by Rose Briner
How could I let my life get this bad? I’ve dated addicts before, and men have mentally and physically abused me in the past, but something about this one is different, something evil resides inside of this man. Why can’t I just walk away from this one? The longer I sit there and think about it, the more I realize the reason is that even if I could walk away from this relationship, without some protection, Jimbo would find me anywhere I would go in this county. I would have to leave the county to be safe, and even then, I wouldn’t be safe without someone watching over me twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Who in their right mind would help me with something like that?
I don’t know how long I sit there on the floor, but I finally gather enough strength to stand and find some pain medication the doctor gave me the last time I went to the doctor and pop a few in my mouth. I then struggle to get my clothes off so I can get in the shower and rinse off. I should go start breakfast before Jimbo wakes up for work in a few hours. The clock right now is reading four in the morning, and I know he will be up soon for work. Lucky for me, I have today off from work. I don’t think I could handle being there with him the entire day; I’d probably get tempted to murder him with one of the tools in the garage. That would go over great I’m sure. Port Angeles police would love to haul me in and throw the book at me; there’s no way they would believe that I killed Jimbo because he was abusing me. They’d probably accuse me of doing all of this to myself. Like I said before, Port Angeles thinks I’m some stupid whore who belongs locked up for the rest of my life. I’ve done my share of questionable things, but nothing so terrible to deserve the way they treat me here. I’d give anything to leave this place.
As I step into the shower and let the water cascade down around me, the mist of the water transports me back to two years ago. If you ever need anything, contact me.
Drag. He and I have communicated on and off over the past two years. More so in the last few months. He knows a little about what’s been going on with me because I’ve broken down a couple of times and emailed him to tell him some of what’s been going on. He’s the only person I’ve confided in. I probably shouldn’t do that because for all I know Jimbo has been checking the emails or worse Drag is giving the emails to Jimbo, and they both laugh at me in private. In some sick twisted form of fate, this could be their way of punishing me.
I guess I could try contacting him and see if he knows anyone who could get me out of here and offer me some protection. At this point I have nothing to lose, right? Jimbo’s aggression towards me has been growing, and he’s going to kill me one of these days. Maybe even tomorrow if I’m not careful, so the sooner I leave, the better.
I get out of the shower, dress in the warmest and longest pajamas I can find, so Jimbo doesn’t decide to beat me for wearing something too revealing that the invisible people living with us might see, and start his breakfast. He’s bound to be up at any moment, and I don’t want him to have an excuse to stay around here longer than necessary and continue what he started. Once is enough for me.
I cringe when I walk into the kitchen and see all the glass and stew all over the floor. I spend half an hour cleaning that all up and making sure there’s not a trace of sauce left anywhere in the room before attempting his breakfast. Mind you; this isn’t easy with only one good eye, but I do the best I can, deciding just to heat him up some eggs and toast. I put that, along with his full cup of coffee on the table, and set his alarm for ten minutes from now so he can get up and have his breakfast before heading off to work.
I eye my computer as I walk by it on my way to the couch where I force myself to sit and watch some stupid show that I don’t even know the name of. I wait with baited breath for him to come and have his breakfast. I have the TV on low enough that I hear it when his alarm goes off, and he falls to the floor above me with a thud. I withhold the chuckle that wants to escape my mouth as I imagine him landing face first on the hardwood floor.
I hope that shit hurt, you stupid bastard, I think to myself as I continue to try and stare at the TV straight-faced.
I hear the shower turn on faintly and less than two minutes later turn off again. There went his shower of the week. No soap, most likely no hot water, and probably didn’t brush his teeth as I hear him minutes later stumble down the stairs behind me. I wait to see what he’s going to do. Wait to see if he’s going to come in my direction and continue what he started last night, but when I hear him stomp his way into the kitchen and him chewing, I turn my attention back to the TV as I channel surf and look for something to watch. I finally settle on the news since it tells me every few minutes what time it is. Great, another day of rain. Sometimes I want to move somewhere where it isn’t cloudy, foggy or raining ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time. Maybe Hawaii. A girl can dream, right?
Twenty minutes pass before I hear him pulling his keys out, and I watch out of the corner of my eye as he stumbles to the door, opens it, briefly hesitates when he sees me sitting there, and then slams the door shut behind him.
I mute the TV and wait for his engine to start, and listen for his truck to slowly start to back out of the driveway and leave. When I think he’s gone, I slowly walk to the window next to the door and move the curtain to see if he’s really left this time. When I don’t see his truck, I quickly turn the deadbolt and shut the TV off.
I stand in front of my computer for a while biting my lip nervously as I stare at the blank screen and try to decide if I finally want to ask Drag for help. I know he’s waiting for me to say the word, he’s told me this several times. Hell, I think it was just two or three days ago that he said the last time, that the second I tell him I need his help, he'd help me.
I’ve followed the club ever since that day I met them, talking to Drag whenever I’ve had the chance, donating money to the club, and looking at the pictures Drag sends me of the club events and everyday stuff they go through. I’ve even spoken a few times to his wife, Dorothy, she seems like a lovely lady and always asks me when I’m going to come and visit her. I don’t have the heart to tell her why I can’t come. Maybe someday soon I’ll get to meet her. I might not, Drag might tell me he’ll help me by calling the police to pick up Jimbo, even though he knows what kind of man Jimbo is. He tried to warn me, but I was too blind to listen to him. I wish I had listened to him before it was too late for me to make a clean getaway.
“Fuck it,” I say out loud as I pull the computer chair out and sit down in front of it. The cold air in the room chills me as I wait for my email to load. When it finally does, I almost lose the nerve to hit the send button.
My email only reads I need help.
I finally work up the courage to hit send and then stare at my computer for a few minutes, trying to figure out why the hell I just hit send on that email. This could either be the best decision I’ve ever made or the decision that will be the final nail in my coffin.
I get tired of staring at my computer, waiting for it to do something. Tell me I have a new email or something, anything at all. When it doesn’t, I force myself to get up from the chair and turn the heater on as I make my way to the kitchen to clean up the mess. I slowly do the dishes, watching with my good eye as the soap and water swirl around the plate and the cup, wishing I could just wash down the drain with the soap and the water before I finally turn it off and dry my hands. I lean back against the counter as I look around. Looking for something to occupy my time as I wait for Drag to answer, but I’ve gotten so used to dealing with Jimbo, that the place is spotless.
My phone ringing in the distance has me moving away from the counter and up the stairs to search for it. I miss the first call and seconds later; the second call comes through. Shit, I need to find that phone because if that’s Jimbo calling, there will be hell to pay shortly. I find my phone at the foot of the bed right as the second call ends, and the third begins. I half expect to find Jimbo’s name on the caller ID, but scratch my head when I see an unknown number calling me. That usually means Drag is the one
calling, or maybe a bill collector. Or worse, who knows, it could be Jimbo trying to trick me. Worse things have happened to me.
“Hello?” I whisper softly, afraid that speaking too loudly might anger the caller on the other end.
I hear a voice clearing their throat on the other end of the line, “Are you sure?” asks the gruff voice on the other end. It sounds like I woke him up. I expect an angry response when I give my reply.
“I’m sure; I can’t take this anymore,” I reply softly, fighting in vain against the tears forming in my eyes. I can’t take it anymore as I fall to my knees and begin to sob uncontrollably.
“Fuck!” Curses the voice on the other end. “I don’t know why I listened to you Nat; I should’ve pulled you out of there the second you contacted me the first time. Why did you let it get this far Nat, what has he done to you?”
“I-I can’t tell you that right now Drag. Please help me, next time he might kill me,” I’m sure he can’t make out what I’m saying. Hell, I can barely understand myself.
“I’ll call you back soon. Start to prepare some of your things,” he replies in a harsh, unforgiving voice before the line goes dead.
I’m not sure if he’s mad at me or upset with how long I’ve waited, or what the deal is with him right now. All I know is that Drag is angry and I better start to get my stuff ready and quickly. If I’m not ready, he might decide to leave me here. I can’t let that happen.
Five hours go by. Five long, excruciating hours in which I wait and pace back and forth for the phone call to come. The one that will tell me they are taking Jimbo to jail or that I should get on the first plane out of town and leave the country. I finished packing my bag less than an hour after the phone call ended and spent the next hour clearing all the history in my computer in case I need to make a run for it.
I’m concentrating so hard on the front door that I half expect to see fly open at any moment, that when the phone rings, I jump so high and shout so loud that I scare myself. I slowly look down at the display and hold my breath when I see that same unknown caller on my phone.
“Hello?” I whisper softly into the phone.
“Why do you always sound like such a scared little mouse every time you answer the phone, sweetie?”
My sigh of relief is so loud that I know he can hear it on the other end of the phone. His chuckle confirms the smile he has on his face. At least someone is smiling. I wish I had some of that confidence right about now.
“I want you to listen very carefully and follow every instruction I give you,” he stops talking, so I quickly confirm. I know that’s what he’s waiting for, I know whatever he needs to tell me has to be followed exactly.
“Okay,” I reply a little more confidently than I feel. I surprise myself with how confident I sound. I think I surprise him too because he’s quiet for several seconds. Almost like he’s trying to figure out if my cry for help was just to see how he would react.
“You have some pain pills, right? I know you have to have some with the number of beatings I’m sure you’ve taken,” all I do it sigh in confirmation. That must be good enough for him because he continues without waiting for a verbal response, “when you prepare his dinner, I want you to stick enough pills in there to knock him out, but not enough to kill him. No more than four of them, and then you wait for him to pass out. Make sure he’s out before you move on to the next step.
“After he’s out, I want you to get your bag and come to the corner of Orchid Drive; I’ll be there waiting. I need you to make sure he’s out so he can’t call the police, do you understand me?”
“I do,” I hear him preparing to hang up, so I quickly shout, “wait! Why didn’t you just call the police?”
“Sweetie, don’t freak out okay? But I’ve been watching you on and off since the day we met. I know what happens when the police are called. I can also imagine what he did to you last night, but he’s been using you as a punching bag for almost as long as we’ve known one another,” I can hear the shake in his voice. That fear in it that says to me that’s he’s been scared this entire time Jimbo was going to kill me. He’s not angry because I called him.
“Why didn’t you do something sooner if you knew all of this?” I ask. I’m not mad, I’m too drained and exhausted to be upset. I genuinely am curious why he didn’t step in sooner.
“Because sweetie, you needed to be the one to ask me for help. I wanted to be sure you’d had enough and were finally ready to leave him,” he responds before he disconnects.
He’s angry because I waited this long to ask him for help.
Chapter Four
Parker
I feel the change in the atmosphere as I get the key from Satch, another original member, and head out to check out what is going to be my new home with Brandon. The house isn’t large by any means, but with three bedrooms and two bathrooms, it is the largest home I’ve ever had, and I thank the lucky stars above that I now have a place to call my own.
I push hard to open the door as it fights against not having been opened for Lord only knows how long, and cough slowly when a cloud of dust rises and hits me square in the face. As I bat the dust away, I cringe heavily; this place is going to need a lot of work; it is entirely covered in dust. The first thing I do when I put the broom and supplies down just inside the open door, is open all the windows in the house so some of the dust can get out. I quickly step back outside and look up at the sky to make sure it doesn’t look like rain is coming anytime soon before heading back inside and find a place to set up the radio I grabbed from my room. I wait until I find a rock station I like and start sweeping the dirt into one corner of the living room.
I am just getting into the groove of things when there’s a knock at the door, and I look up to find Satch and Figs standing in the doorway, solemnly staring back at me.
“What is it?” I ask as I continue to push the last of the dirt into the corner of the room. I’m just getting ready to head into the kitchen to start there, but the look on their faces tell me I’m not going to be going that way anytime soon.
“Your stuff ready to go?” asks Satch as he looks around the room. “Place is starting to look nice; no one has lived here in years.”
“Please tell me this is a joke, I have a lot of work I still need to do in here,” I say as I gesture around the room.
“Drag said-” Fig starts.
I hold up a hand as I place the broom in the corner, “I’m on my way, just let me close the windows.”
I move off in the direction of the first window, but Fig’s voice stops me dead in my tracks, “He said right now,” he does his best impression of Drag, and I know it means right now. “We’ll get one of the prospects to close up the windows and finish cleaning up for you.”
“There’s no need for a prospect to finish this; I can do this,” I interject.
“With the look on Drag’s face, you won’t have time for that. Believe me, man, I’ve never seen him this angry. Even Dorothy is here.” Must be bad if she’s here, she rarely comes here.
I shut the door as I look towards the clubhouse and find several prospects moving bags next to the lined-up bikes.
“What the hell is going on around here?” I ask Satch and Fig as we reach the clubhouse.
“Not sure,” Fig replies, “but whatever it is, must be substantial.”
“Where’s Drag?” I ask Tim, one of the prospects as he approaches us.
“In his office,” he nods his head in the direction of Drag’s office.
I knock before opening the door, without realizing Dorothy is inside with him.
“Please tell me she’s made the decision, I’ve been terrified for her, for so long,” I can hear the pain in Dorothy’s voice.
“She has,” replies Drag as he slams his drawer shut.
They both quiet as we enter the room, “I’m sorry, we’ll wait outside,” I quickly move to pull the door shut.
“No, Thunder that’s quite all right. Get your bag and be outside
in ten minutes,” the anger in his voice is evident as he snarls at the end.
I narrow my eyes at him, but quickly move off in the direction of my room to grab my bag.
“Don’t mind him,” I turn back around when I hear Dorothy’s voice. “You’ll understand soon enough what has him acting like that. Do me a favor, Thunder? Be nice, will you?” I can’t figure out though who she wants me to be nice to. I don’t dare ask her; I might not like the answer.
I can see the pleading in her eyes, and even though I have no clue what is going on right now, I’ll do my best to comply with her wishes. Dorothy is the closest thing to a mother I have, and Drag is like my father. They’ve always been there when I’ve needed something, so whatever they need I’ll always try my best to do what they ask.
“I’ll try,” I give her a small smile as I open my door and head inside to grab my bag.
Five minutes later I’m straddling my Harley as we prepare to head out, destination still unknown. I want to ask Drag where we’re going, but the constant twitch in his jaw and the way he keeps clenching and unclenching his fists says to me not to ask. Fortunately, I know him so well. If he wanted us to know where we were going, he would’ve told us by now. I don’t want to be on the tail end of that wrath of his if I start asking him too many questions.
Just as we are about to pull off, I hear an annoying voice calling out my name, and without even turning, I know who is behind us.
“Can we please leave now, Drag? If she reaches us we’ll never get out here,” I rev my engine as I prepare to take off.
I see him glance behind us and cringe before he takes off, indicating for us to follow. I take off right behind him, Satch and Fig bringing up the rear as we speed off towards the interstate. I’ve always loved the open road and the water that lines Maple Valley as we make our way out of town. I don’t know where we are going right now, and frankly, I don’t care. I need to get away from here for a while and forget all about my troubles back home.
