Accidentally on Purpose

by L. D. Davis

  I avoided his blows as much as possible, but my primary goal was to protect my unborn child. Instead of holding up a defensive arm, I covered my belly and took whatever he was delivering. When I was shoved to the floor, I had enough sense to put my hands out so that I wouldn't fall, literally right on top of my child. As soon as I was able, I ran into my bathroom and locked the door just as he reached it. Kyle screamed from the other side of the door, kicking and punching at the door, demanding that I open it. I was afraid that he would eventually kick it down, but when it seemed that the door would hold, I slid to the floor with my back against the tub. I stared at the door in horror, bleeding all over my white rug, every part of my body throbbing in pain.

  I didn't cry. Crying wasn't going to help my situation. There was nothing to help my situation - my phone was lost in the chaos that was my bedroom and my neighbors were a little too far away to have heard my screams and Kyle's yelling. I had to wait for him to either leave or pass out, and eventually he did pass out, but so did I.

  When I woke up, sunlight was pouring through the bathroom window onto my face. I was stiff and sore and it took me a few minutes to get to my feet. I looked at myself in the mirror and shrunk back at what I saw. My head was covered in dry blood, cuts and bruises. My lip was busted, my eyes blackened, and there were bruises forming on my arms. I lifted up my shirt and forced myself not to cry when I saw the light bruises on my chest and belly. I felt Lucas moving around as he always did first thing in the morning, and I took some comfort from that.

  I looked away from the mirror and plucked glass from my hands before putting my ear to the door. I listened hard until I heard the unmistakable sound of Kyle's light snoring. Carefully, I opened the door a crack and peeked out. Kyle was asleep on the floor right outside the door, his head leaning up against the door frame and his legs across the length of the door. As quietly as possible, I stepped over him and tip toed through the carnage and out of my room. I went into the kitchen, picked up the phone and slumped into a chair.

  I didn't know who to call. It would have been wise to call the police, but I had relatives on the police force and no matter what secrecy they were sworn to, this would get back to my parents, and then my dad would shoot Kyle, only after my mother cut off his nut sack with a rusty knife. I didn't want to see my parents go to prison for my mistakes, so I didn't call the police, and I didn't call my mom and dad. I could call Donya, but the result would be the same - prison for dismemberment and murder. I wish I could tell you that I was exaggerating.

  After a few more minutes of thought, I decided who to call and punched in the number. Walter Sterling answered on the second ring. He sounded tired and hung over. He probably had a hell of a night at the party, and the after party he no doubt went to at the gentleman's club.

  "Your son is unconscious in my bedroom," I said into the phone. My voice sounded terrible, like I had screamed all night. Oh wait. I had.

  "Sounds like a personal problem," Walter said.

  "It's going to become your personal problem if you don't come get him right now."

  "I don't think you're in a position to make demands, Miss Grayne."

  "Oh, but I jest, Walter. Kyle had a cocktail of meth, alcohol, and god knows what else last night. He destroyed my bedroom and beat the shit out of me. So, you have a choice. You can come get him and you and I can have a little talk, or I can call the police to come and get him and you can have a talk with them. Please choose quickly, because my patience is non-existent right now."

  There was a moment of stunned silence, and then "Fuck."

  Twenty-five minutes later, Walter Sterling and three big goons were standing in my foyer. The goons showed no emotion, but Walter looked at me with regret - not regret that I was hurt, or that his son was a derelict, but regret that his pockets ran deep and that I was about to dip into them.

  "Take Kyle to the guest house on the estate," Walter told the goons. "Keep him there, don't let him leave. I'll be in touch."

  They nodded and went upstairs. Walter followed me into the kitchen. I took a long sip from my third bottle of water since escaping the bedroom while he poured himself a glass of Tequila that had been sitting on my counter for months, untouched, except to clean under it. Okay, I didn't clean under it. A couple of minutes later, we heard incoherent mumbling from Kyle coming down the stairs. The door opened and a blast of cold air blew through the house before the door slammed shut and all was silent.

  "He may need a doctor," I said.

  "I'll take care of it. What do you want, Emmy?" He looked tired, worn out, and old. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not really.

  "I need to see a doctor, someone who won't ask too many questions or report what he sees."

  He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number. There was a short conversation with very little information exchanged and then the call ended. He wrote down on a napkin the name and address of a Doctor Larkin.

  "He's expecting you and he will be discreet. What else do you want?"

  "I need someone to come clean up the mess Kyle created when he hulked out. The bedroom is trashed and there's blood in the carpet."

  "I will send someone before the morning is out. Surely, that isn't the end of your demands."

  I was not in need of anything. I had more than enough money for myself and the baby. I didn't need extravagant things, a house on the Mediterranean or a fancy car, but I wanted to hurt the Sterlings, and the way to hurt the Sterlings was through their pockets.

  "I know you're not straight with your business dealings, Walter. Pillow talk, you know. So, why don't you anti-up and I'll pretend to be completely ignorant of your fraudulent behaviors?" I sounded so bad ass, but I was really weak, tired, and pretty much shattered inside. If he gave me a hard time, I was going to jump across the table and try to kill him with my water bottle.

  Walter Sterling studied me carefully. "A year ago, I would have never taken you for an adversary. You were such a good girl."

  "Yeah, well. Shit changes. Are you going to pay me or is Jessyca going to dip into her allowance again?"

  A half hour later, arrangements were made for my money, and Walter promised to have Kyle in rehab by the following morning. I figured by the time he was out, I wouldn’t be easy for him to find. The cleaning crew arrived as I was on my way out the door to go see the doctor. Doctor Larkin only asked me questions about my age and my pregnancy. He didn't seem surprised by my injuries, as if he did this kind of thing all of the time. I imagined him pulling bullets out of members of the mafia or stitching up hookers that were beaten by politicians. By the time I returned home, the cleaning crew was gone, and so was the mess, blood included. I packed my things, again, and this time took more time to collect special items that held some kind of sentiment. I packed it all inside of my car and by the early evening, I was ready to go.

  As I pulled out of the driveway, away from the home I spent most of my life in, I allowed myself a moment for tears. I loved that house and I had loved the life I had in it, even with my mother. Leaving it behind was probably inevitable, but not under these circumstances. If I stayed, Kyle would come back, and this ugly cycle would never end, and next time my baby could be hurt. I had to go.

  I drove south, newly homeless, heartbroken, and forever fragmented.

  The girls all stared at me with their jaws practically on the table. I sighed, feeling tiny pin pricks of pain in my chest at the memory and from reciting it aloud. It was most likely the most painful twenty-four hours of my life and I was unlikely to experience anything like it again, especially since I wouldn't allow myself to ever be put in a position like that again.

  Mayson went to speak, sputtered a few words, and then burst into tears. Tabitha poured four glasses of tequila and passed them out with shaking hands and Donya sat there staring at me, stunned into silence. May downed her tequila and poured another.

  Donya abruptly stood up, knocking her chair over in the process. She looked around as if she had lost someth
ing, before marching into the house. We looked into the house with curiosity until we heard the familiar jingle of keys. I jumped up and ran after her, catching her before she could make it out of the front door.

  "What are you doing? Where are you going?" I asked, alarmed by her sudden departure.

  "I'm going to go kill that mother fucker," she said.

  "No, no," I shook my head adamantly. I knew she was serious, too. If she got into her car, she wasn't going to stop until she reached Kyle's house, where she would attempt to kill him.

  "He needs to be dead," she argued.

  "No, Donya, you can't go kill him. You have a baby here."

  "You can take care of the baby."

  "I can't! Listen, calm down. Come on back to the back yard." I tugged on her arm, but she was like a brick wall.

  "No, Emmy. He hurt you - he put his hands on you!"

  "D, I know, but he doesn't even remember it. Come on, you can't go to prison. Your baby needs you."

  "You can take care of him," she insisted. This was madness. This was a true example of temporary insanity.

  "I can't."

  "Why not?" she demanded.

  "Umm…I don’t …like…" I couldn't say diapers. I had my own baby! "I don't like…black…babies…"

  She stared at me as if I had just grown a second nose and a third eye. I stared back at her with a stern expression, as if to really impress that I didn't like black babies. The corner of her mouth twitched for a moment, and then she let out a bark of laughter, but quickly covered her mouth.

  "Oh, my god…" she said from under her hand. "This isn't even funny."

  "No, but if I didn't make you laugh, I would have had to hit you with something to make you stop."

  She wrapped her thin arms around my neck in a fierce hug. In all of the years I've known Donya, I had only seen her cry three times. The first time was when her dad died, the second time was when her mom died, and the third time was now. You would think it would be reversed, that I would be crying on her shoulder, but I understood. She and Mayson, and even Tabitha, felt that they had somehow let me down. They felt that they were deficient in their friendship and love for me for not knowing and for not being there for me after that day. They watched me transform into an entirely different person with no solid reasons as to why. They watched me detach myself from those I loved and the life I had once enjoyed. They were clueless as to how to pull me out of the hole I had dug for myself. It hurt them that I had suffered in silence. In a matter of seconds, I was being embraced by three sets of arms, and I didn't push them away.

  "I want to hear more about Luke," Tabitha said awhile later, after I was sure Donya wasn't going to go murder Kyle.

  I had insisted that we not discuss that night with Kyle again. I had asked them to never bring it up, pretend that they didn't know. This didn't go over well, and turned into a big argument, but it was Mayson who convinced the other two. Unfortunately, they jumped from talking about one man to talking about the other.

  "What about him?" I sighed.

  "Is there anything going on there?"

  "I had no idea you were such a nosey person, Tabitha."

  "Give me a break, Em. You and I have been out of touch for a long time and I don't know what everyone else already knows. I don't know if you and Luke are sliding around between the sheets or at each other's throats."

  Thankfully, the candlelight wasn't enough light for them to see my face burn when she mentioned sliding around between the sheets.

  "How is his mom?" Donya asked.

  "She's better," I said, pouring a glass of wine. "She wants to move into an assisted living home, but the siblings are fighting her on it. They should let her go if she wants to, if it's a decent place, because it isn't like any of us can take her in. Lorraine and Lena don't have the space or the time to care for her, and Luke and I don't have the space either. Even after we buy a house, I'm not sure if that's a responsibility we want to undergo."

  "Wait a minute," Mayson said, waving her hand to stop me from continuing. "You guys are buying a house together?"

  "Yeah, actually we are," I said it as if it should be obvious. "We're living in a one bedroom apartment with a growing child."

  "One bedroom?" Tabitha asked. "Who sleeps where?"

  They all stared at me with big eyes again. I quickly drank my glass of wine.

  "Lucas, obviously, has his own bed in the bedroom, and I sleep in Luke's bed."

  "With Luke?" Mayson asked. She was only joking, but I hesitated long enough for her to jump to the correct conclusions. "You're sleeping with Luke!"

  "You are?" Donya gasped.

  "Oh boy," I said and drank directly from the bottle this time.

  I told them everything, from the day I told Luke about Lucas to present. By the time I finished, between the questions and answers and objections of "Oh shit!" and "No fucking way!" and "Shut up!" my alcoholic high had worn off, and a headache was forming at the front of my skull.

  "So…"Donya said, her hands clasped together in front of her. I could tell by her tone that she was about to lay into me about something. "Let me get this straight, Emmy."

  "Are you going to lecture me?" I sighed, rubbing my head.

  "Maybe you need a lecture!"

  "Maybe I need you to stop yelling."

  "Emmy, I don't know if you know this about yourself, but you are obnoxious."

  "Thanks."

  "And you drink too much, and you have a seedy past what with your drugging and screwing other women's men."

  "I only did that…like…twice…"

  "Whatever. You have a lot of shit attached to you is what I am saying, and for some ungodly reason, Luke Kessler wants you again."

  "And may I point out that the man is smokin' hot?" Mayson said and fanned herself with her hand. "Woo!"

  "He is hot," Tabitha said with a stupid grin. "Your boyfriend is definitely sexy."

  "Your boyfriend is sexy as hell," Donya agreed. "If he wasn't your boyfriend, and if I weren't married, I would definitely want to roll around in bed with him."

  "And in a few other places," Tabitha giggled.

  My three closest friends proceeded to talk about all of the ways they would have Luke if the opportunity were ever to be a reality. The giggling and obnoxious comments were getting under my skin a little bit, but I sat patiently, waiting for them to get their shit together.

  "Sorry," Mayson said a few minutes later. "We shouldn't talk about your boyfriend like that."

  "He's not my boyfriend," I objected.

  "Well, he should be," Donya said.

  "You already live together," Tabitha pointed out. "And you have a child together. What's one more step?"

  "His family and our family get along so well, too," Mayson said. "Especially Sam. Sam and Luke's family are more like family than you and Sam. They talk to her like she's the matriarch of their family."

  "Thanks for reminding me of how much I don't fit in," I said dryly. Mayson hit a raw nerve.

  "I didn't mean it the way it sounded," she tried to back track, but I cut her off.

  "My mother finds out all of the family news before I do and I see these people almost daily. When Lena thought she had cancer again, I heard it from my mom first. If something news worthy happens in Louisiana, I hear it from Lena or Lorraine first."

  "I thought you all got along really well," Donya said.

  "We do, but...Luke's sisters are the kind of daughters my mom wants. They're a lot like my sisters in the sense that they're very family oriented and traditional. They got married young, then had children, and they don't drink or cheat or give their kids mohawks."

  "Lucas's mohawk is hella cute," Tabitha said.

  "Well, whatever. They don't do that stuff. And my mom doesn't nag them about everything they do wrong, because they never do anything wrong.

  "Luke's family is good to me, don't get me wrong, but sometimes I feel like I'm just Lucas's mom. I'm not Emmy, with my own needs and desires. I'm just the woman
who gave birth to Lucas."

  The liquor had really opened me up. The girls were quiet for a few beats, but then Donya broke the silence.

  "If the rest of his family were the Manson family, it shouldn't matter. If that man loves you and wants you, that's all that matters. As long as he's not the Charlie of the family."

  I don't want to hurt him again," I admitted out loud.

  "Then try your damnest not to," Mayson said.

  "I don't want him to hurt me either."

  "It's going to be a different kind of pain if you don't give it a shot and he ends up with someone else entirely," Donya said.

  I let that thought resonate in my head for the rest of the night, and throughout the following day. While I played in the sand with Lucas, I imagined what it would be like if I had to share him with not just Luke, but with another woman. I couldn't think about it without my chest tightening, but I realized that couldn't be the only reason to go into a relationship. It was time for me to be honest with myself about my feelings for Luke, but I had one problem. I couldn't stop thinking about Kyle.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  I entrusted Lucas with Donya and my cousins and headed to South Jersey Thursday. Traffic was a bitch, but it left me plenty of time to reconsider what I was doing. My brain ping ponged back and forth, back and forth, as I considered the ramifications of what I was about to do, but by the time I reached Cherry Hill, my decision was made and there was no going back.

  I checked my hair and makeup in my car before taking a deep breath and throwing myself out into the lukewarm September night air. In the elevator, I stupidly wondered if I should ring the bell or use my key. I was still asking myself that question when I got to the door.