by Michelle Lee
Michael bursts through the door, fuming. Grabs her and leaves. I didn’t even react. I couldn’t. What was I doing? I walked through the party to try to find her, to apologize. They were gone.
The next day she came to say goodbye. She was sporting a black eye, bruised jaw, and flinched when I hugged her. She said she had too much to drink at the party and fell down the stairs. That was also the day she told me she was engaged and our friendship is over. Men and women shouldn’t be friends. It is inappropriate. People talk.
I ask her about all the things she said to me at the party last night. How she‘s afraid of him, how he doesn’t let her breathe, and what about the accusations of being unfaithful? She tells me she over reacted and was wrong. He is just protective and is afraid to lose her. She explained now that they are engaged things will be different. He promised her.
I died that day. Besides the fact I loved her since forever, she is my best friend. She is the only one who loves me for me. It might only be brotherly love but it is real. More real then anything I’ve had. After my parents’ divorce, things got bad for me. My dad ran away with his girlfriend and my mom drowned her pain in booze and pills. It’s cliché, but true.
Charlie knew what was going on she never forced me to talk about it. Never lectured me when my anger and sadness ruled my better judgment and I beat up a tree or punched a wall or even started getting in more and more fights at school. She would sit and listen. Every night she left her bedroom window unlocked so I could come in and sleep with her if the loneliness got to be too much. Some nights just knowing she was there was enough. Most nights I would climb up into her room and sleep with her in my arms.
Before they left I paid Michael a visit. Charlie was packing up what little was left at her and her mother’s house. He answered the door wearing a smug grin. I punched him right in the face. No warning, no exchange of words, I put everything into that punch. I told him; if I find out he is responsible for her condition, I will kill him. If I ever find out he touches her, I will kill him.
Rubbing his jaw, He laughs at me. Tells me to leave and stay away from them. They will be married and there is nothing I can do about it. Then he slams the door in my face. **********
I stand up from the table, I’m fucking pissed, it’s been years and the memories still hurt like it was yesterday. I slam my empty coffee cup into the garbage and go in search of a mug to get fresh coffee from the pot I brewed. While pouring my cup she shuffles into the room, I look at her and my anger evaporates. I can’t imagine what she is feeling. Putting my selfish feeling aside, I get another mug and make her a second cup of coffee. She has the first almost gone.
“Feel better?” I ask
“Cleaner. I don’t know when I will ever feel better.” Sighing she scrunches her wet hair, absently grabs a loose curl and twirls it around between her thumb and pointer finger. “How about you, did you get some sleep last night? Steph wasn’t mad you got home so late was she?”
How do I answer this one? “Yeah, she was a little mad. Actually I never went home last night, I slept in my truck. I wanted to make sure everything here was alright.”
“Why?”
“I had to. I can’t let anything happen to you”
“Why?” her head is hanging and I can see the tears running silently down her cheeks.
I reach for her and pull her into my lap, “I love you, and you know that, right?”
“You can’t. I’m broken.” She stands and walks to her room. She closes the door and locks it. I hear her sobbing onto her pillow. I know she needs it and will be ok after a good cry, but I want to help.
After a minute I walk over to her door and knock. “Unlock the door and let me in.”
The door unlocks. I turn the knob and enter her room. She is already sitting back on the bed, but her crying has stopped. God she is beautiful. “You know you look awful after you cry. Your nose is red, your lips swell, (oh, god) and your cheeks are blotchy. Your eyes are awesome though. It’s like they turn neon green. It’s pretty cool.”
Throwing her pillow at my head she laughs and pretends anger. ”You’re an ass!”
Sitting next to her “You ok?”
“Nope”
“Ready to go to the police station and tell them what happened?”
“Nope”
“Charlie Alyssa James, you are going.”
“I know, you asked if I was ready, to that question the answer is no, I am not. Am I going, anyway? Yes.” Glaring at me she adds “The full name, really? That’s low Harrison, real low.”
Laughing I pull her up off the bed ruffle her hair and say, “Let’s go kid, before you lose your nerve.”
“I am 30 years old, not a kid.”
I ignore her and walk through the little apartment straightening things as I go. Turn off the coffee, clean up the table and counter, and grab her light jacket hanging by the door and motion for her to come on. “Let’s go.”
“I’m coming.” She is dragging her feet but at least she’s moving.
CHAPTER 7
I walk into the bathroom to take a shower. I can’t remember the last time I have felt so defeated. Yes, I can, I just don’t want to. I wash my hair with my favorite strawberry shampoo; put my conditioner in to soak, while I shave my legs. As I rinse everything off I start to think about what I am about to do.
I sit on the floor of the tub and let the hot water beat on my back, try to dissolve the tension that has taken up residence over the last three years. Talking to the cops is not going to be fun or easy, but it’s something I need to do.
**********
“Can you please state your full name for the record, please?”
“Charlie Alyssa James”
“Ok, and Ms. James will you please state the full name of the accused for the record?”
“Michael Ryan Parker”
“Ms. James, please state the events of last night, May 7, 2010, for the record. Please try to use as much detail as you can.”
“We, Mr. Parker and I, were having a cook out with some neighbors. It is early for cooking on the grill but with the weather being so nice, we thought, why not? There were about 10 people over some married, some single. Everyone was having a really good time. We had some alcoholic beverages to drink, played darts in the garage; we even jumped on a neighbor’s trampoline. When everyone left, Michael, Mr. Ryan, got very angry with me and said I was flirting with all the men. He said I was a whore and everyone else thinks so, too. I said I was sorry I wouldn’t do it again, and tried to hug him. He pushed me away and said I made him sick. I am a disgusting person and he doesn’t know why he is with me. Again, I try to say sorry and put my arms around him. He grabs my arm and bends it behind my back, and pulls my hair turning my head to the side exposing my throat in a way that I am unable to move from. He starts to kiss my neck and I yell for him to stop. I don’t want to have sex when he is this mad at me. He screams in my face telling me he can fuck me if he wants, because I am his. He says I would have had sex with any of the men here tonight because I’m a worthless whore. He rips my shirt off my body, sending buttons flying in every direction. He slaps my face when I try to push him off me, rips my under ware off. I try to kick, scratch, pull his hair but I can’t get away. The whole time I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. Praying someone hears me. He punches me so hard in the jaw to stop me from yelling, I almost black out. My struggling stops long enough for him to pry my legs open and force his way into me. He thrusts so hard I am now screaming from pain. When he is finished there is blood between my legs and running down my face. He split my lip and my jaw and nose feel broke.”
**********
After Michael raped and beat me, he told me if I ever behave like a whore again, he will kill me after he is finished using me. Then he left, just stood up and walked out the door. I rolled over and hysterically made the worst call in my life. Brody heard me crying on the phone and asked what was wrong I couldn’t tell him over the phone, I asked him to come over.
Brody walked in the house and took one look at me and ran to my side. He let the silent tears run down his cheek with no shame. He gently picked me up into his arms and held me while I tried to tell him what happened. I was sobbing so badly I could hardly speak. I changed my clothes, but brought them with us to the hospital, and never went back. Never saw Michael again. Until yesterday.
**********
I wipe the tears from my cheeks and get out of the shower. When I walk into the kitchen I must look bad Brody’s face softens.
“Feel better?”
“Cleaner, I don’t know if I will ever feel better.” I scrunch my hair to help the curls dry faster, and twirl a straight piece between my finger and thumb trying to get it to behave. “How about you, did you get some sleep last night? Steph wasn’t mad you got home so late was she?”
“Yeah, she was a little mad. Actually I never went home last night, I slept in my truck. I wanted to make sure everything here was alright.”
“Why?”
“I had to. I can’t let anything happen to you”
“Why?” I hang my head hoping he can’t see my tears, again, running down my cheeks.
He reaches for me and pulls me into his lap, “I love you, and you know that, right?”
“You can’t. I’m broken.” I get up and go to my room. I hate that I’m crying so much. I think maybe it’s because I just relived being raped. Then again, maybe it’s because I have a best friend who is the world to me, that I couldn’t live without, and I want him to be with me forever but I can’t have anything that good. Michael was right when he said he broke me. Brody deserves happiness, smiles, hugs and laughter. I don’t think I can do those things anymore.
As my sobbing subsides, I come to the conclusion that we may never be together the way I wish we were, but I will be his friend, his best friend. I will be whatever he needs as long as he is in my life. I love him. I will make sure he is happy.
“Unlock the door and let me in.”
I unlock the door and return to my perch on the bed.
He comes in and takes in my appearance and says, “You know you look awful after you cry. Your nose is red, your lips swell, and your cheeks are blotchy. Your eyes are awesome though. It’s like they turn neon green. It’s pretty cool.”
”You’re an ass!” I throw my pillow at his head.
“You ok?” he asks sitting next to me on the bed.
“Nope”
“Ready to go to the police station and tell them what happened?”
“Nope”
“Charlie Alyssa James, you are going”
“I know, you asked if I was ready, to that question the answer is no, I am not. Am I going, anyway? Yes.” I glare my best glare, “The full name, really? That’s low Harrison, real low.”
Laughing he pulls me up off the bed and ruffles my hair like I’m 14 again “Let’s go kid, before you lose your nerve.”
“I am 30 years old, not a kid.”
He walks away straightening the apartment and grabs my light weight jacket, looking over at me, he barks, “Let’s goes.”
“I’m coming”
CHAPTER 8
We walk into the police station and are greeted by an overweight, balding man with the personality of a goldfish, whose name tag reads Bob Johnson. He is waiting to help people and direct them to whatever location they are searching for.
“Can I help you?” says Mr. Johnson, as he stares at us through the bullet proof window. The empty look in his eye is unnerving.
“Uuh, I need to speak to and officer about an attack last night” I don’t feel like I can form a coherent thought looking at him. I just want to laugh at his vacant stare. I can’t tell if he really even sees me.
“What is your name?”
“Charlie James.”
“I will see who is available to speak with you.”
“Thank You.”
We took a seat in the red vinyl seats next to the window and waited. “So, so you want to get some dinner tonight, maybe catch a movie?” Brody asks like it’s no big deal. We don’t usually go out alone. We always have other people with us.
“I guess. Yeah, that would be great.” I smile over at him and he grabs my hand and holds it. Interlacing our fingers like it is the most natural thing in the world.
**********
On the ride to the police station, I have decided that I am going to slowly, very slowly, make my move on Charlie. I can’t stand to watch her be alone and unhappy. I want to be the one who gives her everything she needs. There is no one who knows her better than I do. I know how to make her laugh, I know how to make her smile, I know when she needs space to cry it out and I know when to be forceful with her to get her to stop being an ass.
We sit in the police station waiting for an officer to take our statement and I ask her to dinner and a movie. I’m so glad she said yes. When I pick up her hand and interlace our fingers, I expected her to protest and with drawl.
“So, what do you want to see?”
“I don’t even know what is playing.” She says laughing. “Why don’t we just grab some takeout bring it back to my place and watch Netflix?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“Yeah, I just want to hang and relax.” She looks at me and smiles. She looks really tired.
“Ms. James?” The man behind the glass is back.
“Yes?” Charlie pushes up to her feet releasing me. I don’t know what to do with my now empty hand, so I put it in my pocket and follow her to the window.
“You can head back to interrogation room #3, Officer O’Connor, is waiting for you.”
“Thank you.” Charlie starts walking down the hall and suddenly stops. She turns to me and whispers, “I don’t think I can do this.” She is pale and shaking. She reaches out to me, grabbing my hand, holding it closely to her chest, “You are going in and staying with me right?” her eyes are wide with panic.
“Of course, I’m going in there with you.” I put on a brave face and we start walking down the hall, again. I want to give her my courage and strength. All I can do is hold her hand. I hope it’s enough.
**********
I almost didn’t make it down the hall to interrogation room #3. The panic I felt started to overwhelm me. Holding Brody’s hand, I feel calmer instantly. As long as he is with me I know I’m ok. I can be brave for him. He has done so much for me, already. I don’t know why I’m being so stupid. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders, and pull up my big girl pants and say out loud, “Let’s do this.”
We walk into room #3, and Brody is still laughing at my little display of guts.
Officer O’Connor is exactly what you would picture. He has red hair that he keeps cropped close to his head, a smear of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and is built like a line backer. He is probably only a little older than our 30 years, but I’m not asking. He has an accent like he is a transplant from Boston.
He gets right to the point. “So, you were the one in the alley that left the scene?” He has a hard look in his eye that makes me stand up a little taller and pay attention. “Wanna tell me why you’d do somethin’ so stupid?”
“Well first, I’m not stupid. Second, I was attacked and scared. I wasn’t exactly thinking clear.”