, he whispered drunken promises in her ear.
When she dug her nails into his beefy arms, he pushed her hard into the wall. She whacked her head but stayed on her feet. He ignored her and inspected his arms.
“What the fuck, Gabby?”
“You can’t control me just because you’re bigger!” she screamed.
“Oh, but you can make me bleed just because you’re smaller?”
“Just let me leave!”
“God damn it, Gabby! What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you have to keep bringing this Jolene shit up all the time?”
Gabby moved before her determination failed her. She darted for the door as fast as she could. Derek lunged for her but missed, and she frantically ran through the living room toward the door. He caught her beside the couch and pushed her hard, causing her to fly forward and skid across the linoleum connecting to the kitchen. Before she could get up, he grabbed her under the waist and, with a heave and a twist, threw her onto the couch. She scrambled and grabbed the lamp from the nightstand and threw it at him. Derek ducked in time and received only a glancing blow. The lamp smashed to the floor behind him.
He flipped her over and fell on top of her back, forcing her face down against the couch. He squeezed her so hard she couldn’t move. His full weight was on her, and his rancid alcohol breath suffocated her. “You think you’re going to divorce me? Take half my shit? Is that what you and that whore sister of yours have planned?”
One of his arms was pressed against the back of her neck, and the other began tearing her pants off. Gabby tried to scream and fight, but Derek held her face so hard against the cushion that it was all she could do just to breathe. He was working himself into a rage now. Her sweatpants came off, and her underwear was torn in half.
“I’ll never let you go. You hear me?”
Derek was maneuvering himself now. She heard his belt unbuckle and felt his weight shift.
“No!” she managed to scream.
He punched her hard in the back of the head.
Everything went black.
***
When she came to, she didn’t know if it had been seconds or hours. He was inside her now, crying. He spoke words of love as he thrust into her slowly. She thrashed and kicked, but she was helplessly pinned.
“Let me go, you sick son of a bitch!”
“Gabby . . .” He panted, getting close.
She squeezed her eyes closed and imagined herself far, far away. Anywhere but here beneath him. He tensed and cried out, squeezing her left breast so hard it hurt. When he had emptied himself, he lay on top of her, panting.
He kissing her cheek lovingly. She could feel the heat of his seed inside her and nearly became sick. But she dared not move. Her ears rang, and her head throbbed where he had hit her. It had already been sore from hitting the bedroom wall.
After a time, he finally withdrew. She waited, not moving a muscle. His belt buckle clicked closed, and she heard him stagger to the kitchen. The refrigerator door opened and closed, and a beer cap jingled into the sink.
“You want a beer?” He said it as though nothing had happened.
Gabby broke down then and finally pulled herself up. She found her torn sweatpants and put them on, not caring if there was a hole in the backside.
“I fucking hate you,” she finally erupted.
Derek stood, leaning back against the sink, unable to look her way.
“You hear me, you sick bastard? I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”
“Then go!” He threw the bottle at her, but it missed her and smashed the screen on his precious forty-inch TV. “God damn it! Look what you made me do!”
She laughed and cried at the same time, trying hard to find her way across the living room with tear-filled eyes. He didn’t try to stop her. He went to his big screen to survey the damage. When she pushed through the door, he was calling to her. She stepped off the landing and misjudged it, falling hard on the concrete walkway.
“Gabby?”
The voice came from the porch next door. Jim, their neighbor and Derek’s buddy, was staring at her, shocked.
Derek called to her again, and something in the house smashed. She pulled herself up and noted the length of Jim’s cigarette. It was almost gone—he must have heard what had happened.
“Keep him the hell away from me!” she cried.
She ran to the road as the front door burst open. Her hands fumbled in her pockets until they found the keys, and she leaped into her car and slammed the door as Derek came around the driver side with Jim in tow. A commotion started between the two men as Gabby turned the key. Thankfully the ignition didn’t mistake her life for a horror movie—it started on the first turn.
Gabby peeled out and left Derek and the home they had made together behind.
Chapter 5
Gabby pulled into Maggy’s driveway and locked every window and door after she got in the house. She peered out the windows in the living room when she was done and then went to Maggy’s room and found her lockbox in the closet. She knew the combination; it was their mother’s birthday. The lid opened to a plethora of small handguns and ammo. Their father had taught them both how to use guns when Gabby was little, but she had never shown the love for firearms that Maggy displayed. Still, she felt better when the .38 Special was pressed cold against her palm.
The shock of what had happened had been drowned by the fear, and now the anger swelled inside her. She began to hope that Derek came through the door. She would empty the clip in his rapist ass and spit on his grave.
Gabby waited, gun aimed at the door. For half an hour she stood there, until her arms ached from holding up the gun and her shakes gave way to shudders. Finally, she slumped to the floor, exhausted.
It was really over . . .
Her anger reared its ugly head once more—anger at herself. There she was, mourning the loss of a man who had just raped her.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
She slid into another rage then and wanted nothing more than to unload the gun into something, anything! Her body felt dirty. Her hair was a sna
rled mess. She was pretty sure Derek had pulled some of it out during the assault. She was in desperate need of a hot shower, but she didn’t dare put herself in such a defenseless position.
In the kitchen, the empty wine bottle on the counter distracted her from thoughts of soap and warm water. She went down to the cellar quickly and grabbed the first bottle of wine she saw before running back up again and checking the windows.
In the kitchen, she popped the cork and poured herself a tall glass of Spanish wine. The vodka was in the cupboard. Two shots helped calm her nerves. She glanced at the clock. Still not even noon. When was Maggy supposed to get home?
Then she remembered the police.
She should have already called them. Why hadn’t she? Her phone was in her pocket, along with her mother’s pendant. They were the only possessions she had. Aside from a soiled sweat suit and her car. But she just couldn’t go through all that right now: the bright lights, the forms, getting checked at the hospital, and answering questions for hours. Then the court hearings and tension . . . having to see him again and being forced to talk to a bunch of strangers about being violated . . . in detail.
When her glass was empty, she poured another one.
It was going to be a long day.
Her laptop was at the apartment, but Maggy’s sat in the living room by the big bay window, where Gabby would be able to watch the street. She sat her glass on the desk and logged into Gabby Gabby, hoping to pass the time until her sister got home.
Chapter 6
There was a knock at the door that made Gabby jump. She clicked out of her blog like she was doing something wrong and whirled around in the swivel chair with her gun held by two hands.
The knocking came again.
She ducked down and peered out the window—a red Jaguar she didn’t recognize was parked in the driveway. It was dark outside, and the light above the door cast a long shadow on the steps.
“Hey, Gabby, it’s me. Uh, the guy from yesterday. Name’s Victor. Maggy sent me. Said you might be stopping by and might have some crazy dick after you.”
A Cross to Bear Page 2
