by J. L. Perry
In my heart I know I’m not ready to leave this quaint little town, but I will have to go eventually. I don’t have a choice. Everyone I’ve met so far has been lovely, and it’s been such a long time since I’ve felt welcome or wanted.
As soon as I step out into the street, I’m surprised to see not only my car parked at the kerb, but Ryan leaning against it. I’m not gonna lie, the sight of him standing there looking all handsome in his police uniform takes my breath away. It should be illegal to be that gorgeous.
“How did it go?” he asks, pushing off the car and closing the distance between us.
“It went well.”
“It’s nice to see you’re still wearing that smile.”
I didn’t even realise I was. Yesterday I was a complete mess. I was at my lowest, and I wondered if I’d ever find happiness again. Here I am, twenty-four hours later, feeling genuine happiness. It gives me hope that one day I’ll actually find the inner peace I’ve been craving.
“Sally asked me to come back tomorrow,” I say, my smile growing.
“She did? That’s great. So you’re not leaving?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Staying another day won’t hurt. She needs help, and I’m going to need money if I want to start over. It’s a win-win for us both.”
Although he reciprocates my smile, it seems forced. I don’t know why he’s so hell-bent on me sticking around long term.
“Come. I’ll take you back to Mum’s. She’s expecting us. There’s something I need to tell you.” He places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the car.
“What do you need to tell me?”
“We’ll discuss it when we get there.” He frowns as he speaks, and that makes me feel extremely uneasy.
Ryan holds the passenger side door open for me, so I climb in. It’s weird that I’m not driving, since it’s my car, but I don’t argue. His mother’s house is only down the road.
“So, Joe’s finished with my car already?” I ask when he gets in the driver’s side.
“Yes. I asked him to make it a priority.”
“Why? You didn’t seem to think it was a priority this morning.”
“I just did, okay,” he says, scrubbing his hands over his face. He’s agitated, and that only heightens my anxiousness.
“Did he give you the invoice? I’ll need to go to the bank and get the money.”
“Don’t worry about that for now.”
“I’ve just put the kettle on,” Claire says when we enter the kitchen. Her body language seems off, like she’s on edge. It has me struggling to remain composed and not freak out. Something’s happened—I feel it in my waters.
Concern is etched all over Ryan’s beautiful face as he pulls my phone out of his pocket, placing it down on the table before taking a seat beside me. My heart drops into the pit of my stomach. I totally forgot about my phone.
“You got a call earlier today.”
“From Wade?” I ask. “I knew it was only a matter of time before he contacted me.”
“There was an insane number of missed calls from him,” he says, frowning, “but no. The one we need to talk about was from your father.”
“My father?” He usually only calls me at Christmas and on my birthday. “Oh my god.” I reach for my phone, thinking something terrible has happened, but Ryan places his hand on mine, stopping me.
“I answered the call. Before you get mad, I wasn’t sure if he knew what was going on with you. I thought he’d be worried.”
I feel the colour drain from my face. “You didn’t tell him about Wade, did you?”
“No.”
“Thank god,” I say, placing my hand on my chest as relief floods through me. Sometimes I wonder if he’d even care, but either way it’s not something I want my father to know.
“Morgan.” He tightens his grip on my hand, and my heart starts to race. “He was calling about something he thought you’d posted on your Facebook page.”
“Facebook?” I screw up my face in confusion. “I haven’t posted anything on my account for months.”
I don’t bother telling Ryan it’s because Wade forbad me, because that only makes me look even more pathetic than I already do. To be honest, I had contemplated telling Wade to go and get fucked, but it wasn’t worth the consequences that would follow. The fear of the unknown has the power to make you weak.
“Wade accessed your profile from your computer.”
“He what?” I suddenly feel like I’m going to be sick.
I watch in horror as Ryan picks up my phone and opens a picture from my camera roll. “I deleted the post straight away, but took a screenshot for evidence.”
My hands are shaking as he passes me the phone. It takes a few seconds for me to even realise what it is. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. “He posted this picture?”
“No, it was actually a video.”
“A video of us having sex?”
Ryan sighs before answering. “Yes.”
I drop my phone onto the table, rising from the chair in such a hurry, it falls backwards, landing on the hard, wooden floor with a loud thud. My head is spinning. How could he do this? And when did he film this video? I have no knowledge of him ever doing that.
Humiliation consumes me as the realisation that Ryan watched the video sinks in. Oh Christ, my dad. Ryan said he called about something I posted on Facebook. He doesn’t do social media, but my stepmother does. She’s never liked me and always looked for ways to drive a wedge between my father and me. She’ll have a field day with this one. I suddenly feel like I’m going to pass out. “I need air,” is all I say as I run from the room. I don’t even want to think about who else may have watched it.
“Morgan,” Ryan calls out, but I ignore him as I sprint down the hallway and out the front door. I don’t know where I’m heading, but I need some space to think.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I run up the hill and away from the town. I hear Ryan scream my name from behind me, but I don’t stop. The hopelessness and shame I’m feeling in this moment is like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life, and believe me when I say I’ve had some really low points, even before Wade came into my life.
“Morgan, stop!”
I have a stitch in my side, and I’m struggling to get enough air into my lungs, but I continue sprinting nevertheless. The sad part is I don’t even have anywhere to go. I belong nowhere. I see a car coming down the street. In a moment of pure desperation, I consider running out onto the road into its path, but despite everything, I don’t want to die; that would be the easy way out. Every struggle, every injustice I’ve had to face since I was a little girl would all be for nothing if I ended it right now. I can’t do that to myself. If nothing else, I’m a survivor. I’ve always fought so hard to live.
It doesn’t take long before Ryan catches up to me, but unlike the last time when he tackled me to the ground, he’s a lot gentler with his capture this time. “I’m sorry,” is all he says as he envelops me in his arms, holding me tight. “I’m so sorry.”
The floodgates open up as I bury my face in his chest, and racking sobs consume me. He places a soft kiss on my hair as his grip tightens. I’m grateful he doesn’t let me go. I’m not sure how long we stand there, but he eventually scoops me into his arms and carries me back down the hill towards his mother’s house.
“Is she okay?” Claire asks, as he walks into the house with me still safely wrapped in his arms.
“She will be,” he replies, climbing the stairs.
A few minutes later, he places me gently down on the bed. I don’t want him to leave me here all alone. Looking up at him through my tears with a silent plea is enough. He’s still dressed in his uniform, but he quickly removes his belt and slips out of his shoes before lying down beside me and wrapping me in his arms once more. I can’t even remember the last time somebody made me feel like this, like they actually give a shit. No matter what tomorrow brings, I’ll be forever g
rateful to him.
The room is bathed in darkness when I open my eyes. I try to move, but I’m trapped. Panic sets in as I thrash my body around. “Let me go.”
“It’s okay, Morgan,” a voice whispers. “It’s only me, Ryan.” He loosens his grip on me before sitting up. I can’t believe he’s still here. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” I say, because that’s the truth. I use my elbow to push myself up into a sitting position. “I feel like I’m living a real life nightmare, one I’m desperate to wake up from.” I thought things would settle down for me once I left Wade, but they seem to have gone from bad to worse.
“I bet you do.” Although it’s dark, the moonlight shining through the window allows me to see the outline of his face. “Things will settle down soon, I promise.”
I wish I had his confidence, but I know Wade won’t let this go without a fight. “I’m not as optimistic as you.”
“The ball is already in motion,” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“He’s already in custody.”
“Who—Wade? How?”
“After he posted that video yesterday, he sent you a text message admitting what he’d done. Macca, my boss, has a few connections in Queensland. They arrested Wade yesterday afternoon.”
“Wow. Is it enough to send him to prison?”
“It should be, but the justice system is pretty fucked up at times. We arrest them, and the judge gives them a slap on the wrist and lets them go. If we added attempted murder to the charges, we’d have a pretty strong case.”
“Attempted murder?”
“Mum told me about the bruises on your neck. Did he try to strangle you?”
“Yes,” I whisper, bowing my head.
“Would you be willing to make a statement, and let Mum take some photos of your bruises?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I want him to get locked up, but I’m scared.”
“Understandably so,” he admits, “but you’ll be a lot safer if he’s behind bars.”
“Are you ready to go?” Ryan asks as I climb into the passenger side of his ute.
I barely got through my shift at the café due to nerves. I’m hesitant to go through with this because of the repercussions it might bring, but I know I’m doing the right thing. Wade needs to be stopped. I’d hate for him to do this to someone else.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“I can tell you’re apprehensive,” he says, placing his hand on my leg, “but it’s all going to work out. I promise.”
We are heading to the airport. Our flight to the Gold Coast leaves in two hours.
It’s been an eventful day. After breakfast, Claire got all the necessary photos before Ryan took me to the station to make a statement. I’m grateful it was done by them and not strangers. I saw tears in Claire’s eyes when I stripped down to my underwear, and she hugged me so tight when we were done. Ryan’s reaction to my statement was a little different. I could tell he was trying hard not to react to what I was telling him, but by the end, the anger was rolling off him. Once the statement was completed and signed, he pulled me off my chair and into his arms.
“I’ll make sure he never lays a hand on you again,” he whispered into my hair.
I feel blessed to have them both. I wouldn’t be able to go through with this without their support.
I’m feeling anxious when the plane touches down. When I left here a few days ago, I swore to myself I’d never come back. Ryan assures me Wade is being held in the cells for twenty-four hours, but I still feel uneasy about being here. With all the extra pending charges, I hope they’ll be able to hold him for a little longer.
We don’t have any luggage, apart from the backpacks we carried on the plane, so we head straight out of the airport to a waiting police car.
Before we left Paterson, Ryan organised to have us picked up. Our first stop is my apartment to collect my laptop for evidence. Having me turn it over to the authorities was easier than having the police obtain a search warrant. Even though we have the confession from Wade’s text, Ryan said he wants to cross every ‘t’ and dot every ‘i.’ One of the tech guys at the police station will gather all the information he needs from the hard drive.
“Ryan Mitchell,” he says, extending his arm to shake the young officer’s hand who has been sent to collect us. “And this is Morgan Abraham.”
“Umm … Hi.” My words come out more like a squeak. I know police officers are only human, but I still feel incredibly intimidated by them.
“Constable Matthew Bower,” he replies, greeting us both. “But you can just call me Matt.”
They talk police stuff all the way to my apartment, and seem equally fascinated by the vast differences between working in a small country town as opposed to a large tourist-ridden city like the Gold Coast. I, on the other hand, feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
My hands tremble as I riffle through my backpack while we climb the stairs to the second floor of the building. It’s just Ryan and me; the officer stayed with the patrol car.
“Christ,” he says when I pass him the key, “you’re shaking.”
“Are you sure he’s not here?”
“Positive.” He briefly pulls me into his arms and rubs my back to comfort me. He places a soft kiss on my hair before letting me go. I’m confused by the feelings I get when he holds me. Two days ago I swore off men forever. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Morgan.” I can’t help but smile at his words. I really do feel safe around him.
Ryan enters first, and I follow closely behind. It’s only a small one bedroom apartment, but it’d been my home for the past eight years. When I first arrived in this town, I had a suitcase that contained my clothes and a small box full of trinkets I’d collected whilst living with my father and his new family. A few of the smaller pieces of furniture I bought new, but the majority of it was purchased from second-hand stores. I didn’t have a lot of money, but I was proud of the home I’d created. I was happy here until Wade moved in, then I started to dread coming home. He made it feel more like a prison to me, rather than my safe haven.
The main room looks just like it did when I left, except for the addition of dirty dishes that now line the small benchtop in the kitchen. Wade sat at home every day, usually watching movies or playing video games, but he never once picked up after himself. That was the woman’s job, he said, even though I was the sole breadwinner and was supporting his lazy arse.
I see the laptop sitting on the small table beside the sofa. After unplugging the cord from the wall socket, I pass them both to Ryan.
“Do you want to grab anything else while you’re here, like some clothes or personal belongings?”
“Please,” I say, walking toward my bedroom at the back of the apartment.
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach the moment I round the corner. My bedroom looks like a hurricane passed through it. I’m presuming when I didn’t arrive home last night, Wade took his anger out on my stuff.
“Jesus!” I hear coming from behind me, and I’m embarrassed that he is seeing this. There are holes punched in the walls, and my once meticulously arranged wardrobe has been emptied, with the contents strewn everywhere. Tears well in my eyes as I grab a few items of clothing off the floor, stuffing them into my backpack. There was a photo of me with my parents when I was a little girl that once sat proudly on my bedside table. It’s now sitting faced down on the floor and the glass is smashed. “Let me do that,” Ryan says, taking it out of my hands and removing the image from its broken frame. “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
Despite how low I’m feeling, I give him a smile. Behind his tough exterior, he really is the sweetest, most caring man—the polar opposite of the douchebag I was stupid enough to get involved with.
After Ryan passes me the photo, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, snapping a few images of the devastation before us. “Why are you taking pictures?” I ask, confused.
“Evidence. We can add malicious damage, and destruction of property to his growing list of charges.”
“I’m going to have to contact the real estate agent and cancel my lease.”
“Is his name on it?”
“No. I lived here on my own until he moved in a few months ago.”
“We can sort that out before we leave.”
“I need to get a few things from the bathroom,” I say, leaving the room.
Bile rises to the back of my throat when I see Wade has lashed out in that room also. The shower curtain has been ripped off the rail, the toilet seat has been torn off the bowl and is now lying in the bathtub. What appears to be the word ‘whore’ is written on the mirror with one of my lipsticks. It looks like he punched it; the pieces are still mostly in place, but the glass is shattered.
Glass crunches under my feet as I take another step forward. I look down at my feet to see the ceramic containers that once sat on the vanity in a thousand tiny pieces. I hate him so much. But more than anything, I hate myself for putting up with this for so long. I should’ve manned up and got rid of him the first time he laid a hand on me, instead of being gullible enough to believe him when he promised he’d never do that again.
“Are you okay?” Ryan asks, coming to a stop behind me and placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Yes,” I lie.
Morgan has barely spoken a word since we left her apartment. I’m worried about her. She’s been through so much over the past few days—a lot longer actually. I’m sure life’s been pretty shitty for her since meeting that fucker, Wade.
Seeing the destruction Wade levelled on her apartment shows me how emotionally unstable this guy is. I’m extremely grateful she left. I would’ve hated to see what would’ve become of her if she’d stuck around. I’ve seen this time and time again. It was only a matter of time before she ended up hospitalised or worse, in a body bag.
I reach for her hand after we exit the patrol car. It’s my way of letting her know I’m here for her, and that she’s not alone. I love how her small, dainty hand feels wrapped in mine. Is it wrong that I’m constantly looking for ways to touch her? I’m not totally insensitive; I know she’s not ready for anything serious, and my intentions are completely honourable. But I’d love to have the chance one day to show her how she’s supposed to be treated.