Crash! Boom! Bang! These were the typical sounds in the apartment. It never took much to upset Spencer. I could sigh, or take a deep breath and he would think it was because I was pissed at him. When he was angry like this, anything within reach ended up broken or as something to hit me with. I spent many mornings trying to hide the bruises and scrapes I ended up with.
Tonight was no different. I was sitting on the couch working on a project with my friend Sam. Sam didn't go to my college, but he was always willing to help me. He was incredibly smart. Not to mention easy on the eyes— lean and muscular with gorgeous green eyes and shoulder length brown hair. Spencer walked in the door, much earlier than I'd been expecting. To say the least, he did not look happy.
"What the fuck?!" he yelled.
"Spence, this is Sam. We're just friends and—" he didn't even let me finish my sentence.
"You stupid bitch! I come home from a shitty day, and what do I find? My girlfriend on the couch with some other guy!"
"I don't want any trouble," Sam started. "We were working on this project for her class."
"I don't give a fuck what you two were doing! Get out of my fucking apartment!" Spencer yelled.
"I'll see you later Nicky. If you need me, you know where to find me. We can finish this later," Sam said as he picked up his stuff.
Spencer slammed the door behind Sam. "What the hell was that?" he snarled.
"We were working on a project for my class. Nothing was happening!" I said, trying to defend myself.
"Bullshit! You were cheating on me!" he yelled as he picked up a boot by the door. He chucked it at me and it barely missed my face. I ran out of the living room toward the bedroom with Spencer tailing me, shoving things out of the way. Chairs went flying across the apartment, pictures were broken, and furniture was moved violently out of the way in his pursuit of me.
I ran to the bedroom and locked the door behind me. For good measure, I stuck a chair under the doorknob. It wouldn't hold him for long, but it would hold him long enough for me to shove some things in a bag. I started throwing as much of my stuff into my duffle bag as I could. I managed to get at least most of my clothes shoved into the bag with a little room to spare for special items. I ran into the connected bathroom, shoved my toiletries in the bag, and made a quick scan of the room.
Spencer was trying his hardest to get into the room. I could hear him repeatedly running into the door, and twisting the knob as hard as he could. I quickly grabbed my laptop and charger and then stashed the bag under the bed. I had just managed to stand up as the sounds outside the door finally stopped.
"Nichole? Baby, please come out," I heard him pleading. "I'm sorry I scared you." He was crying now. Dammit. He knew that was my weakness. After trying to wait out the fake crying, I finally gave in. I couldn't stand to hear him cry. I moved the chair and unlocked the door. He had retreated to the couch and was sitting there crying.
I warily made my way to the couch, and for my efforts, I earned a scowl. I sighed and sat down beside him.
"I love you, you know that right?" he said.
I stayed silent. Obviously that didn't sit well with him. "You know that. Say you know that."
I still stayed silent. This still did nothing but make him angry again. I earned a hard slap to the face. He got up and locked himself in the bathroom.
Thinking quickly, with my face stinging and eyes watering, I quietly ran to the bedroom, removed my bag, packed it with as much as I could fit into it, and hid it in the closet by the front door. I texted Sam, telling him Spencer was really angry and had hit me again and that he needed to come get me now.
I paced the living room, praying Sam got my message in time. I heard the lock on the bathroom click and the door start to open. I checked my phone quickly, and saw a message from Sam.
"On my way back. Be there in like five minutes."
"Just walk in," I responded, just in time for Spencer to see me shove the phone in my pocket.
"Who were you talking to?" Spencer asked.
"No one," I lied. "I was checking the time."
"There's a perfectly functional clock over there on the wall," he scowled. "I'll repeat the question. Who were you talking to?"
"Spence, that's none of your business," I said with as much courage as I could muster.
"Give me your phone," he said with his hand out.
"No."
"Give it to me."
"I said no Spencer."
"Nichole, give me the phone or I will physically take it from you," he said as he took a menacing step toward me.
I instinctively backed away. "I'm not going to give it to you."
That was all it took to set him off again. Before I knew it, I was on the ground with him sitting on me, grabbing at my pocket for my phone. He successfully extracted it from my pocket and let me go.
Typing in my password, he saw the messages between Sam and I. "What the fuck?!" he screamed. "You are not going with that guy, you little slut!"
"The hell I'm not!" I yelled.
He came over to me again. This time seething with anger. He shoved me against the wall, pinning me there with a hand to my throat. "You are not going anywhere, you whore. You belong to me, and not to that bastard." He threw me down to the floor and I hit my head on the floor hard enough to really hurt and make me dizzy. Spencer rolled me onto my back and sat on me. Then he did something he hadn't done in months: he punched me. I felt his fist connect with my cheekbone. I was seeing stars for the second time.
Just as he was rearing to hit me again, Sam walked through the door. Sam took a survey of the room, the toppled furniture, the broken pictures, and the rest of the mess. He crossed to us in four steps and pulled Spencer off me by his shoulder and shirt. Finally freed from under Spencer, I could breathe again.
"The hell, man?!" Spencer shouted. "I thought I told you never to come back!"
"You really think I'm going to leave her here with an abusive dick like you?! Dude, you're sick." Sam crossed back over to me and helped me up. "Do you still need to grab anything, Nick?"
I nodded.
"Okay. Get what you need and then we'll leave," he said softly.
"She is not leaving," Spencer said as he began to come at me again.
Faster than I thought possible, Sam produced a gun out from the back of his pants. "She's coming with me, asshole. You have no control over her."
Spencer backed off, hands in the air. "Dude, what's with the gun? Can't we handle this without it?"
Sam laughed. "You had your chance. Now, she's going to get her stuff, and you're going to stay right there where I can see you."
I quickly grabbed my phone charger and my backpack with all my books as quickly as I could with my head spinning the way it was.
"Anything else, Nicky?" asked Sam.
"Just a bag in the front closet," I said.
"I've got that," he said in a soft voice. He lowered the gun and went to the closet and grabbed it. "Let's go."
I made it to the door fine, but as Sam and I were making our way to the stairs, Spencer came running out. Sam couldn't get to me quick enough and Spencer pushed me down the stairs. I hit the radiator with my head and my bags came rolling down after me. My ankle hurt like hell and I could feel something running down the side of my face. I reached up and my hand came away with blood.
As Sam came rushing down the stairs to make sure I was okay, Spencer called out from the top of the stairs, "Here's your phone, you stupid, cheating bitch!" My phone came flying down the stairs and hit me square in the mouth. I tasted blood. Sam slung my backpack onto his shoulder, as well as my purse. Then he stuck my phone in his pocket and helped me up.
When I gasped with pain, he picked me up and carried me down the other set of stairs, despite the load he was already carrying.
We left the building with Spencer still screaming at us. People were starting to open their doors to see what all the commotion as about. I bet I was a remarkable sight… Blood running down my face, bruised, and being carried down the stairs.
Sam carried me all the way to his car, a 1967 Chevy Impala. He had told me before that this was his brother's car. It didn't matter at that moment. Getting away was all I cared about. He opened the door and gingerly placed me in the passenger seat. He closed the door gently, placed my belongings in the trunk, and climbed into the driver's seat.
"We're going to the hospital," he said softly.
"Sam, no. We can't."
"Nick, we need to. You're ankle is probably broken. At the very least, it's sprained really badly. And you might have a concussion."
"Sam," I said despite the lump in my throat. "I can't. Do you know how many times I've been there in the last six months? I probably already have a waiting room with my name on it."
"I didn't mean your hospital. We're going to the emergency room close to where I live. They don't know you there."
I couldn't help but cry. God, it hurt my head to cry. Sam handed me a rag from the back. "Put this on your head. Make sure to keep pressure on it."
We drove off, heading east. Less than twenty minutes later, we were pulling into the parking lot of the ER. Sam, again, came to my side, opened my door, picked me up, and carried me inside.
We filled out the necessary paperwork, and in no time were in a room. I hated hospital rooms. I had been to so many since I started dating Spencer. White rooms with stupid boarder wallpapers, smelling of disinfectant and bodily fluids. A nurse came in and took my vitals. She gave me a few wary glances and left.
About an hour later, the doctor strolled in. "So what happened? Did you lose a fight?" he laughed.
"Basically. I lost a fight with myself," I lied. "I tripped and fell down the stairs. I hit my head on the radiator and must have hit my face in a couple places on the way down. I came down on my ankle wrong, too." I pulled up my pant leg and showed the doctor my ankle. It was swollen to at least three times its normal size.
"Good news about the ankle. It's not broken. I can tell you that much. If it was broken, it would be purple. Now, as far as hitting your head, I'm going to need to run a couple of tests. I'm going to guess you have a concussion. We'll get those tests set up straight away." The doctor smiled and then left the room.
I sighed heavily. At least my ankle wasn't broken. But tests? For my head? I looked over at Sam who was looking at me with concern.
"I'm fine," I managed to get out.
Sam opened his mouth to speak, but his phone started to ring. He dug it out of his pocket and answered, "Hello? No I'm at the hospital with Nichole," he paused and listened. "No, I don't know how long we're going to be here. I'll be back as soon as I can. And Dean, don't drink all the beer this time. Save some for us." He listened again, rolled his eyes and laughed. "No, I'm bringing her back with me. She needs a place to stay. I'll explain it all later." The doctor came back in the door. "Gotta go Dean," Sam said and hung up.
"We seem to be experiencing technical difficulties tonight. Good thing we don't have anyone else with head injuries tonight. I can do a few simple tests here in the room that will help me decide whether or not we need to see you again for more testing. Sit up straight for me, dear." The doctor stood in front of me and shined a flashlight in my eyes. He tested my balance and coordination as well as my reflexes. "Keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes," he instructed.
After what felt like hours, he was finally done examining me. He concluded that I did in fact have a concussion but it was not severe. "Just keep an eye on her for the next few days. If she starts to get worse, bring her back immediately. She can also take over the counter pain medication to help with the headaches she is going to be experiencing," he began to leave the room, but stopped in the doorway. "And be sure to wake her up every few hours for the next couple of nights." He looked over at me. "Be careful on the stairs from now on, young lady," he smiled and left.
After that, the nurse came back in and took my vitals a second time, I signed some discharge papers, and we were leaving the hospital.
Sam helped me to the car and opened the door for me. As he assumed his position behind the wheel, he said, "We're going to stop at the drugstore and get you a brace or wrap for that ankle. We can also get you something for your head." He smiled softly and we drove on.
We stopped at the drugstore and bought a wrap and ice packs for my ankle, as well as a fuck ton of pain killers. I rolled my eyes, but I knew that Sam meant well.
As we exited the drugstore, Sam pulled out the ankle wrap. "Sit on the hood of the car and take off your shoe," he said softly.
I did as he asked and pulled up the leg of my jeans enough so he could see what he was doing. Sam took great care in wrapping my ankle. It was tight, but not too tight. When he was finished, he secured the wrap with the clips and taped them with athletic tape. He helped me down off the hood of his car and we took off toward his house.