As I walk I continue to scan the wall and the brochures begin to change. One has a name tag that reads, Hello, I'm Being Abused: Domestic Violence—It's Never that Obvious. Another has a stock image of hands clutching cell phones; the tagline reads, The Power Is in Your Hands.
* * *
Two years after meeting Hunter, I found myself outside the Radnor train station, approximately one mile from campus, at one in the morning.
I untucked my hair from behind my ears, and crossed my arms against my bare chest. The world could blame my nakedness on a lack of class or culture—no one had to know Hunter dragged me out of the house and down the stairs with no shirt and no shoes only an hour before.
The rain had gotten into my bones, filling me with a chill I knew I wouldn't be able to shake unless the sun came out in a few hours. As I approached the station, I considered my options: I could walk onto the platform and brave the people who board trains at one a.m., or I could hide out in the underpass and brave the people who walk through tunnels at one a.m.
I took a step toward the underpass. Voices made me stop, and I ran onto the platform, making eye contact with the only other person there—a black man with low jeans, talking on his cell phone. He wore a white wifebeater, and a black do-rag. There was a koi fish on his arm, and a silver chain hanging from his neck. His Timbs were the same Hunter once used to crack one of my ribs—the same Dad laced up before he went to work.
"Yo, hold up," he said into the phone, looking my way, "I'ma have to call you back."
He closed the same yellow Nextel Dad wore on his belt, and put his hands in the air. "Hey miss! Hey miss, can I help you?"
I stepped back while he adjusted his jeans and removed his shirt.
"Here," he said, tossing it to me, "that's for you. Put that on."
I hurriedly put the T-shirt on as he placed the phone on the ground and kicked it over to me. "Whoever you need to call—talk as long as you like. I'ma be right here."
I took the phone and flipped it open—2:14 a.m. The person I wanted to call had gone to bed hours ago. Our last words had been angry ones, and were exchanged almost two Thanksgivings ago. I promised the silence between us would last forever, as would the hate.
Deep breath. Dial. Ring. "Hello?"
Another deep breath. "Mom?"
* * *
Returning to Cabrini after winter break my freshman year was infinitely more awesome than my initial arrival months before. I seemed to have it all figured out—I finally learned the difference between a cappuccino and a latte, made friends with the cafeteria staff who would conveniently forget to charge me for fries, and memorized the locations of every free printer on campus. I was ready to kick the rest of my freshman year's ass.
When I went to check my first semester's grades, I got an error message stating I needed to make an appointment at the Office of Financial Aid. I called the office, and found myself sitting across from a slim blonde with glasses a few hours later.
"Miss Kelly, the way merit-based scholarships work is that you must obtain the merit upon which they are based and distributed. And it appears that you have not been attending class in quite some time."
"I can explain that. I was actually sick for, like, a week before Thanksgiving and I have a note here saying—"
"I am so sorry, Miss Kelly. But at this point, withdrawing is the only way to preserve your GPA."
"Like a leave of absence?"
"Unfortunately, you must be in good academic standing to take a leave of absence . . ."
"I'm sorry—I don't get this. Can't I just do some extra work or something? You can't just kick me out . . ."
"No one is kicking you out, Miss Kelly. I'm simply trying to explain your options. Your scholarship depends on your academic performance and, given your track record, we cannot renew your scholarship this semester. The registrar has withdrawn you from the classes you've registered for until full payment for the semester is received. Perhaps you can speak to your parents about taking out a loan."
I left the office frantic, staring at each person I passed as if they had the answer. If I didn't come up with $16,000 before the first day of classes, I was going to be sent back to the house on Elderberry. I wasn't thinking about how disappointed Mom and Dad would be, how embarrassing it was going to be telling friends and family I'd flunked out—all I cared about was being able to see Hunter.
I kicked the doors of Woodcrest open, stomped up the six flights of stairs to my room, and slammed the door behind me, startling Erin.
"Dude," she said, taking note of my frenzied look, "are you okay?"
"Cabrini is kicking me out. Some bullshit about missing too many classes. They told me to make my parents take out a loan . . ."
"Dude, are you serious right now?" Erin asked.
"Yes, I'm fucking serious! Do you think I'd be here freaking out if I wasn't?"
"Honestly, I'm surprised you're here at all."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Rowan, I haven't seen you in, like, three weeks. I don't think you've slept here since Thanksgiving."
"What are you talking about? I just saw you at the Cavs game."
"Dude, we haven't had a home game in a month. You said you were going to come to the Villanova game but you fucking bailed . . . as usual."
"I told you I wasn't feeling well. Jesus, so I missed one game."
"Bullshit, Rowan. You were with him!"
"If you're talking about Hunter—"
"Of course I'm talking about Hunter. That's all we ever talk about anymore. Everything is about Hunter. Well, you know what? I hate Hunter!"
"You don't even know him!"
"You're right—I don't know him. How can I when he keeps you locked away in his room 24/7? I haven't seen you in weeks and you show up here—"
"I came here because you're my best friend!"
"How can you say that when you don't even talk to me anymore? I've been worried about you. You never pick up your phone, you're never online. It's like he owns you!"
"You're way off."
"Look, I asked around and everyone says Hunter is a psycho. His last girlfriend broke up with him because he punched her for talking to another guy and he said he would kill her."
"Well, if my boyfriend slept with everyone on campus and then some, I'd probably want to punch someone too."
"I miss you, is all. I'm worried about you."
Erin's hair had been in a bun since I'd met her at orientation, a smile permanently affixed to her face. She was tall, broad, and married to the idea that it was acceptable to wear socks with her Adidas Adissage Slides. It was only now—with her eyes glassy and her voice uneasy—that I realized we'd never fought, we'd never disagreed. All we'd ever done together was laugh, until now.
"God, what are you—my mother? You don't need to worry about me. Hunter isn't crazy and his ex is a lying slut. You know, just because you can't get a boyfriend doesn't mean I have to spend every waking moment with you."
"So it's like that?"
"Yeah, it's like that."
* * *
Mom and Dad collected me two weeks later. I told Hunter not to come say goodbye—the last thing I needed was Mom laying into him.
"Well, I hope you're proud of yourself, Rowan," she said, closing the car door.
"You know what, Rowan?" Dad said. "Living away from home is tough. It's not for everyone. Maybe you can look into taking some classes at Nassau over the summer."
"Haven't you heard, Joseph? Our daughter doesn't go to class. I hope you understand what you've done here, Rowan—I really do."
"Shut up," I groaned.
"What did you just say to me?"
"Shut up. Just shut the fuck up!"
"Hey! Watch it, Rowan!" Dad said, reaching back to smack my knee. "Don't talk to your mother like that."
* * *
For the first couple of weeks, I didn't do much—watched some TV, ate macaroni and cheese, talked to Hunter every night. The distance was taking
its toll on us both. Mom wouldn't let me have my cell phone at the dinner table, so if I missed his call, there'd be an angry voice mail waiting for me, demanding to know where I was and who I was with.
* * *
Toward the end of what would have been my first year in college, Hunter found out he'd scored a single room in House 6. With no check-in desk, it would make visiting much easier since I wouldn't have to be signed in, signed out, and then sneaked through the window so I could spend the night.
"Next year when I'm a senior, we're going to move off campus and get our own apartment."
"I can't wait," I sighed, taking off my black blazer and tossing it into the hamper. "I'm saving everything I can."
I'd gotten a job at the Jericho Terrace, a catering hall within walking distance of the house on Elderberry, to get Mom off my back. I thought it would shut her up, but now she was pushing for me to take classes at Nassau since summer was getting close.
"I'm sick of this every-other-weekend bullshit. Can't you work more hours?"
"Me too, but my parents don't want me to see you. Well, my mom doesn't want me to see you—she thinks this whole thing is your fault. She thinks I'm going to hang out with Erin. She knows I miss her, but if I go down there every weekend, she's going to get suspicious."
"Who cares? Once you have enough to come down here, I promise you'll never have to see her again. I won't let them take you away. Don't you want to be with me?"
"More than anything," I said.
"How much do you have already?"
"About $1,500."
"That's more than enough! I'm so proud of you, baby. Here's what you do."
* * *
I packed my blue Kipling bag with my passport, the money, my laptop, and a few of my favorite clothes. At two a.m., I opened the door of my bedroom slowly, stopping each time it creaked. Even though the carpet made getting down the hallway undetected easy, and even though she was asleep, I heard Mom moan, "Who's there?"
I froze, held my breath, and listened for the squeak of her and Dad's ancient bed frame as she turned over, before moving onto the real challenge: the stairs.
The first five steps, where the staircase wound and curved around to the second floor, were no trouble. The main staircase was the problem. I stayed to the left, clinging to the bannister, for the first six steps, then switched to the right side, my back to the wall, for the remaining five, and jumped over the last one.
Mom washed the vinyl floors of our kitchen with Mop & Glo every Friday night, making them extra slippery. My socks acted like ice skates as I glided across the floor without a sound. At the back door, I singled out the house key and held the other keys in my fist to ensure a minimal amount of noise.
If I'd known what was to come, I'd have taken the time to memorize the house. To take in its smell, its shape, its essence, so its memory could comfort me when I felt most unsafe. If I'd truly known the man I was running to, I'd have woken Mom. I'd have fallen to my knees and begged for her help, her forgiveness, her love. If I'd known no amount of therapy would stop the nightmares, I'd have turned around and gone back to bed. But I didn't.
Outside, I continued to tiptoe since my parents always slept with the windows open. Once I passed the house on Elderberry, I broke into a run and couldn't help but smile. I was in love, and I was free.
* * *
With no classes to attend, the semester passed slowly. During the first couple of weeks, the RAs performed an abnormal amount of room inspections on Hunter's single. I'd jump into the closet, since they weren't allowed to open doors or your drawers. Unfortunately, Hunter had left two bottles of Vicodin on his desk. Prescription pills were being confiscated all over campus, but no one knew where they were coming from.
Hunter produced a doctor's note for the medication and got the bottles back several days later. He decided to lie low for a few weeks, and as a result, money was tight.
"I don't understand why I can't come with you tomorrow," I complained.
"Because my mom isn't happy about us right now. I'm going to talk to her and sort it all out. Christmas—we'll be together."
"I can't stand this. I can't go outside. I can't talk too loud. I can't do anything."
"Do you think this is easy for me?" he yelled. "I'm the one taking all the risk. What do you think is going to happen if they fucking find you here, huh? It's over for you but it's not over for me—I've got to go to class and get a job and get the apartment. You don't do shit here except whine and complain!"
"Then why did you tell me to come here?!"
"Because I love you!"
"No, you just wanted me here so you could be sure I wasn't fucking around."
This wasn't the second time he hit me—nor the third. It was, though, the first time I hit him back. After his hand hit my cheek, my right hand boomeranged back. My palm was red and couldn't keep still. I went to apologize, immediately sorry for what I'd done, but he was in no place to forgive.
He didn't apologize like he normally did. He simply told me to never hit him again, and closed the door to his room without kissing me goodbye.
* * *
The next morning, wandering through the kitchen, my whole world seemed different. This wasn't the kitchen where we ate macaroni and cheese out of the pot while we built our dream house. The freezer wasn't where he stocked my strawberry FrozFruit bars—it was where I looked for frozen vegetables to prevent bruising.
I took his hoodie and decided to go for a walk. November air has a way of clearing the mind, and with campus empty, I didn't need to worry about being seen.
"Rowan? Hey, Rowan!"
"Erin?"
Her hair was tied back in the same ponytail I'd left her with all those months ago. The harder I looked, the more I was convinced she was wearing the same basketball shorts, the same Voorhees hoodie, the same flip-flops-and-socks combo. I wondered if she'd known how much I needed her.
"Are you okay? Your mom called me last week looking for you. I didn't know you were back. Where are you living?"
"My mom is a stupid, controlling bitch, all right? She shouldn't be calling you."
"She sounded like she was worried about you. What's going on?" Erin asked, putting her arm on my shoulder. I winced and lost my hood when I shooed her hand away.
"Jesus," she sighed, covering her mouth, "what the hell did he do to you?"
"Look, I have to go. Just don't tell anyone you saw me here, all right? No one can know I'm here."
"Rowan, come back to my room with me. We can hang out and . . ."
I thought about taking her hand. If I did, one thing was certain—Hunter would track me down. I knew my punishment would be severe, but there was no telling what he'd do to Erin. Maybe the both of us could take him. But what would happen if we couldn't? I couldn't risk her getting hurt.
"I fucking can't, okay? I love Hunter and I'm never going back to my parents. Just fuck off."
I doubled back to the dorm and locked the door behind me. I drew the curtains closed, turned off the lights, and pulled the covers over my head. I didn't want to see anybody, and I didn't want anybody to see me.
Chapter Nine
* * *
"Excuse me, can I help you?"
"I'm looking for the SANE Center."
I can barely hear the woman in scrubs who has appeared next to me, but her eyes are kind and she is smiling. I trust her. She tells me I'm in the right place and asks how she can help. Her tone is soft and sincere, and is enough to make my eyes fill with tears.
"Oh sweetie," she says, patting me on the back, walking me to the desk. "It's okay, you're in a safe place."
"There's something wrong with me," I sob. "I'm all fucked up."
"It's okay," she says, producing a box of tissues, and begins to look past me. "Is there anyone here with you? Is there someone I can call?"
"No," I say. "I'm alone."
* * *
As I watched Mom's blue Corolla pull into the parking lot of the Radnor train station, it o
ccurred to me I hadn't been afraid till now. It wasn't because he stayed with me or because she agreed to come—it was because now I had to face it all. I'd made it this far, but I wasn't sure if I could go farther.
"That your ride?" Mikis asked. In the long wait, he'd given me his shirt, his name, and his purpose for standing in a train station in the middle of the night—his baby mama was in labor.
"Yeah. Good luck at the hospital. Look, I'm really sorry . . ."
"Nah, nah—I ain't gonna hear that. I'm about to be a father to a beautiful baby girl. I should be thankin' you for makin' me the type of man she can be proud of."
Mom was breathless when she emerged from the car—as if she'd run the 128 miles from the house on Elderberry to the station—and stopped when she saw me. Maybe she was afraid I'd changed my mind, or maybe I looked as bad as the night had been.
"Look," Mikis said, opening his arms to offer me a hug, "you take care of yourself. You call me when you get somewhere safe, a'ight?"
I nodded and hugged him back.
"Whatever is between you and your moms, just leave it here and start over. You don't need to carry that shit with you. Leave it."
I nodded, and turned toward Mom.
* * *
After running into Erin during Thanksgiving, the holidays came and went fast. We spent Christmas with Hunter's father Emmett and Hunter's grandmother. They managed a small ranch in Elizabethtown, near Clark Lake, just a half hour outside Lancaster, Pennsylvania. During the evening, we played cards and snacked on cheeses and deli meats. The room smelled of cigarettes, beer, and firewood, and Hunter never stopped laughing.
I remember running my fingers through his hair and kissing him on the cheek before going to the bathroom during one poker game.
Emmett smiled at us and said, "That's a good girl for you there, Hunter. Don't be a fool and let her get away."
Hunter's mother Jackie was three vodka tonics deep when I first met her and she asked if I was on birth control.
"If you get knocked up, he ain't gonna marry you, I can tell you that," she warned as she went in and out of consciousness at the kitchen table.
She'd been through two husbands by the time Hunter was nine, and decided it would be easier to find a third if Hunter weren't around. When he turned thirteen, she shipped him off to Fishburne Military School. By the time he graduated, she'd married Lenny, a railroad technician with an irregular work schedule, who'd sign anything without reading.
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