by Meg Farrell
I stop pacing when I think about the next part of this story. My breath hitches, and without looking at Justin, I continue, “When we got home, Kent beat me within an inch of my life. I was terrified. When he went to work the next day, I ran away to my parent’s house.
“My mother assured me I had misunderstood him, and I likely did something to deserve getting beat. My rebellions were aggravating for him. She said I would need to settle down for the beatings to stop. She instructed me to make his favorite dinner to make it up to him. I did. That night Kent came home apologetic. He made promises about how it would never happen again. I believed him.”
With a distant look in his eye, Justin says, “They always promise.”
I don’t understand what’s happening with him. He’s gone from warm and comforting to distant, almost cold, “Hey,” I say.
He blinks a few times, and then looks at me.
“What’s going on over there?” I ask.
He looks reluctant, and then says, “Nothing. Go on.”
“By the time I was eight months pregnant, Kent wanted to take me away to Gulf Shores for a weekend. He set everything up, and surprised me when he came home from work. I was told to pack a small bag so we could leave immediately. The weekend seemed to go really well. He was kind, attentive, and passionate with me.
“On our last night there, he wanted to take me out for a ‘fancy’ dinner. I was trying to dress nice, but being the size of a house at the time, it was taking me too long. He got angry. As we were walking down the steps down from the B&B we were staying in, he pushed me. I don’t remember anything between being on the stairs and waking up in the ER. When I came to, Kent was talking in hushed tones with the doctors who were assuring him the baby was fine. I started crying when I saw him.”
I take a deep breath to steady myself. The hopelessness I’d felt for so long starts seeping back into my chest. “I told the nurse who was attending to me what happened. I told her I was afraid for my life and the life of my son. She seemed to believe me, but the doctor she reported to didn’t believe it at all. Kent had him convinced that he was worried about a head injury. They performed numerous tests and ultimately released us for the drive back home. Kent could not have turned into a better actor after that. The birth of Ethan put him on cloud nine. He was so happy that I got nearly a year without being belittled or beaten. However, that’s also about the time Kent started to lose his position at his company.
“There were layoffs, there was downsizing, and sales fell off. He was a salesman, and this was a bad deal for him. He spiraled. Kent was drunk every night of the week. He was violent and angry with me whenever he was drinking. I walked on eggshells all the time and made sure I had the house, baby, and dinner ready for his inspection and approval at all times.”
The memory gives me pause. “It was a hell I could not have imagined for myself. Eventually, Kent lost his job, and we were forced to sell the house and move into a trailer on some land his family owned. He was in such a perpetual messy state of existence that I had no hope.
Justin is sitting stock still, cradling the bottle of vodka as I continue, “One night, when Ethan was three, Kent came home high as a kite. I had suspected he was using meth. This confirmed it. I confronted him about being fucked up. I didn’t care about what he wanted anymore. I demanded a divorce. I told him I was done with his bullshit.
His response was to beat shit out of me. At one point during the fight, he hit me so hard I flew across the room into the bookcase. It knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, he was passed out on the couch surrounded by empty beer cans. Ethan had spent the night with my parents, so I knew he was safe.
“At first, I couldn’t move. I thought it was because of how hard he had hit me. I was taking a mental inventory of my body to see if anything was broken when I ran my hand across my stomach. I had been shot. I was bleeding a ton. The memory of the gun being fired came back to me. Initially, terror filled me, and then I thought to myself that I have two choices: I can lay here and die—give up and let go—or I can find some way to get on my feet and leave.
“That’s the only way I would survive is to leave. It took every ounce of courage and strength I had, but I did it. I got up and I ran. I ran across a field and through some woods until I came to an old country road. Usually, there is no one driving that road in the middle of the night. But I prayed. I prayed for God to send someone to help me.”
Justin clears his throat. “And he did,” he says quietly.
I nod. “He did. I don’t know who he was, but I climbed into his truck. The last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital is praying the guy driving that truck wouldn’t kill me. Not like there was anything I could do about it. I think it was the blood loss or the exertion, but I passed out mid-prayer.” Numbly, I wipe the tears from my cheeks I didn’t realize I was crying. “And that’s the night I died.”
I finish and sit quietly to let Justin process what I’ve told him. He’s eerily quiet and still. I watch him. He’s not looking at me or doing anything really. While it feels good to have it in the open, his reaction is what I feared all along. He’s freaking out.
“Say something. Please.”
He doesn’t. It’s my turn to sit patiently and wait for the panic to pass. I’m waiting for a reaction or more questions. Neither comes. Deciding I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night, I slip my socks and boots on and pick up my jacket. It’s my turn to leave.
6 - Time
Two days pass. I haven’t had any nightmares, and I haven’t heard from Justin either. I don’t know what I expected, but I had hoped at some point he would have called or texted me. I guess it was too much for him.
Kate bursts into my room. “Wake up! You’re going to be late.”
I laugh. “I’m not going to be late. This is my usual alarm time.”
“What? You never have to wake up with an alarm.” Her expression shifts from panicked friend to saucy friend.
I shrug and force a timid smile.
“Whatever!” She exclaims as she storms to the door. Turning back to me, she says, “We’ll talk over breakfast. Hurry up!”
I shower and dress for work. Applying a little bit of makeup, I think how Irma was right, as always. At some point, I need to call her. The thought reminds me that I owe Rhae a call to update her on Irma’s health.
Kate makes breakfast. I tell her how I left Justin stunned after our chat, and that I haven’t heard from him since. She is lost for words, which is just weird for Kate. I dismiss myself before it can get any weirder and head to work.
Work is typical. The only exception is how light I feel as I breeze around doing all my normal daily tasks. Although, I haven’t seen Justin, I’m all the better for having told him.
For the first couple of days, I feared I would see him, or that he would tell someone else and the rumor-mill would get cranked up. It hasn’t happened, and I know I’m over-thinking it.
When lunch rolls around, I consider a mad dash to Irma’s house again, but think better of it. Instead, I decide to eat alone and give Rhae a call. As I approach the café a few blocks from work, I hear a voice that sparks a memory. Fear lances through my heart, and I stop walking. “It can’t be!” I turn toward the sound of the voice, and that’s when I see Kent.
I plaster myself flat against the wall of the building and peer around as he’s leaving the office building next to the café. His hair is longer, and slicked back. Other than that, it doesn’t seem that the last five years have affected him. He’s shaking hands with a man in a suit. They exchange pleasantries, and Kent walks down the street in the opposite direction from me. My knees falter, and I feel myself sliding toward the ground. My brain spirals into old memories, and I know that it was really him. I didn’t imagine him. Holding my stomach, I can feel the scar through the material of my blouse. Nausea builds as I sit. I mentally chant my mantras.
I lay my head on my knees and pull my hair up off my neck. I need some air. Breathe, bre
athe, breathe. I keep swallowing to stop the nausea that’s building. Telling Justin about him must have raised the damn devil himself. I think I might pass out when I’m brought back to the present by a woman asking me if I’m okay. Am I okay? I shake my head.
“No.” My answer is barely audible. It’s as if the air has been forced from my lungs and I don’t have the strength to pull in more.
“Should I call someone? Do you need an ambulance?” the woman asks.
“No. Please. I’m okay.” My words come a little stronger than before. The woman offers me her hand, and she helps me to my feet. I explain that I haven’t eaten today, and I’m just a little light-headed. She accepts this excuse, and allows me to leave. I walk back to work, forgetting about lunch. In the office, I go to the Dragon Lady, tell her I’m sick and I’m going home. I don’t wait for her answer or permission; I don’t need it.
When I get home, I’m paranoid about locking up the house. I lock the front door, my bedroom door, and finally, I stumble into the bathroom, locking that door too. Alone in my bathroom, I climb into the empty bathtub and bury my face in my hands. Sobs rack my body. How can he still affect me this much after all this time? Is it him or the memory of what he did? I know the answer, but my mind is jumbled as I work through the fear that paralyzes me.
He didn’t see me. He wouldn’t recognize me if he did. My hair is a natural-looking red. It matches my skin tone well enough. I grew up with brown hair. Kent and my parents always had rules about coloring it, so they would have no idea what I look like now.
Plus, I’ve lost some weight and put on muscle. I’m sure Kent, if he was looking right at me, would still be looking for that mousey, chunky woman with limp brown hair. I was a shell of myself when I left. He had me on crazy diets because I still had some chunk from the baby.
Still, it was no excuse, and Kent Walsh would not have a fat wife. That would just not do. Shaping up in the last five years was my way of developing my self-esteem. Finding my own personal identity.
It made me feel good to work out. It made me feel alive when my legs and arms would shake with full exertion. The tears are drying, and I’m finding it easier to breathe as I relive the moments that made me better.
I hear Kate come into the house she’s calling my name. Unsure of what time it is, I can only tell I’ve been here for far too long because my legs have gone numb, and my face feels scorched and dry because of the tears. Kate knocks on my bedroom door. “You in there?”
“Yeah. Give me a minute,” I call out in response.
She stops knocking, and I turn on the shower. I need to straighten myself up before I face her. If she sees me like this, there’s no telling what she might say or do. I don’t want to explain that I’m a panicky, paranoid, freak to her.
I’ve been hiding my potential for panic so well. During my shower, I start making plans to move. I started over once, I can do it again. Kate would understand. Maybe. Justin definitely won’t.
Does he matter enough to be considered in this decision? The thought feels like a hole in my chest. I obviously want him to matter, but he’s checked out on me already.
We’re talking life and death here, I reason with myself. Kent will fucking kill me if he finds me. Memphis is a big city, but apparently not big enough. What’s he doing here anyway? Who was that man? What do they do in that building? The water runs cool, and I decide to get out and dress.
I slip into my flannel PJ bottoms and T-shirt as I go into my bedroom. My phone is on the bed vibrating. I check it and see that Justin has been texting and calling. Someone at work told him I went home sick. So he was at our building today. Although comforting, it’s not enough to make me smile. I don’t answer him, instead I head into the kitchen to grab some food with Kate. There are appearances to maintain, after all. And I may have given her the impression I’m one hundred percent well-adjusted after recovering from Kent. Slipping my “everything is okay” mask in place, I make a glass of wine and sit down at the table.
Kate picked up Chinese food on her way home, and she’s scooping rice onto a couple of plates. She knows I love sweet and sour chicken with just plain rice. Fried rice ends up with onions no matter how many times I say “no onion.” Fact of life. When she sets my plate in front of me, I manage a small, “thank you.” She only nods.
Halfway through dinner, it’s killing her. “What’s up with you today?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just a long day. Feeling kind of blah.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “Been there. Asshole pulled his shit again today.”
I drop my fork. “What? Did he touch you again?”
Small tears form in the corners of her eyes. “You could say that.” Her answer is barely a mutter.
“Kate! Someone has to stop him. You have to report him again.” My demand is emphatic.
Her voice is still small, “I did. The director of HR is investigating him.”
Anger for what is happening to my friend replaces the fear I’ve been masking. “What happened?”
She goes on to tell me how he cornered her in the copy room again. This time he locked the door, and prevented her from leaving. He groped her and threatened to kill her if she told anyone again. He’ll convince anyone that investigates him that she was the aggressor. Kate is tough, but she’s not above being terrified by that kind of threat. Especially since his plan of evading investigation includes her own thoughts on the matter. Like the son-of-a-bitch can read her mind and validated her fears. He’s also used his position to intimidate her; good ole boy manager vs female admin.
“He has to have done this before. I mean he’s escalating. It can’t be his first time trying this.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. He’s been at the company less time than I have. I don’t know where he worked before.”
I nod. I wish I knew a lawyer who could help her. This is sexual harassment to the extreme. He has put his hands on her and has now gone beyond the pale by threatening to kill her.
“You’re not going to work tomorrow. Neither am I.”
She grins around her tears and agrees. “Ice cream and Netflix?” she asks.
“Yes.” I need a day to get my head together. She needs a day to let HR solve her problems.
While we discuss taking a girls’ day to ourselves, Justin texts again. “Please, just tell me you’re okay?”
Involuntarily, a small smile slips I shake my head at the phone like he can see it. Oh, I wish I could tell you how not okay I am right now. But I don’t dare text him that. I get the feeling he would go all protective if I went into the entire story about how freaked I am about Kent. Kate needs me and I haven’t made up my mind what Justin and I are at this point.
I text him back. “I’m good. Thanks for checking on me.”
His answer is fast, “Of course! I was hoping to see you tonight. Is it too late?”
We need to cool it down for a while. I reply, “Yeah, too late tonight. Maybe we can do something this weekend?”
The little bubbles that dance on the screen let me know that he’s typing a response. They flash on and off. On and off. Geez, he’s struggling with what to say. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have led him on like I did. Finally, his response arrives, “Yeah. Text me.”
It’s a cold, non-committal response. While it’s good he’s texting, finally, it’s probably going to end in a friendship. He still hasn’t said anything about my confessions.
Kate and I wake up at our usual times. I don’t need the alarm to get up because the nightmares are back. Only they’re worse than they’ve been in a very long time. During the replay last night, I think I could smell the smoke from the gunshot and hear the booming sound of it again. I’m able to shake off the sweats and settle myself down before Kate gets up.
We decided to call in at the same time. We used the same story about Chinese takeout (true), and getting some kind of food poisoning that showed up in the wee hours of th
e morning (lie). I think of it as a necessary evil so she and I can pull our shit together. She can’t face the guy harassing her, and I can’t face Justin.
I picture his face in my mind when I think of his name. The face I see is the one lying underneath me as I was exploring his body during our near-miss sexportunity. He was all smiles with a touch of curiosity. He trusted me, but I never gave it back. No, I panicked on him. The thought makes me a little sad. That was likely the one and only opportunity we would have.
After we finish calling in, we both go back to bed. Sleeping late is priority one on a girls’ sick day. I’m not sure how it goes for Kate, but I can’t sleep. I toss and turn, wrap myself in the blanket, throw the blanket off, and even go to the bathroom because my brain has convinced me that this is the problem. It was not the problem.
Sitting in the bed, I have my phone in my lap. It’s silent. Nothing on text, nothing on social media. Nothing. I’ve been back in the bed for over two hours, and I can’t stop thinking about Justin. He’s my problem. I decide to clear my head by calling Rhae. I’ve been putting that off for a few days now.
She answers on the third ring, “Miles Construction.”
“What, no hello?” I say jokingly.
Her whole tone changes. “Hey girl! How’ve you been?”
I laugh. “That’s better. That’s my Rhae-Rhae. I’m good. How’s Cade?”
“Hot, as usual. What’s the latest in big ole M-town?”
I sigh. “Not much. Too much.”
“That,” she starts and then pauses, “doesn’t sound good. What’s going on? Dragon Lady being a crazy bitch again?”
