When I opened my apartment door I was met with quite a surprise.
There were eight empty bottles of beer sitting on the coffee table. I
stood with the door half-open. Jake didn't drink. In fact, he was an
alcoholic . . . just like me. We had met at work and then run into each
other at a meeting.
I heard a crash from the kitchen. "Jake?"
I closed the door as he came stumbling towards me. "Where the hell have you been?" he slurred.
"I just went for a drive."
"You saw him, didn't you?"
"Who?"
"Carter!"
I tried to stop the guilt I felt from spreading to my face. "Jake, don't be ridiculous."
With one swift movement, Jake threw me against the wall and pinned me there. "You lying whore." His breath reeked. And my head was throbbing.
"Jake, stop it, you're hurting me." I tried to wiggle away from him but I couldn't budge.
"Oh, I haven't even started." He smiled, a scary, drunken smile. He raised his hand and formed a fist.
"Jake, please," I begged. "Don't do this. Please."
Jake laughed and hit me as hard as he could. Then he took my head in his hands and smashed it into the wall. Everything went black.
********************
Jake was sitting by the bed when I woke up. He must have carried me into the bedroom after I was knocked out. I reached up and touched the area around my left eye. It was swollen. My hand moved down my face and discovered a large cut on my cheek. My bottom lip was split and the entire right side of my torso was throbbing with pain.
I reached for the phone. "I'm calling the police," I said.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jake said. "I could kill you before they ever got here. Just one little snap, " he demonstrated with his hands, "and I could break your neck." He grabbed my still extended wrist and twisted it until I heard the bone snap.
Tears sprung to my eyes and poured down my face. "We're going into work now because we both have a sift. You're going to get all bandaged up and then go about your day. And when people ask what happened you're going to tell them that you fell down the stairs."
******************
"Abby, what happened?" Carter cried as Jake and I entered the hospital.
"I. . ." I glanced nervously at Jake. "I fell down the stairs. I think my wrist is broken."
Carter gently took my wrist in his hands. "Come on, I'll take a look at it."
I sat down on the bed in exam two. "That cut on your face might need to be sutured," he said, pulling on his gloves. I winced as he touched my face. "You didn't fall down the stairs." It wasn't a question.
I shook my head.
"Did Jake hit you?"
I looked up at Carter. I didn't want to tell him. I was ashamed. It wasn't my fault. I told myself over and over again that it wasn't my fault. But I still didn't want to broadcast it around.
I nodded. "He was drunk last night when I got home," I said. "He knew I'd been to see you. He got jealous."
"Son of bitch," Carter said, standing up.
I pulled him back down with my good arm. "John, don't do anything. Please. I'm gonna call the cops today and they can take care of it. John, please . . ."
I don't think he was listening to me. He left the room and came back a few minutes later, dragging Jake by the collar. "Did you do this to her?" he roared. "Did you!?!"
Jake looked at me, then at Carter, then back to me. "You fucking bitch," he hissed.
Carter spun him around and slammed him against the wall. "If you ever come near her again, I will kill you. Slowly. Now get the fuck outta here."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Jake said, coolly. "But I have a shift to finish."
"Not after I talk to Weaver." Carter threw Jake out the door. "Abby, come with me."
I heard a crash from the kitchen. "Jake?"
I closed the door as he came stumbling towards me. "Where the hell have you been?" he slurred.
"I just went for a drive."
"You saw him, didn't you?"
"Who?"
"Carter!"
I tried to stop the guilt I felt from spreading to my face. "Jake, don't be ridiculous."
With one swift movement, Jake threw me against the wall and pinned me there. "You lying whore." His breath reeked. And my head was throbbing.
"Jake, stop it, you're hurting me." I tried to wiggle away from him but I couldn't budge.
"Oh, I haven't even started." He smiled, a scary, drunken smile. He raised his hand and formed a fist.
"Jake, please," I begged. "Don't do this. Please."
Jake laughed and hit me as hard as he could. Then he took my head in his hands and smashed it into the wall. Everything went black.
********************
Jake was sitting by the bed when I woke up. He must have carried me into the bedroom after I was knocked out. I reached up and touched the area around my left eye. It was swollen. My hand moved down my face and discovered a large cut on my cheek. My bottom lip was split and the entire right side of my torso was throbbing with pain.
I reached for the phone. "I'm calling the police," I said.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Jake said. "I could kill you before they ever got here. Just one little snap, " he demonstrated with his hands, "and I could break your neck." He grabbed my still extended wrist and twisted it until I heard the bone snap.
Tears sprung to my eyes and poured down my face. "We're going into work now because we both have a sift. You're going to get all bandaged up and then go about your day. And when people ask what happened you're going to tell them that you fell down the stairs."
******************
"Abby, what happened?" Carter cried as Jake and I entered the hospital.
"I. . ." I glanced nervously at Jake. "I fell down the stairs. I think my wrist is broken."
Carter gently took my wrist in his hands. "Come on, I'll take a look at it."
I sat down on the bed in exam two. "That cut on your face might need to be sutured," he said, pulling on his gloves. I winced as he touched my face. "You didn't fall down the stairs." It wasn't a question.
I shook my head.
"Did Jake hit you?"
I looked up at Carter. I didn't want to tell him. I was ashamed. It wasn't my fault. I told myself over and over again that it wasn't my fault. But I still didn't want to broadcast it around.
I nodded. "He was drunk last night when I got home," I said. "He knew I'd been to see you. He got jealous."
"Son of bitch," Carter said, standing up.
I pulled him back down with my good arm. "John, don't do anything. Please. I'm gonna call the cops today and they can take care of it. John, please . . ."
I don't think he was listening to me. He left the room and came back a few minutes later, dragging Jake by the collar. "Did you do this to her?" he roared. "Did you!?!"
Jake looked at me, then at Carter, then back to me. "You fucking bitch," he hissed.
Carter spun him around and slammed him against the wall. "If you ever come near her again, I will kill you. Slowly. Now get the fuck outta here."
"Sorry to disappoint you," Jake said, coolly. "But I have a shift to finish."
"Not after I talk to Weaver." Carter threw Jake out the door. "Abby, come with me."
