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Serena
My hands have never moved so fast. I’m like a robotic packing machine, as I continue throwing all my personal possessions into boxes at random. I’m safe, I keep telling myself. Why all my courage has fled in the face of seeing him again, is beyond my ability to reason. I glance up at the officer again. Her badge says Andrews.
“Sorry to be so jumpy, Officer Andrews. I’ve been strong up until now. I thought I could do this.”
She sighs, glances at the closed door and back at me before speaking. “I wish that I’d had time to read your protective order.”
As I pack, memories rise in my mind. “Mine is probably much like every other domestic violence story. Everything was fine until he came home drunk one day. I didn’t even know he had a drinking problem, much less that he was an alcoholic.”
“Yeah, alcoholics are pretty good at hiding their drinking,” she murmurs supportively.
“I remember thinking how bizarre it was that he was screaming at me. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying because his speech was so slurred. We got into a shoving match, but I managed to get him to bed that night. But he ended up getting rip-roaring drunk three more times, before things got really out of hand, and he ended up throwing me into the cabinet.”
“The one in the living room with no glass?” she asks.
I nod as a sick feeling swirls in my stomach.
“Damn, that’s brutal. I hope you weren’t injured too badly.”
“Lacerations and a fractured wrist.” I don’t tell her that now, three months later, it still hurts at times.
She nods.
“I think I was in shock. I had always heard that abusers start out with verbal abuse and work their way up to violence. Not Stan. When he gets drunk, the devil pops right out every single time.” I close the last box and return to my luggage, which is still open on the bed.
“Let me guess,” she says. “He apologized and promised it would never happen again.”
I pick up my robe and toss it into the suitcase then fling the lid down. “In retrospect I feel stupid for believing him.”
She walks over and holds down the lid of my overstuffed suitcase, while I struggle to get the zipper closed. “I’m guessing he didn’t make good on that promise.”
“That fickle promise lasted for a few months. Two weeks ago, he came home drunk at three in the morning when he was supposed to be on a business trip. He caught me off guard when I was still half-asleep and crawled over top of me, wanting sex. When I refused, he punched me in the ribs.”
Her eyes flew open. “Holy crap, are you okay?” She quickly recovered and helped me close the lid of my second suitcase.
The shock on her face reminds me that his behavior was just as extreme as I believed it to be, Stan kept telling me I was making a big deal out of nothing. I nod. “Yeah, thankfully none of my ribs were broken, but I still have the remains of a fist size bruise on the right side of my torso.”
Lifting up my shirt, I show her. “That was it for me. I packed an overnight bag, grabbed most of my valuables and headed to my best friend’s place.”
“I assume the hospital contacted the police?”
I nod, “Yeah, they have an officer working out of the ER, as some kind of liaison. I told him everything and he made a full report. Stan was picked up, charged, and had an arraignment hearing. He’s out on bail and my protective order says he must stay at least a hundred yards away from me unless law enforcement is present, or we’re in court.” I pull my suitcases off the bed and set them on the floor. “Sometimes, a hundred yards doesn’t seem like nearly enough, you know?”
She frowns. “Yeah, I do know how little protection that seems when someone is trying to harm you. Did he come looking for you? If he did it might qualify as stalking,” she advises.
“No, I’ve been staying with a friend, and he doesn’t know where she lives. We used to work together in the same law office. I quit my job so he couldn’t have access to me there. I also traded out my cell phone and got a new number. After getting a restraining order and attending his arraignment, I made arrangements to relocate to another city. My hope is once a few weeks pass he’ll get over being butthurt about not being the one to break up.”
“Those were all smart moves. Do you really think he’s going to let you go that easily?”
I shrug. “I don’t see why he wouldn’t, he’s not tried to make contact since I moved out and he’s an attorney, so he knows the implications of violating a restraining order. I guess I’m just jumpy because seeing him brought all the abuse back up for me.”
“Emotions are like that. You might want to link up with a trauma counselor. Most women think they can get past it on their own, but it’s often harder than you think it’s going to be. Trust me when I say that I know how hard it is.”
Something about the tone of her voice clues me that she’s been through something similar. My eyes fly open, “You too?”
She nods, looking me in the eyes. “It’s why I got into law enforcement and chose the domestic violence task force. I want to help other women help themselves.”
“I’m glad you did. I needed this talk more than you know. If the change of scenery doesn’t help, I’ll definitely look for a therapist.”
