I smiled back and looked into his dark eyes. "Why is that?" I asked, taking a drink of my cooler.
"Because then I wouldn't have the chance to date such a beautiful angel."
My stomach did a somersault at his words. I had never been spoken to like that before, and for the rest of the night, he hung around, buying me drinks and dancing.
By the end of the night, my friends had talked me into accepting a date with him. I had canceled my date with John Thursday night, and that Friday night I spent time with Jonas in his garage watching him work on his muscle car while listening to music. The night ended with us ordering takeout and binging a show on Netflix. We fell into bed the following weekend and started dating shortly after that. He was amazingly thoughtful and gorgeous. Even a bunch of girls from work wondered how I had landed such an amazing looking guy. They were right, he had a body of a god, but he should have for the amount of time he spent in the gym. Soon we were spending all our time together, and soon I had fallen completely head over heels for him.
Everything was great, but in hindsight, I should have paid way more attention to what was really going on. There were nights I would come home from work and head over to his place to find his apartment completely destroyed. His temper was not one to mess with, and he would fly off the handle at almost anything. He was pushy and demanding, and I, for whatever reason, was desperate enough to believe his lies and excuses when he apologized.
Soon he was controlling my every move, denying me nights out with co-workers and friends because he claimed he needed me. It hadn't taken me long to finally figure out what was going on. His mood swings were courtesy of the steroids; he was juicing, but I was in denial and had completely misread the situation. Now it was too late.
Our first big fight came on a Tuesday afternoon. We were supposed to be going out with some of his friends after I was done working. However, I was running late. I had to wait for some blood results to come back from the lab for one of our patients. The doctor had asked me to stay until the fax came in and send him a text as soon as I received it. Forty-five minutes after we had closed, the fax had finally come in. I knew I was already in trouble with Jonas, so I quickly sent the doctor a snapshot of the report, locked the office, and made my way to Jonas' apartment. As soon as I walked through the door he came at me.
"Where the fuck you been?" he growled.
"Sorry, I told you I had to wait for a report to come in. A patient needed her results today," I said, flinging my purse onto the table and trying to ignore the fact that he was in a rage.
"That's the fucking doctor’s job, Katy, not yours. When you tell me you’re going to be home at a certain time, you fucking need to be here. What's going on, does that rich prick have his dick inside of you? Your pussy getting bored with me!" he shouted, grabbing me and pushing me up against the wall.
I was shocked at his outburst, and when I didn't respond, he smashed his fist through the wall just inches from my face. I fought back tears as he let me go and continued slamming things around the apartment, stomping and barking. Instead of collecting my belongings and leaving like I should have done, I let what had just happened go and got ready. I figured he was just angry at the situation. What I didn't want to see was he was really a controlling and abusive boyfriend in the making. Somehow, as these incidents continued, I felt like I deserved being treated like that.
Things calmed down for a while, and soon he had apologized and things went back to normal, but it didn't last long. Two weeks later, I was busy studying for an upcoming exam I needed to take, and I accidentally burned dinner. That was the night he hit me for the first time. Instantly, I snapped back at him, causing him to hit me again. The second time he hit me, only a week later, we were getting ready for Michelle's wedding. He didn't want to go, but I didn't want to have to explain to everyone where he was. After he beat me, I changed my dress to hide the already forming bruises that he had left on my arms, and instead of staying for the entire evening, we made an appearance at the ceremony and I faked sick. He, of course, put on a great show, acting as if he actually cared about me, which my friends ate up.
Two weeks after that was the first time he actually hit me in the face. It was a Monday morning and he had already left for the gym. I stood in the bathroom wrapped in a towel, my arms and upper body black and blue. I stared at my right eye; it was completely bloodshot from the hit, and it was already starting to turn that beautiful shade of black and blue.
My stomach did flips as I glanced at the clock. It was already seven. I had to be at work in an hour and I had no way to hide this. Bruises on my arms, chest, legs, and back could be easily hidden with long sleeves and pants, but the face? There was no way I could do anything about my face. I'd seen plenty of young girls come into the clinic wearing globs of makeup to hide the bruises their boyfriends had left for them. I couldn't do the same.
That morning I walked into the office with my sunglasses on and sat down behind the desk and started in on e-mails. Eric came out from his office.
"Morning, Katy. Do you have Mrs. Sullivan's file?" he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee and turning to look at me.
I quickly handed him the file, praying he didn't notice I still had my sunglasses on.
He cleared his throat. "Um, Katy, you forgot to take your sunglasses off, silly girl."
"Oh geez, I didn't realize," I said, staring at the computer screen. "I have a bad headache today," I lied.
He stood there looking at me. "Well? You can't see patients like that today."
I slid the glasses off my face, careful not to look at him, and put them in my purse. I couldn’t see patients anyways with the shiner I had.
"Katy, could I see you in my office for a second?" he asked.
I nodded, closed my eyes, and followed him into his office.
He sat down behind his desk, gesturing for me to take the seat across from him. "Katy, what is going on?"
I tried to play dumb. "What do you mean?" I asked, swallowing hard.
"Katy, look at yourself. I've worked with you for a long time. I've never seen you looking so..." he hesitated. "I've noticed the bruises, Katy. I'd have to be an idiot not to, and now the black eye," he sighed. "I don't want to have to do this, but I have no choice. I can't have you coming into work looking like this. You need to get out of this relationship. I'm going to give you a week off. You need to get home and get out of this. If you need help, I can get you help; there are programs."
I had envisioned this exact moment and I swore I would be stronger than I ended up being, but as the words fell from his mouth, a tear slipped from my eye and down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away. He was right.
I gathered my things after our conversation and made my way back to my house. Only when I returned, Jonas was there, working out in the garage with two other guys I didn't recognize. I didn't want to fight about why I was back home, so I just told him I wasn't feeling well and went in and crawled into bed.
Soon the eye healed, I stayed out of trouble with Jonas, and I went back to work. I didn't tell Eric that I was still in the relationship. I lied and told him I had gotten out of it because there was no way I could have left without getting hurt. Instead, every chance I got I planned and planned, and it took me another six months of planning before I had decided to run.
A blaring horn quickly reminded me that I was in the parking lot of the hospital, and I jumped back as they drove by. It was cool this morning, and a shiver ran through me as I walked quickly through the parking lot to my car. I unlocked the door of my car and threw my duffel bag into the back seat. I was convinced I had done a good job of hiding in a big city with a new job at a large hospital. I got into the driver’s seat and looked out the windshield and realized that perhaps I hadn't. There, right in my field of vision, was a large handprint sprawled out on the glass.
A funny feeling sank into the pit of my stomach as I put the key in the ignition and looked around the parking lot for any signs of other people. There wa
sn't anyone around, and I didn't wait. I turned the engine on and as I pulled out from the parking spot, I saw a car’s lights start up and pull out of a spot across the parking lot from where I had been parked.
I tried to see who was driving the car but couldn't. I swallowed hard. Perhaps Jonas had found me. I kept watch in my rearview mirror, praying that the car turned off onto another road, and it finally did only a couple blocks from where I was living. If it truly was Jonas, I was going to have to figure out what the hell I was going to do. Until that time, I would just pack up my shit and move again.
Chapter 7
Dagger
I trudged across the floor of my apartment to the bathroom for a hot shower, every part of my body aching. I turned the shower on and brushed my teeth while I waited for the water to heat. Pulling the shower curtain back, I stepped in under the hot spray and let the heat from the shower soak into my body just enough for me to feel human again. By the time I was finished, the water had started to turn cold.
I reached for the ratty towel that hung on the towel rack and wrapped it around my waist. I stepped out of the shower just in time to see three cockroaches sitting on the edge of the bathroom sink.
"For fuck’s sake," I mumbled under my breath.
Quickly grabbing my gym shoe from the floor, I smashed them, killing all three of them. I leaned against the bathroom sink and looked at myself in the mirror. I was living in such a hole.
I looked at the shower behind me. Tiles were missing on the wall, and two more were just about ready to fall off. I looked down at the sink. It was cracked, and the toilet would continuously run if not flushed carefully.
"Fuck me!" I yelled out.
I marched out of the bathroom, holding the towel around my waist, and grabbed my phone. I'd had enough. I dialed that dick of a landlord and left yet another message on his phone. This was the third time I'd called this month, and he had ignored every single one of them. This time I didn't bother leaving a message. I threw my cell on the bed. I knew he wouldn't call back, but come the first of the month, he would be here to pound on my door, and every other door in this shithole, to collect his four hundred bucks. The fact that he hadn't called me back led me to believe that he had labeled me one of his problem tenants. That meant I was probably on top of the list of the people he needed to evict sometime in the upcoming months, and knowing him, he would take pleasure in telling me to get out.
I threw on my workout shorts and went over to the kitchenette and began to shove handfuls of spinach and broccoli along with a scoop of my protein powder into the blender cup that sat on the counter. I added coconut milk along with a handful of blueberries and raspberries and blended up my breakfast. My head and body still ached, and I seriously doubted that I would be able to make it through my gym session this morning.
I grabbed two ibuprofens from the kitchen cabinet and downed them with my shake, hoping they would dull some of the pain. My hands were swollen, my knuckles red and raw, and I could barely make a fist. Hopefully, they would be fine by the time I started hitting that good ole bag later this morning.
I downed the remainder of my shake and grabbed my bag and keys. With my gym bag slung over my shoulder, I was just about out the door when my phone rang. "Yeah, it's Dag," I barked into the phone.
"Delgado, you do realize that I have a list of people who would be more than willing to take your shithole of an apartment, right?"
As soon as I heard his voice, I rolled my eyes but bit my tongue. Over the years I had always been quick with my replies to anyone who pissed me off, which had ultimately been responsible for landing me right where I was today. Instead, I said nothing and just listened.
He was a nothing but a bully. He knew I had nowhere to go and probably wouldn't find anything cheaper. He also knew I couldn't afford to pay any more, and there were many months that I had asked for another week to be able to get him his full rent.
"You know, Delgado, you, my friend, are living in prime real estate, and I could have your place rented out in a matter of seconds. As a matter of fact, I just got off a call from a very desperate mother. Her and her two kids were practically begging me for a place! Is it time I write up an eviction letter? Spell it all out to you in black and white."
"Fuck you, John," I spat into the phone. "You're a fucking bully." He was just like every other bully I had confronted in my lifetime. They loved to make a person bleed.
I tried to rein in my temper but couldn't. The threat he had spit at me had done it, and I snapped. "I don't live in prime real estate; I live in a fucking efficiency. Do you even know what that means? That means I can sit on the fucking can and brush my teeth at the same time that my feet are in the shower. Did you know it's actually easier for me to treat that short-ass sink as a fucking urinal than it is to use the toilet that it hangs over. Basically, I have to slide myself underneath the sink to take a fucking dump!"
John hadn't had the pleasure of seeing me snap, but now he would. I'd had enough. "Don't come barking around here for your fucking rent either, asshole."
"That’s it, Delgado! You're out!"
The phone went silent and it took me a minute to realize he had hung up. I pocketed my phone. I now had plenty of anger and angst in me and knew I needed to work it off. I was also damn determined after my workout to find myself a new place. I was living in fucking Virginia Beach. Surely there was something here that was better than this filth.
I drove to the gym, thinking about my options. I was determined not to live in my car again. I'd been there and done that, showering in the gym bathroom and using restaurant bathrooms. I needed my life to be different and knew that staying in that hellhole would keep me where I was. So, if for the time being I had to sleep in my car, I guess I could, at least for the remainder of the summer. It would give me time to get a couple of fights under my belt and some money in my pocket for something a little nicer.
"That's it, Dag, keep going. Left, left, left, right," my trainer called from behind the bag.
I was hitting that bag extra hard today, and I was pretty jacked up by the time it came time to spar. I took all my rage out on my poor partner, barely giving him any time or chance to hit me back, finally knocking him to the ground.
I walked back to the changing room, utterly exhausted with ice on both of my swollen hands. My trainer walked with me to my right. I could tell he was impressed with what he had just watched.
"Dag, if only you could fight like that in the ring every single time, no one would ever stand a chance coming up against you."
"Thanks, coach! Frustrations were high!" I took the towel that hung around my neck and wiped the sweat from my brow.
"Let me know what to do to piss you off every time and you'll be golden!" We both laughed.
"Hey, I saw the announcement that came out for the big fight. You think there is a chance you could get me into one of those big matches at the end of next month?"
"Absolutely, I think there's good possibility. Tell you what, you get home, get some rest, and I will look into it and see if I can get you registered," he said, smacking me on the shoulder. "I have to go meet up with my next client."
After I took a long, hot shower, I made my way to the car. I was looking forward to hearing what coach had to say about the big match. I knew he would get me into this fight. I also knew that the recruiters would be there from larger cities.
I drove back to my apartment excited about the opportunity, the windows down and music blaring. I thought to myself that maybe, just maybe, things would start to get better for me, that this was the window of opportunity I needed. The good mood lasted until I pulled into my parking spot outside of my apartment building. I was just in time to see the last bag of my things being deposited to the curb. John dropped it into the pile with the others. That asshole had come and emptied out my apartment.
"What the fuck!" I yelled, beating my hand against my steering wheel, and climbed out of the car, slamming the door. I came around the front of it ju
st in time to see the slimy fucker smile and wave as he sauntered back up the stairs to what was once my apartment.
If I didn't fear going to jail, I would have charged up those stairs and taken a swing at him. I wasn't surprised that guys like this got off on bullying people, and even though I'd clean the floor with him, he wasn't worth it. Instead, I watched after the prick as he climbed the stairs up to my apartment, the anger building in me. He's not worth it, I reminded myself as I gathered my things and threw them into the back seat of my car.
I got into my car and drove down the road, stopping at the nearest motel that claimed they had vacancy. The place was a complete dive from the outside anyways, which funnily enough gave me an inch of hope that I just might be able to afford this place, until I could find something else. The good thing was I hadn't paid for this month’s rent at the other place yet, so I still had that money. I went into the office and waited at the counter.
"Can I help you?" A man emerged dressed in dirty jeans and a white wife beater, a bottle of beer in his dirty hands.
"I need a room," I mumbled as I counted what money I had in my pocket.
"One day, three, what?" he asked, putting the bottle down and wiping his hands on his jeans before grabbing his register book.
"A month, maybe more."
The man’s eyes lit up and he rubbed his hands together before grabbing a long-term stay sheet. I threw my driver’s license on the counter. These guys must love people like me. A full month’s worth of rent, and he doesn't have to worry about getting someone in that room nightly. Makes his job easy. Although in this neighborhood, with the room rates what they were, he probably had no trouble with that. The working girls on the street had a place to go, and the sheets were usually clean.
"Did you want the place cleaned daily?" he asked as he copied information off my driver’s license.
Dagger Page 4
