He winced; there was more pain in his face than she would've expected. She suddenly realized that while he was an asshole, she had used him too. She'd led him on, made him think she was attracted to him when she wasn't. She'd skipped birth control and had even pressured him out of using a condom, inanely believing that God wouldn't let her get pregnant. He'd been a convenient vehicle for her furious retreat from Tiff, but she had damaged him in the process.
"Ah, god," she said. "Cal... I'm sorry. I'm sorry about all of this. Look, why don't we just... I don't mind taking care of Rebecca, you know? I really don't."
"Was it me?"
"What... what do you mean?"
"I mean..." His face said, Come on, you know what I mean. "I just don't get it. Did I, like, turn you gay somehow?"
Her tongue froze. The question was a landmine. Of course, he hadn't turned her gay. But telling him that would mean admitting she had used him; that he had a baby now because of Sarah's selfishness.
She hesitated too long. He turned pale. "Was it the dirty talk? God. You know I was just fucking around, right? I'm not... it's not like I hate women, or whatever."
"Cal... no, come on, it doesn't work that way."
"It must. You couldn't have been gay when we started dating. God, Heidi was right. She's been posting all this shit on Facebook about how I turned you gay." He looked like he might be ill.
"No, Cal... look, I'm pretty sure I've always been gay, all right? But you were my first, and I just... I don't think I realized it until then."
He stared through her. "I can't believe this."
"Does it matter?" She wanted to rewind the conversation. Not a minute ago, they were actually getting somewhere. "Look, I feel like crap about it too. And I can't really explain it - if I could, life would be a lot easier - but it doesn't matter. It is what it is. Okay? I'd rather just move past it. I was just saying... I'll keep her. You can be off the hook. I'll even talk to your dad, if you think it'll help."
"Are you kidding? He's not gonna want a dyke raising his granddaughter."
"Would you mind not actively insulting me in my own house?"
"Sorry." He took a breath, ran his hands over his scalp. "Sorry. I told myself I wasn't gonna do that. But you know what I mean. He's..." Cal shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm getting off track, here. That's not what I came here for. It doesn't matter."
Sarah waited, let him collect his wits. His gaze wandered to Becca, still struggling to keep her head up, and he smiled. "Look at that. I never get to see this stuff." He knelt and picked her up. "Wow - it's heavier already. Really growing fast."
"Here," Sarah said at once. "I can take her."
"No, I got it," he said. "That's actually why I came. To answer your question, no, I don't want you to just raise her by herself. I've been thinking about it, a lot." He looked her in the eye, but flinched away just before he said, "I want to be a daddy."
Sarah let out a disbelieving breath. "Cal... I appreciate that, but really? Where is this coming from? There are easier ways to make up with your dad. Seriously, let me talk to him. He doesn't know I'm gay, right?"
"No. My dad has nothing to do with it. A lot of people can't even have kids, you know? It's lucky. A lucky thing." He was nodding, agreeing with himself. "And I know we're done, you and me, but I still want to be a father to the kid. I can take it... I can take her on some weekends, or something, since I'm gonna be around now. Actually, the reason I wanted you to bring her today, was I was hoping to spend a little time with her. You know, Father-daughter time.
"I got a car seat, and everything. I'll keep her safe. You can even come out and see it."
He couldn't meet her eyes. Why couldn't he meet her eyes?
She forced her voice level, heard it saying, "Well, here - I was just playing with her on the floor. Why don't you set her down, play with her here? You'll really like her, once you get to know her."
"No offense, Sarah, but I want to be alone with the kid. You've had all this time with it. I'm lagging behind. I'll just take it for a couple hours or whatever and come right back. Maybe we'll go to the grocery store, or something, I can show it off. You know? Maybe I'll run home so my parents can see it."
She was acutely aware of the exit to the hallway behind him. "If your parents want to meet her, I'll be happy to bring her over some time." She reached for her daughter again, and he took a step back.
"Sarah." He met her eyes, now. "Don't make this weird."
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"Give her to me."
"Come on, don't do this again. Don't be like this. We were doing so good."
"Give me my daughter, or I'll call the cops."
"Why are you acting so weird about this?"
"Me?"
"I just want to spend a little time with the kid. You get to see it all the time. I never do."
She tried one more time. "You don't have to take her alone. I told you, I'll come with you. I'll come with to your parents' house right now, if you want."
"Sometimes a man has responsibilities, Sarah. You wouldn't understand, even if you are a dyke."
"And I respect that you want to see your daughter, but you're freaking me out right now."
"All right, let me back up. I'll explain. Okay?" His eyes were burning. "You've heard of SIDS, right?"
A scream lurched into her throat, tripped, turned into a low moan.
"Shhh," he said. "Would you just listen? Just shut up and listen, for once in your life."
She wanted to tear Becca from his arms, but it was too dangerous. He could drop her, or hurt her, and he was stronger than Sarah; there was no guarantee she'd even be able to pull her away. "Cal, give her to me now."
He turned for the door. She grabbed his arm, trying to hold him back, and he yanked away. "What the fuck! You trying to make me drop her?"
She launched herself at him, clawing for her baby. He elbowed her in the gut, where she'd been infected. She doubled over, wheezing.
"Can't keep your hands off me now, can you? I knew it."
"Cal," she begged. "Don't do this." She scrambled for something to say, some way to convince him. "You're better than this."
"I knew you wouldn't get it. God damn it. Fine. We can do it your way. I'll swear off all visitation and whatever. I need this kid out of my life. It's fucking things up."
"Okay." Sarah held her hands out. "Whatever you want. Just -"
"And no child support. You don't come after me later. I'm gonna be rich, I'm gonna be a doctor, and I don't need you guys hanging off my neck. You're not getting a dime from me. You're the one who didn't want to use a condom."
"Okay. Sure. Yes."
"'Okay,'" he mimicked. "'Sure. Yes.' You think I'm that stupid? You're signing papers."
"I'll sign whatever you want."
"And you're gonna suck my dick."
She stared at him, trying to understand. "What?"
"You heard me. This gay stuff is bullshit. I'm gonna fuck you straight."
Her gut churned. "Give me my daughter."
"We didn't have to do that part, but you wouldn't just let me take her. I don't know why you won't just let me fix this."
"Give me my daughter!"
"Gay," he scoffed. "What bullshit. You fucking loved it."
"Now!" she screamed.
"You want it so bad?" he roared back. "Go fucking get it!"
She saw what he was going to do a second before he did it; saw him twist toward the window, pulling one arm back like he was about to throw a Hail Mary. She lunged, screaming her daughter's name, and he lurched to keep Becca away from her, staggering sideways.
Becca arced through the air, shrieking. She hit the back of the couch, ricocheted to the floor.
Sarah launched toward her daughter, blind with terror, and Cal tripped her. Her face smashed into the floor; the bright tang of blood filled her mouth. She felt him throw a leg over her, clamber on top of her from behind.
She was screaming, kicking; she hurled an arm backward, trying to
knock him away, and he grabbed it, yanked it brutally behind her back.
"Quit it!" he panted. "Shut up!" He punched her high on the cheek; the room exploded with buzzing stars. "You love it." He let her arm go, started tugging at her jeans. "You fucking love -"
She braced her arms and tried to hurl herself sideways. She felt him sway behind her, about to fall - and then lurch back again, crushing her and snarling.
He struck her again; blood bloomed in a spattered arc across the carpet. "You don't have to keep pretending." He pressed down on her, the heat of his words pressing against her ear. "It's okay -"
She screamed and slammed her head backwards; heard a crunch and a shriek as he reared back. She tried to flip again, and this time he toppled off of her and into a coffee table, flailing. She scrambled to her feet and lurched for Rebecca.
"You bitch!" he roared. "Fucking dyke whore!" He crashed into her, nearly bearing her down again, but she caught herself on the couch and shoved a foot out, catching him in the head. He rocked backward, clutching at his face and screaming.
Sarah grabbed her daughter, carefully bracing the girl's neck as she lifted her in both arms. Becca had started crying, Sarah realized. She was alive.
She was alive.
Premonitions detonated in Sarah's thoughts like flares - I shouldn't move her. She's paralyzed. She's been brain damaged. She has a broken arm. A broken leg. Something hit her in the soft spot. - but the only thing that mattered was getting away, getting out of here. She was trapped in the corner, though, with the window to her right and the couch to her left.
Cal was too strong even when she wasn't holding the baby; while trying to protect her, Sarah didn't have a chance against him. He was closer to the patio door, so she started for the door to the hallway - and he lurched forward, snarling. She leapt back toward the couch, her heart clawing up her throat.
"You're not leaving," he growled.
"You can still get out of here," she said. It sounded like a plea; she tightened it, hardened it. "If you finish this, you're done. Tiff will know who did it. My mom will know. You'll be done. Don't be stupid."
"Don't you get it?" he spat. "I'm already done." He shook his head. "Why'd you have to have a baby?" he whined. "Why couldn't you give it away? It could've been so easy. You didn't have to fuck up everything."
"Cal, you leave now, and I won't come after you. All right? Not for this, not for child support, nothing." She watched his eyes, the tick in his bloodied cheek. "You can go to school, or whatever, and we'll just never talk -"
"I can't!" he screamed. "I can't, don't you fucking get that? My dad won't pay! He threatened to kick me out of the house! He thinks -"
"And if you rape me and kill your daughter, he'll come around?" Sarah demanded. "Get ahold of yourself!" The urge to inspect her daughter, to bring her to the hospital, clamored in her skull.
"You're not gay," Cal said. "You can't be gay, I fucked you. We made a baby."
"That has nothing to do with you."
"You're not gay!" he screamed.
"Why the fuck do you care?"
He lunged for her, his arm swinging in a backhand slap. She flinched away, and the strike crunched into the back of her skull. The room swam. Becca shrieked. She curled her arms around her daughter like a shell and launched herself toward the front door, but he tripped her again. She sprawled forward, instinctively threw out an arm, and dropped Rebecca.
Sarah's head slapped against the TV stand as she fell; the TV toppled over, crashing into a diaper box.
"Fucking bitch," she heard, and then he kicked her in the stomach. Her breath exploded from her mouth. She curled up, her hands over her head as he kicked her again; brilliant flowers of pain detonated in her calves, her arms, her ribs.
Rebecca was still screaming, the sound twining with her own.
"So worried about the fucking baby," Cal panted. He hopped back, wound up, and slammed his booted foot into her wrist. She screamed as it shattered. "Jesus. Fucking faggot. You're worried about the baby?" He spat a gobbet of blood. "Watch this."
Sarah opened one eye; the other was stuck, or ruined. In a sideways view from the floor, she saw his legs stalking into the apartment kitchen and out of view, his boots clicking on the linoleum. Rebecca's shrieks went with him.
She tried to sit up; a chorus of pain from her broken body forced her back down. She was dimly aware that she was sobbing.
From the kitchen, she heard the distinctive click of the microwave door opening.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked. Her voice sounded inhuman, unrecognizable. She forced herself to her feet, driving through the deluge of pain.
"Nothing! You did it!" he shouted. "I just got here too late."
The microwave door slammed shut; Rebecca's screams suddenly grew muffled. One of the buttons beeped.
"No!" She rounded the corner to find him hunched over the machine, squinting at the control panel. The microwave wasn't running. She launched herself at him, screaming, and he glanced up just before she barreled into him. They crashed into the dining room table. The world exploded with glass.
He gaped at her from the floor, a blood-slick glass shard jutting from of his right bicep. His eyes were wild, confused. She clambered to her feet, her body screaming with pain, and kicked him in the head.
"Don't touch her!" She kicked him again, so hard she felt one of her curled toes pop. His head lolled sideways, his eyes rolling.
"Becca!" she screamed. She lurched out of the pile of broken glass, slivers of pain slicing through the bottoms of her feet. "Becca!"
He hadn't started the microwave. This thought looped in her mind like a skipping record as she tore open the door: He didn't start it. He didn't start it. He didn't start it.
"Becca?" She pulled her daughter out, felt her convulsing with shrieks. "Baby? Becca?"
She glanced back toward the broken table. Cal was sitting up, his eyes dizzy and unfocused.
She had to get her daughter to safety; had to get her to a doctor. But this man had nearly killed them both. He was insane. He was, even now, trying to get to his feet. He had to be stopped.
Sarah glanced at the knife drawer, paralyzed by warring instincts. Her wrist was broken. She would have to put Becca down just to grab a weapon.
No.
She started toward her phone, but she couldn't use that without putting her daughter down either.
"Fuck," she whined. She didn't want him to get away, but she couldn't stay.
She unlocked the front door awkwardly, using the same arm that was holding her convulsing, shrieking daughter. Then she ran toward the front office, screaming for help.
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The paramedics arrived first, swarming into the office like ants; one asked her what had happened and started inspecting her wrist while another checked Rebecca. "Is she all right?" Sarah asked, wincing as she was lifted onto a stretcher. Her feet were peppered with glass, leaking blood. "He threw her. She fell twice. He put her in the microwave."
The paramedic, a young black man, snapped his face toward her.
"He didn't start it. I got there in time."
The paramedic nodded. "She looks all right. She's responsive. I don't see any signs of trauma. But we'll bring her in, get her checked out."
As they wheeled her to the ambulance, an officer quizzed her on what had happened. A couple more went back to the apartment. The paramedics lifted her into the ambulance; the young one was holding Rebecca. Sarah wanted to hold her, but didn't trust her arms. She was shaking.
One of the cops returned just as they were about to close the ambulance doors and made the report: Cal was gone.
"Can you find him?" she asked.
"We'll find him," he assured her.
The doors closed and the ambulance siren blared.
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They took Becca to another part of the hospital to get checked out, while Sarah had her wrist treated, her feet cleaned and bandaged, her ribs x-rayed. "Is she all right?" she asked. "How is m
y daughter?"
"She's in pediatric," they told her. "The doctor will be by soon to talk to you."
Eventually they let her call Tiff, who answered on the first ring.
"Sarah? Oh thank god, are you okay? Where are you?"
"I'm back in HCMC. Can you come?"
"Yes. Of course. No one knows what happened. The whole apartment is trashed. What happened? Are you okay?"
"Cal went nuts. You were right about him."
"Fuck. He did this? Are you okay? Where is Becca?" Sarah had never heard her like this: off balance, panicked.
"I'm okay. She's okay. We're at the hospital." Tiff's concern triggered something in Sarah's chest; a hitching sob tore from her throat. "We're okay. I think we're okay. I just want you to come here. Can you come?"
"I'm coming. I'm coming."
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They took her to a room upstairs, settled her in a bed, got her set up with an IV. During one of her rare moments alone, a knock came at the door.
She jumped, every nerve aflame. It's him. She glanced around, trying to find something to defend herself with, and found herself hoping only that he had come for her first; that her daughter was still safe.
The door opened without waiting for her response. An Hispanic woman in her mid-forties peered in. "Sarah?"
Sarah swallowed hard, tried to calm herself down. "Yes."
"Hi, I'm Doctor Dominguez." She pulled up a stool and sat. "I just wanted to give you an update on Rebecca. Your daughter, correct?"
"Yes." She drew a breath. She couldn't keep her eyes from the door.
"She's fine. There's no sign of fracture and no burning. She does have some mild bruising on her arms and legs. The report said she was thrown?"
"Yes. By her father."
"Well, she's very lucky. She must have had an angel looking out for her."
This brought Sarah back to herself enough to snort. "No," she said. "No. Just me. She's okay?"
"She's fine. We'd like to keep her overnight for observation, but we can bring her into your room if you like. Is she nursing?"
"I - no, not right now. I'm on an antibiotic. For my uterus." She'd been over this with the nurses already. "Can she come in?" Her need to see her daughter was overpowering. "I want to see her." Maybe she missed her mom; maybe she was lonely.
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