While he was gone, Tina pulled me onto the sofa next to her. “Are you sure about this?”
I didn’t understand the question. Wasn’t she happy for us? “Yes, I am. I love him.”
She tucked her light brown hair behind her ear and leaned forward until she was so close I could smell her perfume. “If you ever need anything, you call me. Okay?”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just nodded. Did she mean she wanted to help with the wedding plans? She patted my leg as she stood up and wandered over to her mother, who was holding a sleeping Hannah.
Nick slipped back into the house. His face seemed cold, his jaw locked.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him, touching his hand as he sat back down beside me where Tina had been.
He pulled his hand away. “Nothing.” His voice was as cold as his expression. My heart sank. I hadn’t heard him speak to me this way since Jason’s visit.
“Abby, would you like to wear my wedding dress? It’s upstairs in the attic. It would be perfect for you,” Sofia said from where she sat across from me.
The ache in my chest deepened as a memory popped into my mind. I was eight and used to love exploring the attic. One day I found a large cedar chest. The wood gleamed, almost beckoning me to open it. When I did, I gasped at the layers of white chiffon. It was the most beautiful garment I had ever seen. In my childish mind I imagined it was the dress for an angel or a princess. I pulled it out and managed to get all the layers over my head. Of course it was too big, but as I stared into the gilded mirror that leaned up against an old dresser, I couldn’t help but imagine myself wearing it when I was old enough to marry.
When my parents, who had been looking for me, found me wearing it, I thought I was in trouble, but my mother only smiled. My father picked me up and told me I looked like a princess. At the time, that was a true compliment, and my chest swelled with pride.
“Abby, are you okay?” Sofia asked, bringing me back to the present.
I shook away the memory and replied, “That is such a sweet offer, Sophia, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “You’re right. I’m sure you want a more modern style. What was I thinking?” She smiled. “Have you set a date?”
I glanced at Nick for help; his face was even colder. I stared at him, waiting for an answer but he wouldn’t look at me. The ache in my chest deepened. “We haven’t discussed it yet,” I finally answered.
When Sofia went into the kitchen to bring out dessert, I followed her in. “I’m so sorry about the dress, Sofia. I’m sure that it’s beautiful, but ever since I was little, I wanted to wear my mother’s. Since my dad can’t be there, I thought that wearing the same dress my mother wore when they got married would make me feel closer to him.”
She set the bottle of wine she was holding next to the apple crisp on the counter, and touched her hand to her heart. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry he can’t be there for you. You wear whatever you want. It’s your day.” She wrapped me in her arms for a comforting hug. She smelled of cinnamon from the dessert.
On the way home Nick was silent, his expression hard as stone. Every time I asked him what was wrong he would respond curtly, “Nothing.”
The elevator ride was extremely long, the silence in the small compartment deafening. When the ping rang out at our floor, I sighed with relief.
I followed him into the apartment, stepping over to lay my jacket on the chair. I took a deep breath, preparing to speak, hoping I could make him smile. I hated when he was in a bad mood. “Look, I know you’re upset,” I began, turning around. He was standing with his back to me, facing the TV. “I’m sorry I told her no, but—” My words fell away as he spun around so quickly I didn’t see his hand fly out. I felt it, though, as it smacked across my face. A sharp searing pain spread before I realized what had happened. I lifted my hand up to touch my cheek that now felt like it was burning. “Did you just hit me?” I whispered, completely stunned.
The expression on his face could only be described as enraged. I had never seen him this angry before. I thought I saw glimpses, but nothing compared to this. “You’re damned right I did. You deserve it after the way you laughed in my mother’s face. She was trying to do something nice for you and you basically spat at her.” His words were spoken with venom. His tone of voice stung as much as the slap itself.
I knew the emotions that should have passed through me—sadness, fear, pain, considering this man was supposed to love and support me. But they were not what I felt as I stared at him, holding my now stinging hot cheek. I was…pissed, incensed, infuriated, furious, irate. And all other angry words in the dictionary—they all passed through my mind. How dare he, or anyone, put their hands on me. “I did not. I wasn’t rude, I told her I couldn’t, and that I was sorry. Then I explained to her in private why I couldn’t wear her dress. She understood and gave me a hug. You might have noticed if you hadn’t been in such a bad mood.”
Some of the anger left his face. “What was the reason?” he asked, his voice softening as well. The fact that his mood could change that instantly, after he had just struck me, only added to my anger. It didn’t seem to bother him that he had just slapped me. I saw no guilt on his face.
“Go to hell,” I yelled, running into my room and locking it behind me. Even though the pain in my cheek was subsiding, a burning started in my chest with the threat of tears. My breathing turned to wheezing as I fought the feeling. I paced my bedroom, feeling trapped in my own home.
He pounded on the door. “Abby, come on. I’m sorry, okay.” He actually sounded sorry. Even though his voice was muffled through the door, it held a touch of remorse, but it had no effect on me. I was too angry to fall for that.
“Get out of my house. I will not be with a man that hits a woman. I was not brought up that way. Get out,” I screamed. My body was vibrating with furry; my throat ached from the strain.
“Since you put my ring on your finger, you’re mine and I love you. I’m sorry I hit you. I didn’t know that you explained to my mother. But I’m not leaving. We belong together.”
Backing up a few steps, I asked, “So if I didn’t explain to her, you wouldn’t be sorry you hit me?”
There was silence for a few seconds before he spoke. “I didn’t say that.”
“But that’s what you meant.”
“Come out and we’ll talk about it. Please.” I heard his hand brush the door.
I sat on the bed, prepared to stay there all night. I had never been hit by a man and I wasn’t going to let it happen again. Even as a child, I was never spanked. My parents never believed that raising a hand to others was the way to discipline. And having my mom and dad as role models could not prepare me for this situation. My father was the most caring man, and would never raise his hand to my mother, or any woman for that matter.
“Open the door, Abby,” Nick growled, obviously losing his patience.
I ignored him, lying back on the bed, trying to focus on the cracks in the stucco, hoping to tune out the man in the hall. My silence made him angrier. He slammed his fist on the door, making the wood rattle. But I was too afraid too open it.
The banging lasted for about an hour. During that time I emptied his dresser and packed his suitcases. After that I sorted my own dresser and closet, cleaned under the bed, and when I ran out of things to do, I realized that I really had to pee. So bad that I was afraid to move.
Walking carefully toward the door, I leaned my ear against it, listening for the TV. It was off, and I could hear him snoring. I opened the door slowly, worrying it might creak; thankfully, the only sound I made was my own breathing as I tiptoed towards the bathroom.
Just as I was about to push open the door, Nick rushed toward me, shoving me up against the wall. My head cracked against the drywall, giving me an instant headache. His rage-filled eyes seared mine as he hovered inches from my face. “Don’t ever lock me out again. You belong to me and you will do as I say. You got that?” He was holdi
ng my wrists against the wall like a vise grip. Even though he slapped me earlier, I was still shocked at his behavior. How could I not have seen that he was capable of this violence? It made me angry at myself for not noticing the signs—and there were signs. But how could I know that this would happen? He was so normal looking, and appeared to be sweet and caring. I should have realized that appearances can be deceiving. Of course, I would know a monster when I saw one, but my mistake was not realizing that monsters come in all shapes and sizes.
I couldn’t move, so I brought my knee up sharply, hitting him right in the crotch. When he doubled over, I took off running to the bathroom. He caught my arm, dragging me out. I clutched at the doorjamb, trying to slip out of his hold. He yanked me harder and I lost my grip, my fingernails scraping into the wood. My stomach was in knots as he shoved me into the bedroom. “I love it when you put up a fight,” he whispered into my ear. His voice was raspy, out of breath, but I could hear the excitement in his tone.
“Please, you’re scaring me. Why are you doing this?” I wanted to struggle more, but his fingers were digging into my arms. They felt like needles piercing my skin.
“Next time I tell you to open the goddamn door, you’ll do it, won’t you?” As he walked me to the bed, he noticed the suitcases. “What’s this? Am I going somewhere?” His voice was cruel and taunting.
Fear sliced through me, not replacing the anger; it was still there, but buried under the panic that was now smothering me. “Nick, please calm down, so we can talk.”
He smirked at me and pushed me down onto the bed. “Oh, I’ll talk, all right. You think you can get rid of me after you accepted my ring.” He laid his body onto mine. “I love you, baby. Let me show you.” Holding my wrists, he bent down and crushed his lips to mine, shoving his tongue into my mouth. I bit it and turned my face away, expecting to be hit again. Instead, he laughed. He shoved my pants down, and then his. Pushing him away didn’t work, so I screamed, the fear now slicing though my chest. He didn’t seem to hear me; his eyes were glazed with a mixture of excitement and anger. I sobbed as he slid inside me.
Tears ran down my cheeks as he lay sleeping, spent from emptying into me. The love I had for him was replaced by fear and hate.
Chapter Sixteen
Help!
The next morning, I pretended to sleep while he got dressed for work. I heard the zipper of his jeans and the ruffling of material as he yanked on a shirt. The smell of my laundry soap hovered in the air. I held my breath, waiting for him to leave. He didn’t.
He sat on the edge of the bed beside me and laid his hand gently on my leg. The touch was meant for comfort; coming from him it felt dirty. “I know you’re not sleeping, sweetie. I’m sorry I got kind of rough last night, but I had some bad news. I was in a really bad mood, and you shouldn’t have run from me.”
I sat up in bed, gaping at him. “What bad news?”
He pulled his hand back, resting it on his jean-clad knee. “The call I got last night was about the case I’m working on. It turns out that the suspect got out on bail and the district attorney says we don’t have enough to hold him. We’ve been working on this case for months. I was pissed.”
I blinked at him. A buzzing sound started in my head, I was so mad. “Let me see if I understand. Because you were angry about your job, you hit me and then raped me.” I tilted my head at him, trying to keep my voice even. “Did I get it right?”
His eyes flashed as he leaned forward. I leaned back, away from him. Fear sparked and began to spread though me as the look in his eyes reminded me of last night just before he slammed my head against the wall. My resolve started to crumble “Oh, come on, how can I rape my fiancée? It’s like a wife. You’re obligated to give it to me when I want it. And I wanted it last night.”
I stared at him in sheer disbelief, my eyes so wide I thought they’d pop out of my head. “Who are you?” I whispered, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck rise. How could I have missed this in him? This was not the man I fell in love with. I couldn’t be with him. Hopefully I could calmly explain my thoughts without causing a scene. The Nick I knew had some sense in him. I couldn’t believe that it had been all fake. “I’m sorry, but you’re not the person I thought you were. I can’t marry you.” To make my point, I pulled off the ring and held my hand out. The ring lay in the center of my palm.
His eyes narrowed. “Honey, I don’t have time to argue. I’ll see you when I get home.” Was it his tone or his words that made me feel like a disobedient child? Did he not hear a word I said?
“No, you won’t. I want you gone.” Despite my strong words, my voice shook with fright.
He stood up and shrugged. “You said you would marry me. That’s a commitment that I’m going to hold you to, no matter what it takes. I’m not going to let you ruin what we have.” He took the ring that I was still holding and grabbed my wrist, squeezing so hard I spread my fingers out. He shoved the ring on roughly, and the band dug into my knuckle. “And remember, this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t run from me. How was I supposed to act? I love you. All I wanted to do was show you.” Then bending down, he kissed my forehead as if none of last night ever happened.
If he thought that I was just going to live with a man who thought he could beat me when he was in a bad mood, he’d got some waking up to do. My parents, especially my father, taught me to stand up for myself and to never let anybody hurt me. I only hoped my father wasn’t watching me right now. It would kill him all over again to see his daughter suffer the way I had last night.
Once I was safely alone, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and studied my face. My right cheek was red but was starting to fade. My wrists, where he held me down, were gray with a slight shade of purple. My upper arms were marked with tiny bruises where he held me in the bedroom. These were black, the shape of his fingers. And I also had a throbbing headache from when he slammed it against the wall. I took pictures of my arms and wrists and then got dressed. After I was ready, I grabbed my purse, pulled on my sunglasses to hide the redness, and left my apartment to make sure this never happened again. My father would turn over in his grave if I didn’t fight back.
“I’d like to speak to Captain Hennessey, please,” I said to the officer at the front desk. I was standing at the police station closest to my place, and it just happened to be where Nick worked, but thankfully when I looked around I didn’t see him. The only other station was on the other side of town, and who was the captain there? Nick’s father. Even though Nick worked here, the captain wasn’t related to him, and the few times we had met, he seemed like a good, fair man. And right now, he was my only hope.
The room was a buzz of activity, filled with police and civilians like myself. The phones rang constantly, and voices carried throughout the room. It was loud and chaotic. The officer hung up the phone then told me to go on in. He pointed to an office at the end of a long hallway. I began making my way down the hall where he pointed, feeling like I was about to vomit; my stomach was in knots.
I kept my head down, hoping no one would notice me. I didn’t know many of Nick’s co-workers, but I had met a few. As I gazed down at the floor, I counted sixty-eight tiles before I reached the captain’s office. I knocked softly and then opened the door when I heard his voice.
“Abby, how are you?” the captain asked from behind a large, messy wooden desk. He was a kind man that I had met a few times. He was balding, his cheeks were always rosy, and his big belly reminded me of Santa Claus. He sat back in his swivel chair, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.
“Hi, Captain,” I said nervously, avoiding his question. The air in here smelled of Old Spice and coffee. I glanced around the room. The walls were covered with pictures of the captain with different people. My stomach dropped when I saw one of him and Nick’s father with their arms around each other, both of their faces wearing wide grins.
“It’s Phil, remember?”
I spun around to face him, feeling guilty for some rea
son. “Right, Phil.” I took a seat across from him in the cushioned chair, fiddling with my purse, suddenly very nervous.
He watched me fidget in my seat, as if he was looking for clues. “What can I do for you, Abby?”
I pulled my sunglasses off and by his blank expression, the redness had faded. But I wasn’t finished. I unzipped my hoodie and pulled it off. I was wearing a tank top underneath so my bruises were clearly visible.
His eyes furrowed with concern. As he sat his coffee down on the desk, the liquid sloshed inside the mug. He leaned forward. “What happened?” he gasped.
Before I could say a word, a tear fell down my cheek. I swiped at it, hoping to hide it. I did not want to cry. “Nick,” I finally managed to say.
His jaw tightened, and he sat back in his chair. He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk. Taking a breath, he simply said, “Tell me.”
So I did. I told him everything, and unfortunately, I wasn’t able to hold the tears in. I whispered the part when Nick forced himself on me. When I finished I glanced at him, waiting for him to react. He didn’t, he just sat there. The only movement I could see was a vein on the side of his neck throb.
When he finally did move it was to stand up. “Stay here, I’ll have someone bring you in a beverage. I won’t be long.”
And then he was gone, and I was left alone in the quiet office.
I sat there for about half an hour twiddling my thumbs. The only noise in the office was his old-fashioned wall clock that looked like it had been on the wall for about fifty years. An officer would walk by occasionally and when they saw me, their eyes would widen with interest, but no one dared to enter the captain’s office without his permission.
I was about to nod off in my chair—my eyelids kept closing and my head suddenly felt like it weighed a hundred pounds—when the door opened. I sat up, startled.
The captain moved slowly to his chair and sat down.
Finding Abigail Page 11