On the Other Side

by Michelle Janine Robinson

  In the middle of the night Damita was awakened by a noise. She turned over on her back, as Neal was entering the bedroom. He stood and the foot of the bed and started screaming. Damita sat up.

  “What did you do with it?” he asked.

  “Huh?”

  Half-asleep, Damita wasn’t even sure what time it was. She glanced over at the clock and saw it was three forty-seven a.m.

  “I know you put it somewhere. What did you do with it?”

  Damita stared at him in confusion. “Neal, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Where is my package? I put it in my sock drawer.”

  “I don’t know what package you’re talking about, but if you put it in your sock drawer, then it’s probably still there.”

  She could hear him in the walk-in, rummaging through things, turning things over. She hoped he would find whatever it was he was looking for. If he didn’t, she realized what the end result would be.

  Suddenly, everything went quiet. She heard Neal in the living room again. She could hear him sniffling. She wondered if he was having some sort of a breakdown and was crying again. When she entered the living room so many things became clearer. Spread out on her makeup vanity tray was some white powder and Neal was sniffing it through a straw. She assumed he didn’t even notice her. He was so engrossed in what he was doing.

  “You want a hit?” he asked.

  “Neal, you know I don’t do that. I didn’t think you did either.”

  “Come on, just one hit.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Of course you will. I knew you wouldn’t, simply because I asked. If it were Carmella or one of your other friends, or Brandon, I bet you would.”

  “No, Neal, I wouldn’t. Drugs have never been my thing. I don’t need them. I never have.”

  “Are you trying to say that I do?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about me. I’ve never had a need or a desire to indulge in any of that stuff. I may have tried marijuana once when I was in high school, but that’s it.”

  “I almost forgot. You’re Pollyanna.”

  Damita sighed with exasperation. “Neal, why do we have to fight about everything? Can’t we agree to disagree? You want it. I don’t. Why does that have to be a problem?”

  “It’s a problem because it’s too damn tense around here. We both need to loosen up. This will help us loosen up.”

  “Don’t you see, Neal? This is not what’s going to solve our problems. This is what is causing our problems. Now I understand everything. I knew my instincts could not be that off. You haven’t been the man I fell in love with because you’ve been altered by this drug. All you have to do is stop and we’ll be fine. I’ll help you anyway I can. And, if we can’t do it on our own, we can try rehab.”

  Neal laughed loudly. “Woman, you must be out of your mind. There is no way in hell I would ever go to rehab. In fact, I don’t need help or to go to rehab. I don’t have a problem. It’s funny how people who drink are so quick to point out to people who indulge in other drugs how they need help.”

  “The most drinking I do is a glass of wine here and there at dinner or a shot of tequila once in a blue moon. How can you compare that to an illegal narcotic?”

  “Alcohol is as much of a drug as coke or marijuana or any other drug. Alcohol happens to be legal, but that doesn’t mean it can’t cause as much damage as any other drug. The fact that alcohol is legal and other drugs aren’t is a governmental decision, not one of science. It’s all about revenue and taxation. That’s what really influences the decisions about which substances to regulate or outlaw.”

  Damita had heard similar arguments about cigarettes versus marijuana and as far as she was concerned it was the excuse people made to justify their addiction. “I’m going to bed. I have a lot I have to do tomorrow before I go back to work.”

  “Yeah, go to bed. It’s no secret that your job has always been more important anyway.”

  Damita went back to bed, but she wasn’t asleep for long. An hour or so later she could feel her pajamas being pulled down. The stale whiff of alcohol was on Neal’s breath as he tried to force her lips open with his tongue. He pawed at her breasts and she could feel him semi-hard between her legs.

  “Neal, stop it!”

  “But, I’m your husband. I want you. I want you now.”

  “Stop it!”

  “I love you so much.” He was sweaty and grunting like an animal, trying to shove himself inside of her.

  Damita was repulsed. “Get off of me!”

  She pushed him so hard he rolled off of her and onto the floor. When he got up he was clearly angry. He whipped back the comforter from the bed and jumped on top of Damita. She tried to get away, but he was much too strong and this time he was prepared for her resistance. The more she struggled, the angrier he got. He hit her again and again until she eventually gave up fighting and lay there, limp.

  Damita sensed that he was having some difficulty staying erect. Every now and then she could feel him jerking off to get harder. The lack of lubrication and Neal’s relentless pounding and thrusting caused her to scream out in pain. He clasped his hand over her mouth to keep her from being heard. Neal mistook her muffled screams of pain for passion and it encouraged him even more. She wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, the coke or her lack of participation, but he didn’t last long and soon it was over.

  Neal rolled off of her and quickly fell asleep, while Damita lay there, crying.

  Listening to him snore, the smell of him making her ill, she thought about what she would do if a stranger invaded her home, raped and beat her. There was no doubt about the answer; she would kill him. How then was this any different? She considered going into the kitchen, grabbing a knife from the attaché case for the Forschner cutlery set Neal had bragged about spending six hundred dollars on, and plunging it deep into his heart. She laughed at what poetic justice it would be. As she lay there she thought about what knife she would choose; maybe the boning knife or the butcher knife. No, she would gut him with the fillet knife. Suddenly she was laughing uncontrollably and it occurred to Damita that she was losing her mind, Damita continued to laugh until she dissolved into a fresh set of tears. Once she was all cried out, she fell asleep.

  The next morning Neal kissed her, waking her up. As soon as memories of the previous night came flooding back, she ran to the bathroom and threw up.

  “Are you okay?” Neal asked, outside the door.

  Damita locked the door and moved the heavy wood hamper seat in front of the door.

  “Are you okay?” he repeated.

  “I’m fine,” she lied.

  When she came out of the bathroom, he was waiting with orange juice, coffee and toast.

  He smiled. “I made some scrambled eggs if you want, but I figured you wouldn’t want it now. I heard you throwing up.”

  There was an unmistakable look of agitation on her face. “You were right. I definitely don’t want any scrambled eggs. Why did you make scrambled eggs? I thought you said they were so unhealthy.”

  “I made them for you. That’s what you like. Eat the toast. It will help settle your stomach. Do you want some water?”

  “Yes.”

  She sat down and took a sip of the coffee, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table. Neal sat across from her and ate the same scrambled eggs he had complained about when she prepared them. As she watched him eat, she hoped the food would get lodged in his windpipe and kill him.

  Damita went into the bathroom to take a shower and when she looked into the mirror the evidence of what Neal had done to her was readily apparent. Her lip was split. She wasn’t sure if it was from him covering her mouth to keep her from screaming, or if it was from when he hit her. There were bruises on her arms and legs, her breasts, her stomach, even her back. She was also acutely aware of the pain between her legs. As a female, she had grown up fully aware of the dangers a woman could be subjecte
d to. Yet, she had always avoided being a victim. Now, somehow, she had been violated in her own home by the very same man who had taken a vow to love, honor and protect her.

  Once out of the shower, she was surprised to see how chipper Neal was. He was buzzing about the apartment like all was right with the world.

  “I bet you got pregnant last night,” he said excitedly.

  Damita felt like all the blood drained from her body. “I’m going running.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Neal asked.

  “I used to run every day. I haven’t gone running since before the wedding. I’m going back to work tomorrow. It’s time I get back to my normal routines.”

  Neal eyed her suspiciously. “I could run with you, like we did when we first met.”

  “I’d rather go alone,” she replied.

  Damita went into the bedroom, opened the armoire and removed an athletic bra, a T-shirt and a pair of sweats. From her briefcase she removed her CD player and wallet and walked out the front door as quickly as possible.

  “Will you be long?” Neal asked, as the door was closing.

  Since she had already opened the door, she pretended she didn’t hear him and kept going. The moment she was out the door, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  • • •

  Rather than run her usual route down Third Avenue, Damita decided she would head to the Central Park Reservoir. The one-and-a-half-mile loop encircled the reservoir and allowed her to pace herself and easily keep track of her distance. There was a large pool of water on one side and the greenery of the park on the other. It was the perfect place for her to run and think.

  By the time Damita was at Ninety-sixth Street, she heard someone calling her name. She turned to find Brandon running behind her.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Brandon said.

  She was happy to see him but her smile was still forced. “Brandon!”

  “I never expected to see you out here running, newlywed.”

  As soon as Brandon said the word newlywed, she burst into tears.

  “What’s wrong, Dee? Come on. Let’s sit this one out.”

  Brandon guided Damita through the park and they found a bench to sit down. There was a cart in front of them that sold hotdogs, ice cream and drinks and Damita watched as children excitedly bought ice cream from the vendor.

  “Now tell me, what’s going on?”

  “It’s nothing. I made the worst mistake of my life, that’s all.”

  “Then correct it, whatever it is.”

  “I don’t know if I can. I’m afraid.”

  “Tell me what’s going on, Dee.”

  “I don’t think I can yet, but I will, eventually.”

  “You realize that I’m here for you, whatever you need, right?”

  “I know. Some things a girl’s got to do alone. But thank you, B-Boy.”

  Damita laughed with the use of her old nickname for Brandon.

  “Remember way back when, when I was Dee, you were B-Boy and Carmella was Chica?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “What I remember is that guy; what was his name? Oh, yeah, I remember. His name was Alejandro. He had the biggest crush on our little B-Boy. He followed you everywhere.”

  “Did you have to remind me of that? Remember he used to call us the A-B-C kids and, according to him, all we were missing was an A. Wow! I almost forgot about that. Thanks, Dee, for the reminder. Thanks a lot!”

  “Oh stop it! You loved it! The girls loved you. The boys loved you. You were the all-American kid. I will never forget Alejandro. The way you handled him was the reason I knew we’d always be friends. You were the only straight boy in high school that wasn’t a homophobe. Hell, I’m an adult now and I still encounter grown men that are so insecure they can’t handle interacting with a gay man.”

  “That’s the kind of guy I am.”

  “Stop it,” Damita said, laughing.

  “It’s nice to see you laughing again.”

  “That’s thanks to you. Brandon, have you ever wondered why with all of our failed relationships, we never got together?”

  “First of all, some of us have had more failed relationships than others,” he chided.

  “Seriously though, Brandon, what’s wrong with me? If no one else can tell me the truth, you can.”

  Brandon looked into Damita’s eyes while holding her chin. “There’s not a thing wrong with you, beautiful. You’re a high standard to live up to. Any man knows that. He’s either got to be secure enough to be able to match you or stupid enough to not know the difference.”

  Damita smiled at Brandon regretfully. “That still doesn’t explain you?”

  “By the time I was secure enough, it was too late. What they say about males being late bloomers is the truth. You were well on your way in life while I was still trying to find myself. Thank God I finally listened to my brother and decided to take the exam to become a firefighter. Otherwise, I’d probably still be ambling about, trying to find myself.”

  Damita nudged Brandon. “I truly hate that you’re a fireman. Couldn’t you have chosen something that allows your loved ones to sleep at night?”

  “Awww. Are you worried about me?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m worried about you. The only thing you could have chosen that would have been worse than a firefighter is a policeman.”

  “That was on the list, too,” Brandon said, chuckling.

  Damita giggled. “How did I know?”

  “Like I said, I was trying to find myself. Know one thing, though. Whether I’m a firefighter, policeman, or a garbage collector, I’ll always be there for you.”

  “I know you will. Now, let’s finish that run. We have to keep you in shape if you’re going to keep your promise.”

  “Sounds like a plan, beautiful.”

  When they stood up, Damita and Brandon hugged one another tightly and Brandon kissed Damita on her forehead.

  While Brandon and Damita were running, they were oblivious to Neal keeping pace only a few yards or so behind them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Damita walked in the door sweaty from running and looking forward to a shower and was greeted by a blow to the stomach. She doubled over in pain.

  “You lying bitch!”

  “What? What now?”

  “I saw you . . . and him.” Neal had pure venom in his eyes. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you? You stood right in front of me and lied to my face. I knew you were lying. I’m not blind. Didn’t you think I’d figure it out eventually?”

  “I ran into Brandon while I was out running.”

  “What a coincidence,” Neal said sarcastically.

  Before he had a chance to hit her again, Damita ran into the bedroom, grabbed a suitcase from the closet and began packing a bag.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

  She stared at him defiantly. “I’m leaving you, Neal. This is not the nineteen fifties. I’m not some uneducated, unemployed housewife who depends on her husband to survive. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking. I’ve got people who love me. Why am I afraid? You’re the one that’s alone. You have no friends, no family who give a damn about you. I’m it. I was going to be your family and now I know exactly why you’re alone. You’re a fucking nut!”

  Neal grabbed Damita and pulled her to the floor. He pummeled her with his fists. She couldn’t believe that any man with a conscience could hit a woman the way that he was hitting her. This time, however, she at least tried to fight back. Her attempts were useless. Neal outweighed Damita by at least eighty pounds and stood close to a foot taller.

  When she managed to avoid his fists, he used his feet. He kicked her so hard she was surprised she was still alive. His feet connected with her head, her midsection, anywhere he landed. At one point he actually stepped his foot down hard on her fingers, when she tried to reach for her cell phone. She was sure when it was all over. If she didn’t wind up dead, she would have numerous broken bones.


  As she curled up into the fetal position to protect herself from the blows, he kicked and kicked at her until she finally passed out from the pain.

  When he was sure she was out, Neal looked down at her and kicked her one more time for good measure.

  “Don’t fuck with me, bitch,” he said, before leaving the apartment.

  • • •

  Damita was still curled up on the bedroom floor when she woke up the next day. It was noon and she realized she was supposed to be returning to work the very same day. She attempted to stand and couldn’t seem to make her legs work. Each time she stood, her legs gave out. She grasped at the Persian King area rug on the floor in an effort to pull herself over to a piece of furniture that would support her weight. She braced herself against the dresser in the room and stood. This time she didn’t fall. Her head was hurting so bad she was sure she had a concussion.

  She reached for her cell phone and turned it on but nothing happened. She wasn’t sure if it needed charging or if Neal had done something to it. She picked up the receiver on her house phone and was happy to find a dial tone. She called her office. The receptionist answered.

  “Hello, Danielle,” Damita said.

  “Hey! How are you, Damita? Mr. Underhill was looking for you. He thought you were due back today, but I told him I thought you were coming back on Monday.”

  “Mr. Underhill was right. I was due back today, but I was in a car accident last night,” she lied.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m a little banged up, but I’ll be okay. I won’t be able to come into work today, though.”

  “I’ll let Mr. Underhill know, or did you want to speak to him yourself?”

  “No, that’s fine. Tell him I’ll speak to him later or tomorrow. Thanks, Danielle.”

  “No problem, Damita.”

  After hanging up the phone, Damita did what she was afraid to do. She went into the bathroom and took a look in the mirror. Her face was swollen and bloody and her right eye was partially closed.

  She found her phone charger and plugged it in. She was happy to see Neal hadn’t sabotaged her phone. She would need it when she left. She was also happy to see that he was gone. He was such an anal-retentive sociopath, after everything he had done to her the night before, he probably still went to work. He couldn’t stand for things to not follow his stringent schedule. She didn’t want to waste any time getting out of the apartment, in case he returned home early, so she decided she would call her mother with her cell phone, once she was out the door.