You are safe with me.
“Good afternoon, my name is Sunny, I’ll be your nurse for the next two to three hours. Can you tell me what brought you in today?” I ask, as I gently enter the room and write my name on the board.
It’s protocol to make sure the patients know their reasoning for being there, because it helps us assess their mentation.
Though she’s curled into herself with her knees drawn up, her grey eyes meet mine. Blood from the cut on her head drips down her face. She looks so small. So scared. And I understand the feeling.
I am so sorry this happened to you.
Her lip quivers. “I, I, I got in an accident.” She musters up and swallows hard, meeting my eyes. “He just got very angry. Because I wouldn’t take him back.” She licks her lips. “He crashed into my car.”
I approach the girl, squatting on the floor to get to her eye level. I take her scratched and bloodied hand in my own. My hand looked the same a mere month ago. She’s only a few years younger than me.
Parts of me remind me of you.
“Tell me everything,” I say with a gentle smile. “You’re safe here.” I try to remind her and myself.
We are both safe here.
Once I settle and get her stable with a plan of action, I run to the bathroom to release all the contents of my stomach. What little isin there. I heave over and over until I can’t anymore. Until my abs and back hurt, and my eyes sting as fresh tears spill down my cheeks. Then I start crying, trying to place a shaky hand over my mouth, muffling the screams that want to escape.
From such a young age we are told that little boys bullying us is justified because it means they like us. In turn as we grow up, we think the man who traps us in a corner and hurts us is somehow madly in love with us. Then they blameus. Questions ofwhy did you stayorwhy didn’t you leave soonerare the first thing to leave their mouths instead ofwhy did he do this to you?
The reality of my situation comes crashing down on me.I’m running. No matter how good life will get here, I’ll always be running until I know Ryan is either dead or behind bars. And right now, I don’t know either of those things. Will I ever?
I’m a statistic now.Hedid that to me.
My panic attacks have simmered down and mostly only appear in the middle of the night as dreams of my stethoscope wrapped around my neck, or mental warfare he put me through before it all came down to physicality. His mind games no longer worked, so he decided to use his fists instead. I was screaming but nothing was being heard.
Will I ever be able to move past this?
He is gone.But then that voice whispers,but what if he finds you?
There are warrants for his arrest. I filed a restraining order but that’s just paper.
I flush the toilet with a kick of my shoe, rinse my mouth out and wash my hands. Looking at myself in the mirror, I see my once sun-kissed skin now flush with anxiety and dread. The purplish rings under my eyes seem more prominent under the fluorescent lights. My lips are chapped and dry from the heaving and lack of water from the day.
How can he still be doing this to me?
I think about the girl sitting in the room here, and how there’sno way someone lets something like this happen except for the person who did it to her.
I’ve officially been in the city for one month.
During that time, I’ve spent most of it in Sam’s paint shop, reading books in the public library, or in my own or Sam’s apartment watching trash TV.
We decided to commemorate my monthaversary in the city by ordering take out and downing a bottle of wine while watching the Bachelorette. It’s our current weekly ritual on Monday nights. For such a short time, we’ve somehow grown so close.
Sam plays with her brown and pink streaked hair as she lounges on my couch. The crimped tendrils hang off the arm as she watches the TV upside down. I never thought I’d have anyone but myself sitting on this couch.
It’s no longer empty.
“So, we have an event on Friday. I know that’s not your scene, but I promise, it’s super low key. It’s the grand opening of this cute, trendy hotel. It’s going to be a little rooftop party. Naturally,” She gestures with her wine glass, “my parents want me and Tyler to bring dates. He never does, just so he can make a statement. I tend to bring girls to piss them the fuck off. Will you come and be my date? This is just to get under my parent’s skin.”
“I will gladly be your date to piss your parents off.” I raise my glass.
“Thank god.” Sam clinks her glass with mine.
CHAPTER SEVEN
