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I don’t know if I can stay here legally or if Amber will get fined or go to jail. I hope neither she nor Brody go to jail. That really scares me. But they’re both here for me, ready to fight, and I’m here for them.
That’s an amazing feeling.
Since I don’t have the energy for words, I kiss Brody. I kiss him with all my remorse and hope he understands how much I hate causing him pain. He’s not expecting the contact, so he stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away. In time, I think I can mend all the hurt and worry I caused. I deepen our kiss, and he’s careful to hover his hands near my waist without touching. I’m thankful for his awareness because my body feels like a stinging fire right now. Too many bruises and too much everything.
Amber gags near her bedroom doorway. Not fake gagging. Actual gagging. “I need a few weeks or years to get used to this,” she says. “Can you just not, I don’t know, be near each other while I’m here? I need a minute to accept this new and disturbing reality.”
Without speaking, Brody urges Amber into her bedroom and closes the door. Then he comes back to kiss me. It’s so tender and light and full of love that my heart becomes a puddle at my feet. Whatever I end up feeling or not feeling, I never want us to be apart again. I can’t wait to tell him that tomorrow.
“I’ll be in the living room,” he says. “If you need anything, let me know.”
I kiss his cheek.
“Good night, beautiful.”
Good night.
I leave my bedroom door open a crack so a thin sliver of light from the living room streams across the carpet. As long as there’s light, I know Brody is here. I ease myself into bed. Everything throbs. My head. My bruised ribs. The burn on my arm. I agreed to visit Mrs. Cho tomorrow, and if she says I need to see a doctor, Amber will take me to a small clinic she found. A nice, small clinic with a kind old lady doctor. Maybe I can handle that. No. I can handle that. I’ll ease my way into it, and it will be just fine.
I grab a pillow to snuggle, realizing I forgot where I put Bamsy. I’ll find him later. This is nice. Perfect. This is where I belong. With Brody. The future is terrifying, but I’m here.
I’m still here.
I survived.
As I close my eyes and let the quiet cover me, it sinks in too deep. The silence tugs me deeper into the darkness behind my eyes until images of that man fill my head. The sound of the glass pan hitting bone echoes in my ears. His heavy body crumples to the tile.
What if I killed him? But he was breathing. His eyes fluttered open for a moment. He’s alive. I’m not a murderer. But when he wakes, he’ll be unbelievably pissed. My heart thunders in my chest. What if he finds me? But he can’t. He can’t find me. I broke the phone. As soon as I noticed it in my waistband, I smashed it. He won’t find me. I’m safe. Focus on the future.
Safe. Safe. Safe. Sah-ay-f.
Brody’s house is a sanctuary where I can heal from my wounds, inside and out. I’ll find help because I’m not alone like I always thought. Others want to help me. Friendly lawyers. Neighbors. People who love me. I have the strength now to speak up and ask for help and face whatever comes.
In five years, this will all be a memory. And I’ll laugh.
Or cry.
But still, it’ll be a memory. It’ll all work out.
I hope.
I sit up and take a deep breath, wincing from the sharp jab in my side. The darkness and quiet is too unsettling tonight, even though my body craves it, so I walk to the living room.
Brody is surprised to see me when I appear next to the couch, but he watches patiently as I ease myself into the recliner. “Do you need a blanket?”
I shake my head. With that, he smiles at me and returns to watching the silent, closed-captioned TV. I smile back, then close my eyes. With Brody near, my thoughts soften.
I can’t wait for tomorrow. A new start…
A pounding on the door jolts me awake. Brody leaps to his feet and grabs the steel bat that was near the couch. More pounding. Then kicking. Someone’s kicking the door. Wood on the frame splinters.
“Go to Amber’s room and lock the door,” Brody says. “Hurry.”
I scurry upright just as the door crashes open. That man walks in wearing a different T-shirt that shows off the faded marks and purple vein trails on his inner elbows. A huge angry-red welt bulges from his forehead. His hands grip a pistol. The barrel points at me.
I try to keep myself calm, steady, but my body doesn’t cooperate. I’m shaking like the temperature suddenly dropped below zero.
Two beady black holes suck me in. “Get in the fucking car, you cunt,” the man yells. “I am so fucking tired of you.”
