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“Don’t look so grim. It is about time you had an orgasm delivered by a man,” Sarah scoffs, obviously attuned to what I am thinking.
“And a Rothschild, no less!” Allie sings. I roll my eyes, and Sarah smacks her with the cushion.
* * *
The girls stayed for a few hours today, and together we recapped last night's events. While Ben and I have entered into a fake engagement, the situation I am in is starting to feel very, very real. There is clearly nothing fake about the attraction we have for each other and although we are hot together, the feeling of foreboding that comes with our entanglement is real. One of us will lose, and I know it is not going to end well.
George called earlier and is keeping Rosie for another night, taking her to school tomorrow for me. Giving me the space to think and the break that I desperately need. To be honest, I think George likes to have company now that he is living alone, and they get along wonderfully. As I sit here in the quiet of the evening, it gives me time to digest the past twenty-four hours. Am I stupid for even entertaining getting involved with a man like Ben? A man who is my legal opposition? A man who wears a suit and whose family owns the entire state in which I live? Yeah. I think I may have lost my mind. But the stupid grin on my face won’t leave, and neither will the butterflies in my belly or the aches in my thighs. My body is spent, all my strength gone, but I have never felt so alive.
As my head rests on the sofa, I enjoy the peace and quiet. I even had a nap this afternoon before I was awoken by the doorbell. A large bouquet of white roses arrived from Ben, plus a smaller one for Rosie. A shock, for sure. It was another first for me, a man sending me flowers. While Jeremy’s constant calls this morning are somewhat new, I put it down to the fact that he saw me with Ben in the city during the week and now I am front and center in his mind. Which is what I was trying to avoid. It has been months since I have seen him, and his calls put a damper on my mood, but the flowers lightened it again.
I flick through the TV stations before heading to my bookshelf instead. A spicy romance is just the thing I am now in the mood for as I look through my collection. As I pull out a book that has been on my reading list for weeks, the doorbell rings, and I quickly skip to the door, wondering what it could be this time. I'm not really thinking clearly, still floating on cloud nine, and I realize my mistake the minute I open the door.
My heart all but stops, the air leaving my lungs, as he stands large and angry above me. Why I didn’t keep the chain on and look before I opened the door, I have no idea. I am usually not this stupid. He barges through like he has every right to, pushing the door so hard it hits the wall, a small hole appearing where the handle smashes the plasterboard. Shoving me out of the way, my back slams against the door, and I wince as the other side of the handle slams into my ribs.
“Did your fiancé answer the phone this morning?” he seethes down at me, and I can smell the whiskey on his breath, even though I am a few feet away.
“None of your business. Get out!” I shout shakily, scared out of my mind, but trying to jolt him out of his drunken stupor. It has been a while since he’s visited me, but the last time I was in the hospital for a week. He must have realized then that he took it too far, because he hasn’t been around since. But Jeremy just can’t let me go.
“Don't make me repeat myself. You need to call off this fucking engagement right now!” he yells, and I wish the slamming doors from out in the hall were people coming to help, rather than ignoring me and checking their locks. Jeremy is not their problem, though. He is mine.
“Go to hell,” I spit out and brace myself for what is coming. I should know better; I should not answer back. I should run. By the time I come to my senses and begin to run from the apartment, he is already on me, and the last thing I remember thinking is that I am so glad Rosie isn’t here.
When I come to, the apartment is dark, and my head is throbbing. I lie still for a moment, waiting for the pain to rush over me, and it does with a vengeance only a moment later, like a tidal wave. Silent tears stream from my eyes, not only from pain but from frustration and fear. I am so sick of being his punching bag.
The police have been involved multiple times, but he always has an alibi, always has friends who lie for him, and so the police charge him with a small misdemeanor and let him go. Jeremy has connections and he uses them well. Why would one of the state’s wealthiest men drive all the way to William Heights for a woman? Especially when he can have any woman he wants in the city. He tells the police I am a scorned ex-lover. A gold digger, who just wants his money and attention and that I stalk him. There is nothing I can do without seeming like a crazy person, and no matter what, he gets to walk away without any consequences.
Jeremy’s abuse started as soon as I found out we were pregnant. I didn’t find out straightaway, and then the thought of not keeping the baby was not something that even entered my mind. I was in love and in a long-term, committed relationship and beamed happily at Jeremy when I told him the news. He was ecstatic initially, and we started planning for our new arrival immediately. It also helped that my hormones were elevated, and the need to be with him in the bedroom increased throughout most of the pregnancy—something he loved.
But after I started to show, he no longer wanted to be with me. He began working late and on weekends, he would snap at me at the drop of a hat, tell me he no longer wanted the baby. He wanted to go back to what we had before. But we couldn’t. I couldn’t.
Then it all started to crumble.
After calling the police each and every time, I don’t bother anymore. There is nothing they can do. After three serious beatings and a few altercations in between, I have learned to put my head down and stay off his radar as much as possible. In the early years, I moved from shelter to shelter, then I lived with George for a long while until I could get on my feet. When Jeremy didn’t find me, I thought I was safe. But he somehow found out I was in William Heights. I assume it was through financial records, since there’s no doubt in my mind he has people who investigate that kind of thing. I was naïve to think otherwise.
This is the first time he has been to my apartment, though. All the other times have been when he has asked to meet under the pretense he wants to talk about Rosie, or when he has caught me on my own while walking near George’s house. I have been to great lengths to ensure he couldn’t find me here. The lease to this apartment is even in George’s name. But with money comes power, and again, I shouldn’t be surprised. I feel stupid because I knew. Deep down, I knew this would happen. That the moment I met someone else, he would come back. When Ben answered his call this morning, trouble started brewing. I was stupid to think I could have a relationship with someone new. I’m damaged goods. Fake or real, Ben needs to run far, far away from me. I could ruin his reputation for life.
I blink a few times and lift my hand to my face, feeling the dried blood. Looking around, I see that my head hit the edge of the door as more blood is splattered there as well. I roll onto my side, grimacing, and grab my ribs as they twinge. He must have given me a few kicks to the torso while I was out as well. Getting on all fours, the pounding in my head is intense, and I grab on to the kitchen counter to pull myself up, albeit shakily.
I pause then and control my breathing, trying to keep my lungs from exploding in pain, and I hear my phone buzzing in the living room next to the sofa where I was lying earlier. I step slowly toward it and look at the screen. My heart drops when I see it’s Ben, and I let it go to voicemail. It is nearly nine p.m., so I estimate that I have been laid out for at least a few hours. My eyes fill with tears, the full impact of my situation coming to the surface. I don’t even know how I can get myself out of this. My eyes flick back to the cell when Ben leaves a message, and more tears glass over my vision. For the first time in years, I felt alive, I felt like myself. Don’t I get that life? Don’t I deserve it? Why can’t Jeremy just move on?
Groaning, I slowly walk to my bathroom to try to clean myself up. As I turn on the light and look in the mirror, the sight is not a pretty one, but not the worst it’s ever been either. There is a small cut above my eye, and the swollen skin around it is turning a dark purple blue. It has been without ice, so I need to get that sorted to hopefully lesson the pain and swelling from here on out. I know the drill. I have been through this before.
Unbuttoning my shirt, which is now stained with blood, I throw it on the floor. There is no major bruising on my body, which is good, since that means no internal bleeding either… I hope. There’s a little redness, again nothing that some ice can’t fix. All in all, it is painful, but I have been beaten worse, and I am just glad I lost consciousness. Otherwise, it may have been a different outcome. He doesn’t like when I fight back.
I run the water, grab a washcloth, and start to clean myself up, then change into my sleepwear for the night. Walking into the kitchen, I grab the ice packs—the many I have stored for this very reason—and sit on the sofa to call George.
It is late, so he will be startled, but I can’t teach tomorrow. The kids won’t like to see my bruises, and although I can hide it from Rosie, the others will tell her, and I don’t want her to worry about me.
“Em, what’s wrong?” George asks the minute he picks up the phone.
“I can’t come in tomorrow. Jeremy came today,” I say, grimacing and trying to breathe through the pain. My hands are shaking, my nerves totally shot.
“Okay, let me rouse Rosie, and I will come get you and take you to the hospital,” George says, already knowing how this has gone in the past.
“No. Let her sleep, please. I’m fine, a bit bruised and sore, but nothing ice and painkillers won't fix. I think the kids may not like my new color, though, so I will stay home tomorrow. If you can bring Rosie home after school, that will be great,” I say, feeling bad I am putting more of a burden on George. He is stressed enough about the school as it is.
“I will have Sarah cover your class, and I will come over in the morning. Did anything happen to make him visit?” George presses. We have both been grateful that I haven’t heard from Jeremy for months, and I stupidly thought that maybe he had stopped for good.
