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Glancing into the rearview mirror, I give my friend’s apartment one last look. I feel so guilty for getting myself into this mess and inadvertently dragging Gina into it. When I adjust the mirror slightly, I catch sight of my own face. With my dark hair, bright blue eyes, and nearly flawless ivory skin, I can pass for pretty in the right light. I’m much less thrilled about passing for pretty right now, because it’s this pretty face that drew Stan to me.
As I drive to his place, I can’t help remembering all the seemingly inconsequential decisions that got me where I am today. I met him at work, being a junior attorney, I looked up to Stan because he was older and more established. The partners loved him and were always bragging about his moves in the courtroom.
Looking back, I can now tell Stan love bombed me hard. He’s a smooth-talking devil who talked me into going out with him in five minutes flat. It didn’t hurt that he was male model gorgeous, a sharp dresser and cunning in the courtroom. I honestly thought I’d met my perfect match. Little did I know all the grief that man would eventually end up causing me. Had I known then what I know now, I would have run hard and fast in the opposite direction.
When I arrive at the apartment, the moving company’s truck is parked at the curve in the front of the building, and a police car is parked across the street. Although anxiety twists in my stomach, I force myself to get out of my car and face the man who put me in the hospital. “You can do this,” I mumble under my breath.
Stan should have already received an official notice that this supported move was taking place today, whether he was present or not.
I approach the two law enforcement officers, give them my copy of the court order, and show them my ID. “Thank you for coming out today. I appreciate it more than you know.”
There’s a male and a female officer. The woman gives me a kind smile, “No need to thank us, ma’am.”
Meanwhile, her colleague is looking over my paperwork. After a couple of minutes, he glances up. “It looks like everything’s in order ma’am.” He hands it back to me, along with a piece of paper to sign.
I quickly read over it to find that it’s simply verification that this meet up took place. I scribble my name on the dotted line as I explain, “I have receipts for all the big-ticket items that I’m taking from the apartment today. I thought it would be prudent in case my ex tries to accuse me of taking things that don’t belong to me.”
The woman responds, “Good thinking.”
We walk to the front of the apartment, and I step up onto the landing with both cops flanking me. I’ve only got an hour, so I need to be quick about this if I want to secure all my possessions. I key in the door code that lets us in the building and we take the elevator to the top floor.
Standing in front of door eight one eight causes me to break out in a cold sweat. I don’t want to do this, but I do it anyway. Letting Stan intimidate me and leaving him all my stuff would make me a coward in my own mind. I bring up a trembling hand and ring the doorbell. When no one answers after three or four rings the ball of anxiety in my stomach begins to unknot. I guess Stan decided to avoid dealing with the consequences of his own actions, which is all the better for me today. I push my key into the lock and let myself in.
I’ve been gone for two weeks, and the apartment reeks a little. Since there are containers from a local restaurant scattered on the bar between the kitchen and living room. I assume that’s where the smell is coming from.
The anxiety in my stomach starts to grow again when I see the now glassless, antique curio cabinet he shoved me into. It looks obviously damaged without the glass, kind of like me. It’s a brutal reminder of how hard it is to withstand true violence. I do my best to keep my feelings of vulnerability under control.
Stan was charged with domestic abuse and has already had his arraignment. I must remain calm, no matter what. If I lose my shit, I’ll end up proving all the things he claimed in court about me are true, that I’m hysterical and overly emotional. Therefore, I suck it up and talk to the movers as they come through the door. “Start with the sofa and work your way down the list, securing the largest items first.”
“Yes ma’am,” one of the men replies.
The male officer speaks up, “You’re down to fifty minutes.” My eyes drop down to read the name on his uniform. It says Duncan.
When I open my mouth to complain, he quickly points out, “The time started when we arrived at eleven, not when you got here.”
Damn, he’s right. The time I spent assuaging Gina’s fears meant I was running a few minutes late. I make a mental note that Officer Duncan plans to be a stickler for the rules. Intent upon not wasting any more time, I say, “Thanks for the heads up. I’m going to start packing my clothes.”
The female officer follows me into the bedroom, watching as I pull my suitcases from under the bed and begin dumping everything I own inside. I don’t stop long enough to fold my clothing or organize anything. My all-encompassing goal is to get my stuff out as quickly as possible in hopes of not having to deal with Stan.
Unfortunately, I don’t turn out to be quite that lucky. The snake in the grass that used to be my boyfriend comes back twenty minutes later, carrying a tray of coffee and a big box of donuts. He’s smiling, making polite conversation, apologizing for the mess, and handing out the coffee like this is the most normal situation in the entire world. Then again Stan’s a malignant narcissist. Image is everything. Right now, he’s just managing his image.
Neither of the officers accept refreshments from him, but the three-man moving crew take full advantage of his kindness. I can see him through the doorway slithering around like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
For some reason, I start to panic. Doing my best not to let it show, I pack faster and faster. The movers bring me a stack of boxes, the ones I ordered and paid for. I start filling them, not caring that things are all mixed up.
A feminine voice drifts from across the room, “Are you okay, ma’am?”
“Yes,” I respond tightly. “I’m just anxious to get my things and get out of here.”
She uses her foot to shut the door, which turns out to be just the reprieve I need to haul in a deep breath and gather my thoughts.
She takes a step closer and looks me over with a critical eye. “This man has really done a number on you hasn’t he?”
“It’s all in the protective order,” I reply in a barely audible whisper.
“Don’t worry,” she states in a low voice. “He can’t get to you. With two officers present, you’re safe.”
Chapter 2
