I was originally going to skip this entire chapter and go on to Day 5, but I had an epiphany and realized I had to include it for the nature of the ending and thanks to FF, I'm a day behind.
I'd love to hear your thoughts as this story comes to a close.
Mutual Violent Control: this kind of violence may be what is thought of as mutual combat. It can be two parties using violence to control each other in a specific setting, or be more like two people attempting a kind of intimate terrorism with each other.
By the time the shot gun went off, Aberdeen was in her Suburban, searching for her keys. Adrenaline surging through her body, she worked past the pain and locked her doors, finding her keys in a heap on the floor board. She would be gone before Devon had time to reload. She hadn't bothered to see how close to the end of the canyon she was, but there was no way Devon would be able to get to her in time.
She drove until sunset, finding her way to the interstate and waiting until the shadows of darkness could conceal her at the first truck stop she could find.
Exhaustion was beginning to set in, adrenaline was wearing thin, and Aberdeen was getting sore. She rummaged through her purse one last time, knowing she was out of medication.
It was relatively barren at the stop, but she took the precaution of dragging herself and her things into the family restroom. She had to clean herself up if she was ever going to get a proper bath and good nights sleep at a nearby motel.
Standing in front of the mirror, Aberdeen's reflection frightened even herself. Her foundation was blotched, smeared only on the far edges of her hairline. Her eyeliner and mascara had formed tear shaped streaks, rolling around the rims of her eyes and down the hills of her cheeks.
The streams of tears had now turned a sickening shade of brown-red from the dust and red clay of the canyons. Her lip was busted and a few drips of blood had crusted and dried to her chin. After she had succeeded in wetting a wash cloth and removing the remains from her face, she was able to concentrate on the rest of her body.
Her neck was one giant bruise, a disgusting shade of red-based purple. There was no way to disguise it short of putting on a scarf. She might be able to get away with it in the cool desert night. She was more concerned with her labored breathing and difficulty to swallow. If the bastard had crushed her windpipe, she would no doubt need surgery.
Going to the hospital in this condition wasn't an option. Domestic violence was a serious issue. Police would be called, they would need Aberdeen's identification and would want to know who had hurt her and how and too many questions would lead to too much digging into her personal business which would include her past in Los Angeles. She couldn't have that.
She cleared her throat and was met with an agonizing throb, her voice low and raspy. She ran her hand along her throat, wincing immediately. It was definitely swollen. She had to do something.
She turned her attention back to the rest of her body, the other aches and pains she could fix in the moment. She pulled off her sweater and used the damp rag to wipe the blood and clay smears from her chest, arms, and bra, spot cleaning it so she could change into something not ripped and ruined.
She winced when she reached her rib cage. One side was pronounced, an already yellowing bruise in it's place. She hoped they were only bruised and not broken. It was already so hard to breath.
She cleaned the blood from her hip. The spot where her dermal was had already scabbed and would most definitely scar. She sighed heavily and began to choke on her own inward breath, latching onto the sink with both hands and spitting up blood as she coughed. "Fuck." She heaved, trying desperately to calm her breaths.
It took a few minutes to control herself. When she finally had, Aberdeen went to the toilet in the corner of the room to relieve herself.
Mac's semen still dripped from her aching pussy and the thought made her sick. She needed to get him off of her. She no longer belonged to him. She wasn't even sure if Mac still existed, but she knew she wasn't going to go find out. She needed to change her panties, she had worn these since the night Mac had been arrested and the idea of wearing underwear that long was another nauseating one.
She undid her tattered jeans and pushed them, along with her soiled black panties, down her thighs and took a seat, slowly and painfully. She gasped at what she saw.
Blood, dripping down her thighs, soaking the crotch of her cotton underwear and seeping through her jeans. Too much fucking blood. She screamed despite herself, over looking the searing burn of her throat and the over whelming relief that should have been washing over her at that very moment.
"Miss Stanley?" The nurse asked quietly.
The room was mostly empty and Aberdeen was shaking by herself in the first row of creaky blue chairs. She stood, slowly, trying to stop thinking about the aches all over her body and concentrating on walking into the tiny side office to discuss why she was in the emergency department.
She had located her fake I.D. somewhere in her luggage by the fake passport that Stan had insisted upon incase things with the meth lab had gone south. Good ol' Stan, she thought.
She sat across from the nurse who took her blood pressure and weight. "It says here you told the head nurse you were almost four weeks pregnant and started spotting this afternoon?"
"Yes ma'am." Aberdeen managed, adjusting in the chair cautiously. Her throat was tight as she felt the nurses's eyes on her.
She was avoiding the obvious question, probably not sure how to bring up the taboo subject. "Have you been stressed lately?"
Inwardly, Aberdeen scoffed at the comment. She controlled herself, gritting her teeth and taking another agonized breath. "Please, ma'am. I just want to know if it's still alive. I need to know for my own sanity."
"We will take you to the back for a sonogram, Miss Stanley, but I cant help but notice that your throat... have you been in an accident recently?"
"We aren't here for me. I just need to know if it made it. Is it still alive?" Aberdeen snapped. She was near tears and growing more anxious and hostile by the moment.
"Calm down, Miss. We'll go to the back." The nurse said, cautiously standing. There was an overwhelming look of fear in that nurse's eyes. She guided Aberdeen to the back and asked her to strip, handing her a blue gown to put on to cover her nakedness. Then the nurse closed the door and left her there alone.
It took Aberdeen considerably longer to change into the gown. She lay on the table, making sure the brunt of her injuries were covered over by the unflattering gown. She ensured that the wop-sided collar covered the teeth marks on her chest without having to tie the straps on the back of the neckline.
She managed to get herself on the examination table by herself a few moments before there was a rap at the door.
"Ready." She gagged on the word, bringing forward another coughing fit.
The nurse came in, accompanied by another woman with a stethoscope and rolling in a large machine. "Miss Stanley, my name is Doctor Jordan. I'm really concerned about your throat. You seem to be suffering from dyspnea* and a serious case of dysphonia* but I'd need to do an x-ray to be sure."
"Don't worry about me. The baby." Aberdeen choked. "I have to know if it's okay."
"We brought the ultrasound machine, we'll check right now, but afterward I'd like to do an x-ray." She said, tilting Aberdeen's head to get a better look at her throat. "Is there anything else happening that may be affecting your health?"
"What do you mean?" Aberdeen snapped, defensively.
"When I see injuries like this, I wonder if someone could have hurt you? These look like finger marks."
"The baby." She gagged, shaking her head.
The doctor sighed, deciding to calm the woman by acquiescing and giving her the sonogram. "Lie back, Miss."
Aberdeen lay in the tub, slowly rotating her feet in the warm, soapy water. The grime from the past two days was gone from her body. She was finally clean.
She had narrowly escaped the hospital after the police had been notified and drove another hour before she stopped at a shit hotel for the night, using her fake I.D. once again. Despite her exhaustion, she had to take a bath, needed to feel clean again.
On her way out of the hospital, she managed to swipe some heavy pain killers, the kind you had to inject. The medicine took no time to sink in and affect her aching, tired body.
One thought circled through her head as she soaked: she had to go back to Cainville.
Walter and Devon were still alive, she had no doubt about that. They had wanted her dead before. It was only a matter of time before they found out about the drugs going up in smoke. They weren't the kind of men that let things go. They had that in common with Mac.
Mac. She wondered what had happened to Mac. She hadn't gone down to check on him, but she was sure even a psychopath couldn't survive a thirty foot drop onto the hard earth, tweaking on meth or not, Mac was dead. He had to be.
Aberdeen could run, she could assume a new identity in God knows where and start a new life. She would never have to see them again, deny their existence, but from the moment she heard the consistent "thub thub, thub thub" of the heart beat in her womb, the thriving life that she was sustaining, despite all of the torment and stress she had endured this week, she knew: another life depended on her.
She was a mother now, and she would do anything to protect the life of her child.
*difficulty breathing and condition where the voice is hoarse, weak, and excessively breathy