by Nana Malone
The University of West London had the best Masters of Photography program in the world. There, I’d have a chance to work with Xander Chase, one of the youngest, most renowned photographers in the world. He’d even exhibited at Hamilton’s in London.
Some dreams aren’t meant to come true.
Maybe Evan was right. Maybe London was just a pipe dream.
Unless you went on your own.
As quickly as the betraying, insidious thought popped into my head, I shuddered and quashed it. Going on my own wasn’t an option. I’d once tried to interview for a job in Los Angeles right out of college. The bruises he’d left on my body had made it very clear that I wasn’t going anywhere without him.
I’d been with him since I was sixteen, and he’d come to my school to talk about the benefits of NYU as a college. Even then, everyone had pointed out how lucky I was that a college guy was interested in little ol’ me.
That a Peters was interested in me.
Then why don’t I feel lucky?
Nobody saw what I saw.
He could be sweet. He could be unfailingly kind. We could spend hours talking about nothing. Or debating the merits of superpowers. There were so many happy moments interspersed with the bad that sometimes I wondered if I imagined the bad times.
Like the times when I was afraid or made to feel worthless were phantoms that plagued my mind with lies. Problem was, like phantom limbs those bad moments sent aches throughout my soul that set like permanent stains.
His sweet moments were like an analgesic that dulled the pain and made me forget it lurked just around a happy corner. But his temper was always at the forefront of my mind. But still despite the fear, there was a part of me that hoped. Hoped he could be different, that I could be.
My phone rang in the kitchen, pulling me out of my reverie. I raced to grab it, a smile tugging at my lips when I saw who it was on the caller ID. “Hey, Dad.”
“Abena, how are you?” My father’s baritone voice with its accented English never failed to calm me down.
“Oh, I’m good. Just making some lunch.” I stalled, wondering what he was calling about. Neither of us was particularly skilled at small talk. A call from him was not the norm. We always relayed messages through my mother or via text. Nevertheless, I was happy to hear from him. “What’s up, Dad?”
He expelled a breath, as if happy to be able to cut to the chase and forego the social niceties of asking what I was making for lunch.
“I need the valuation papers for the condo. I’m trying to up the insurance, given the renovation we just did to the bathroom.”
“Sure, I’ll grab them.” I jogged into the study that Evan had taken over upon moving in and kept an ear out for the sound of the shower turning off. Once Evan was finished, he’d want to eat, so I needed to hurry up with lunch. “One sec, I have no idea what Evan’s filing process is.”
Quickly, I searched the stack of folders on the desk and found what my father was looking for. As I relayed the information, my gaze landed on the corner of an envelope peeking out from the desk drawer. A Queen Elizabeth stamp affixed on the thick paper.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” My father hesitated. “Are you well? You sound off.”
I sighed. His way of asking if I still thought I’d made the right choice by moving in with Evan. My parents had been so against it. After all, in Ghanaian culture, it just wasn’t done. They were so old school. You only moved in with someone after you’d done a traditional engagement ceremony.
The mere thought of marriage made my stomach clench. Not that Evan hadn’t hinted it was the next logical step. But every time I thought about it, it felt like someone was tying a noose around my neck.
“I’m fine, Dad,” I said as I tried to pull the drawer open. It didn’t budge.
“Have you selected a school yet?”
“Uhm…” My voice trailed as I grabbed the letter opener and tried to slide it into the drawer to pop the latch. “I need to. I was hoping to hear from University of West London.”
My father harrumphed. “A photography course does not qualify as school.”
I could almost see him grumbling and pacing in his office. “Dad, actually, it does. The program is prestigious, and it's at an accredited university.”
My father's accented voice pitched lower. “Abena, what do you think you’re going to do with a Masters in Photography? You’re supposed to go to law school.” Of course, to Ghanaian parents, the only appropriate professions and worthwhile educational pursuits included law, medicine, and engineering. I ignored the prick of pain his disappointment caused. I was used to it by now.
“Dad. You already have one daughter who’s a lawyer. Besides, with the photography, there's a lot I'm planning to do. With a recommendation from my professor, opportunities in production would open for places like National Geographic and a career in documentary films.”
And I was sure a recommendation from Xander Chase would open those kinds of doors. But I didn’t care about those doors. What I was after was the apprentice position offered to his top student.
“Abena, you can’t put all your eggs into one basket. You have to have a backup plan.”
“I know. I know. I’ll be looking at all the offers tonight, and I’ll make a decision by the weekend.” I could only hope and pray that the acceptance came before then. I really only had two more days to stall.
The drawer opened with a splintering pop, and for a second, I was worried I’d broken it, but it slid smoothly on its grooves. My father mentioned something about my sister, but I had already tuned him out. I pulled out the envelope with its maroon stamp of the Queen, and my breath caught. With my blood rushing in my ears, I carefully scanned the return address.
University of West London.
Twice, my brain tried to make my lips cooperate. Twice it failed. On the third attempt, I managed with a shaky breath, “Listen, Dad, I have to go. Evan’s going to want his lunch soon.”
I hung up without waiting for a goodbye. Unable to swallow and unable to breathe, I slowly reached into the already opened envelope and pulled out the papers contained inside.
My brain short-circuited as my eyes flitted over the cover sheet. …Great happiness that we offer you a spot…our students…we look forward to hearing….
Numb with shock, the only coherent thought my brain managed was, Get lunch ready, otherwise it’s going to get ugly.
In the kitchen, my body worked on automatic pilot. Chicken salad would not have been my choice of lunch, but Evan hated any Ghanaian food I cooked. I added the mayonnaise and the additional spices I knew Evan liked. I always saved the scallions for last because he liked them fresh but not too big and not too fine like the food processor would have done.
“God, I needed that shower. That run was brutal.” Evan’s voice was jovial.
I was too numb to answer, rage battled for dominance with disbelief and sorrow. Instead, I just continued chopping. My mind was unable to form coherent thoughts.
He continued without waiting for a response. “I went down by the library then up Independence. It was pretty. Still spring but with a touch of summer heat in the air.”
I smoothed the scallions off the knife into the chicken salad with my finger. While I worked, the bitter scent burned my nostrils. I still didn’t speak.
“What’s with you?” His tone was cold and held little note of concern.
I knew the moment his eyes landed on the envelope from the school. The air around him shifted subtly, and I braced herself.
His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke. “Where the hell did you get that?”
Stupid move or not, I wasn’t going to let this one go. If there was ever a time to stand up for myself, it was now. I was not the pathetic girl he thought I was. I had been strong once and I reached deep into the depths of a long-forgotten girl to find a sliver of that strength. “Where the hell you hid it.”
I’d braced for shout
ing, but nothing happened.
Instead, when Evan spoke, his voice was pleading. “Look, I know I shouldn’t have kept it from you, but you have to realize that London isn’t going to happen. We won’t survive if we don’t go together. Law is a more stable profession than photography. I mean, what are you going to do with that anyway? I had your best interest at heart.”
My best interest? My best fucking interest?
My fingers curled around the knife handle as my anger bubbled to the surface. I forced a deep breath, then another, and peeled my fingers off. “You lied to me. Every day I asked you, and every day you hid it from me.” I searched his handsome face. How had I become this? What had become of the real me?
He waved a dismissive hand. “Look. I did it for you. You needed to make a decision. The right decision. And you wouldn’t have been able to make it if you’d seen that envelope. Besides, you and I both know that you wouldn’t be happy in London.”
“Don’t!” My body vibrated with fury. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. You did it for yourself because you wanted me to make the choice that you wanted. You’re dispica—”
The stinging crack across my cheek snapped my head to the side. A pinball of pain ricocheted in my skull. The burning pain spread from my face to my neck and well into my hairline. I knew from experience now would be a good time to shut the hell up.
But it was as if the stronger woman inside my finally refused to be silenced. I gingerly touched my cheek and glowered at him. “I will not shut up. You lied to me. You hid this from me. You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough to make this dream happ—”
The next crack was enough to knock me over, and I tasted blood on the tip of my tongue. Desperate to steady herself, I reached up to the counter for purchase, but only managed to bring the diced chicken, mayonnaise, and chopping board down with me.
Evan kneeled in front of me. His tight face registered a barely concealed mask of rage. This was it, I’d done it now. There would be no concealer good enough to hide the bruises he would give me.
And I didn’t give a good god damn. I was tired of cowering.
Instead of lying there, I probed for the cutting board to use as a shield. My fingers wrapped around the knife handle instead. Shaking, I gripped it tight.
Over the years, I’d lost count of the number of times he’d hit me.
Once, I’d even tried to run home. My mother had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Evan was the kind of man I needed in my life. And I had better learn how to please him because I wasn’t going to do much better than a Peters.
My mother had also pointed out that Evan would be powerful someday and I would benefit from that. She’d called him to pick me up then.
I had learned that day not to go running home with my problems. Once, I considered telling my father. He might have patriarchy infused in his blood. But he would never stand for someone hitting his child.
But even I knew that scenario would end in bloodshed, either with my father dead or in jail for murder. Neither outcome was acceptable. So, I kept my mouth shut.
When Evan spoke, his voiced sounded controlled, but I didn’t buy it.
“You know better than to provoke me. I don’t want to hurt you, but Abbie, you cannot speak to me like that. Are we clear?”
Decision time. I could nod my head and say yes. Or for once, I could stand up to the person who’d hurt me over and over again. The person who’d deliberately tried to keep my dream from me.
With the taste of blood in my mouth and my heart hammering in my chest, I tilted my head to meet his gaze as fury chased away the fear.
Slipping the knife between our bodies, I glared at him. “No. Not clear. You have two minutes to get the hell out of my house, or I swear before God, I will not be the only one bleeding in this kitchen today.”
Evan blinked hard, then blinked again, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Abbie…” His voice held a hint of warning.
My hands shook slightly as hysteria threatened to take over. “Fine, have it your way.” The tip of the knife sliced at his T-shirt as I pressed just enough to show him I meant business. The rush of euphoric triumph when the blade carved through skin was hard to ignore.
With a wince, he stumbled backward and fell on his ass. “Abbie, calm the fuck down. Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper. We can talk this out.”
“We won’t be talking anything out. You now have sixty seconds to get out.” I dug into my back pocket and pulled out my phone. “Or do I have to call the police? Imagine what that will do to a political career not yet started. Probably not much, but think of the scandal. Your poor mother.”
His face went ashen. “You know my family has enough money to make any charges go away.”
“Maybe, asshole, but the media just loves a smear campaign. Promising young black lawyer fucks it all up. Imaging the headlines. Just another example of black kids behaving badly.”
I knew I’d hit a nerve.
He cleared his throat. “Listen to me, Abbie.”
“Thirty seconds.” I forced my body into a wide stance, knife held with both hands and pointed in his direction.
Eyes wide with panic, he pushed himself to his feet and headed for the front door with his back to the exit. “Okay. I’ll go, but we’re not done talking yet. I’ll call you later, and we’ll talk this out calmly, when you’ve had a moment to think about things.”
“You won’t be calling me because we’re done. I will never lay eyes on you again. Ten seconds.”
When he reached the front door, he turned and strode through, then slammed it shut behind him. Despite the auto locks, I still ran and engaged the deadbolt then the chain. For good measure I dragged one of the dining room chairs and wedged it against the door.
Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my shaky, as I sank to the floor in the foyer.
Jesus, had I just done that? My body shook. I’d broken up with Evan. Hell, I’d all but threatened to kill him. Now what the hell was I supposed to do?
I laid my head against the door and stared up at the engaged deadbolt. Even though my body shook, my logical thinking functions kicked in. “First things first.”
I pulled out my phone and called a locksmith. The call after that was the most important I’d ever made in my life. I clenched and unclenched my fists as I listened to the double ringing, willing the line to be answered.
“Hiya, my love.”
I tried to steady my voice, but it trembled nevertheless. “Tams? It’s Abbie. I need a place to stay.”
Chapter 2
Abbie…
I sat on that floor.
I didn't know how long. Terrified and ashamed, hysterical and…euphoric. But I had done it. I had walked away. I had left him. Or made him leave, but that was just semantics.
I picked myself up off the floor wincing as my shoulder popped. My knee protested and my head threatened to explode off of my body.
But, I was standing. And that was something I hadn't thought I'd ever be able to do. I was on my own two feet. And Evan was out of the house.
Holy shit. Evan was out of the house.
I whipped around and stared at that lock. He still had keys.
You can't stay here.
Right. I had a place to go. I classes wouldn’t start for another month, but I would just go to London now. Tamsin had already said yes, so I had somewhere to go.
Start moving. Passport. Clothes. Go.
My brain sent out the commands. And they all took a moment to process. A much needed spank of adrenaline was now breaking down to make me sluggish and slow. My head hurt. Everything hurt. God, it hurt so bad.
But I had to worry about the pain later. Right now, survive.
I didn't waste time. I grabbed the knife from where it was. I made sure the chair underneath the door knob was as secure as it could get as I went to my closet. I pulled up the largest suitcase I had and started haphazardly sho
ving clothes into it. I would have loved to take my time. Thought through what my future London style would be.
Who are you kidding? What London style will you have? You're mostly basics kind of girl anyway.
That was true. I did love the basics. Jeans, sweater, some kind of cute top. But none of that mattered because I had survived. And now I was going to live to tell the tale and I was going to London. No one was stopping me from it. I packed the makeup bag, again, just the basics. I never really learned how to do much more than foundation powder and a subtle highlight. The whole smoky eye thing had bypassed me. A fact that always irritated Evan. He always wanted me to try harder with the makeup.
So I had loads, but I had no idea how to use any of it. Not that I needed to now, because now I was on my own. Holy cow, I had just broken up with Evan. I'd not only broken up with him, I’d threatened to kill him if he ever touched me again.
Jesus Christ.
I wouldn't let myself think about it. I wouldn't let myself look in the mirror. I wouldn't let the fear that often chased the worry set in my bones. I'd done it. There's no going back now. Not that I ever want to.
God, how horrible would it be if after all of this, I succumb, I went back because I was a coward?
That's easy. Don't be a coward.
Right. When I had enough warm weather clothes shoved in the bag, I ran to get my paperwork. I didn't even have a ticket. Shit.
I sat down at my computer, pulled up the Bridge Early site and started to fill in the details. We got to the portion where they asked for my passport number, I groaned. Christ, why can't they just let me buy a God damn ticket? I ran up to the safe, my fingers fumbled as I tapped in the code, but when it finally opened, I breathed a sigh of relief and shoved my hand in. I was really going to leave. And better yet, everyone have no idea where I was.
I dug my hand into my identification folder in the safe, looking for that particular brand of matched plastic, but I didn't find it. I frowned and stuck my head further in to a have a good deep look for the passport.
What had I done with it? Evan and I had gone to Costa Rica last year. I went to Ghana every other year, so I was due to go this year anyway. What had I done with my passport?
