Chapter One - My Biggest Mistake
Abby paused outside the door, looking through the glass inset at the people inside. She didn't know why she was here. It was beyond stupid, being out on the street alone, when Brian hadn't been caught yet. She should have taken Susan up on her offer to sleep on her sofa. She should have asked one of the other nurses if she could stay with them for the night. Hell, she should have crashed on the couch in the lounge. Instead she was here, standing on the street in pale blue scrubs and a jacket she'd borrowed from Susan, holding a five dollar bill she'd found in her locker.
She looked down at her shoes, at the money in her hand, then back at the door again. She squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden rush of tears. And she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
She stood just inside the door, looking around at the activity. At just after midnight it was still buzzing. The space wasn't overly large, but there was a crowd. There was a cluster of tables scattered off to one side, mostly filled with small groups, and a few couples dancing on the small rectangle of linoleum in front of the windows. Half of the stools along the other side of the room were filled, and with a deep breath of inevitability, she crossed the room and slid onto one of the empty ones.
Taking care to comb her hair over her swollen eye, she leaned forward and scanned the dozens of bottles lined up on the shelves in front of her. Some she recognized, some she didn't. Once upon a time she'd been acquainted with several of them.
"What'll it be?"
She looked up at the bartender. Gruff and gray-haired, he didn't look the sort for conversation. Not the friendly sort who liked to listen to his patrons pour their hearts out. Good. That's not what she'd come here for. She'd come here for empty comfort and faded memories. For long moments the words lodged in her throat, emotions threatening to overcome her. She swallowed hard. "Draft, please."
A moment later the mug was in front of her and the bartender had moved on. She nudged the glass with her finger, spreading condensation on the shiny wood counter. She shouldn't be here, not with this or any other glass in her hands. She shouldn't be here in the first place. She should be some place safe. Not here, alone, near-broke and vulnerable.
A few hours ago she'd been in her apartment, waiting for her pizza to be delivered and trying to reassure Joyce that everything was going to be okay. The woman was on shaky footing, not sure she'd made the right decision by leaving Brian, but at least they'd gotten her into the shelter. They'd gotten her help. Abby could only cross her fingers that they'd really gotten through to her, and that she'd stay in the shelter until she could get back on her feet on her own.
She brought the mug to her lips, then set it back down without drinking. Shaking her head, she turned slightly and looked out at the room. The foosball table was there, in the same place it had been before. The night she and Luka came here for their first date. She'd had a blast here that night, and even then she'd started to feel something grow between them, something hard to define, but deeper and more meaningful than simple friendship. They were kindred spirits, lost souls who desperately wanted to connect with someone but had forgotten how.
When the paramedics had brought her in tonight, he'd been right there in the ambulance bay, not quite able to hide the frightened, anxious look on his face. She'd watched his lips tighten as he noted the blood and the swelling, and his attempt at a reassuring smile when he'd caught her looking at him. She hadn't wanted him to see her like that. Not broken and battered, alone and scared. She didn't want him to see her weak. How could he ever want her again if she was weak?
God, she'd never been so scared in her life. Back in the ER, with Joyce only a few feet away, she'd turned around and Brian was there, in her space, demanding, menacing. The look he got in his eyes---like he wouldn't think twice about doing her harm to get what he wanted---had truly frightened her. She believed he would have tried to put his hands on her right then and there if Luka hadn't come out of the exam room at the moment he had.
Her hands trembling slightly, she lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. No man had ever wanted to do her physical harm before. When she'd fought with Richard the last shaky months of their marriage, it had always been verbal. She treated victims of domestic violence all the time, but she'd never been a target before. It was more than a little unsettling to know she's been the focus of Brian's anger. That she might still be if he saw her again.
She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes shut. When she'd opened the door for the delivery guy and seen Brian's face, her mind had been momentarily paralyzed. She'd pictured Joyce, bloody, freezing out on the steps in front of the building. She'd pictured the woman's terrified, deer- in-the-headlights gaze as she'd begged Abby to let her stay the night before.
Abby had made him leave, but not before she'd seen fury flare deep in his eyes at her refusal to give him Joyce's location. The knock had come seconds after she'd shut him out, and the biggest mistake of her life had been releasing the deadbolt.
She choked on a derisive laugh. She'd never claimed to be a genius, but why the hell had she opened the door?
A tear leaked out of her eye and down her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently and took another sip. She felt so damn alone right now---alone and lost and scared. But the thing of it was, she had no one to blame but herself. She didn't let people in. If they tried, she just pushed them away. The end result was that she was left alone, which normally suited her just fine. If no one was counting on her, then she couldn't disappoint anyone. Right now though she regretted that stance. Because what she needed more than anything was someone to lean on. Just for a little while, she wanted someone to hold her, to ease the coiled tension inside her.
Exhaustion dragged at her, but she kept her eyes open. She scanned the room, searching for something, anything, to hold her focus and keep the nightmare at bay. Because every time she closed her eyes, he was there. Shooting daggers at her through the cracked-open door. Charging at her. Fist hitting her.
"Asshole," she muttered head bent low over her mug.
The sound of the door smashing open, of the chain being ripped from its mooring, had reminded her of the report from a high-powered rifle. Jarring, deafening. Her heart had leapt into her throat, adrenaline surging in a dizzying wave, during the short eternity it took him to cross her threshold.
She choked back a sound of distress. She clutched her hands together and tried to get the shaking to stop. She couldn't stop seeing it. Brian coming at her, rage in his eyes, seeming bigger than she remembered. His fist shooting out, striking before she had a chance to react. Blinding pain a few seconds before she hit the ground and lost consciousness.
She felt tears coming again. Oh God, she thought. She was going to lose it. She had to get out of here before she made a complete fool of herself. But where could she go?
She turned to look at the door, but light reflecting from inside made it impossible to see outside. For all she knew, Brian was standing out there right now, just waiting for her to leave. Waiting for his chance to start round two. Her breath caught suddenly, and she dropped her head against a sudden wave of dizziness. She was so stupid. How could she have come here when he was still on the street?
She took another sip, a longer sip, just to calm her nerves.
She pulled out her five dollar bill and looked at it, then at the payphone across the room. She looked down at her mug, then back at the door. Well, there was no way she was going out there alone. Not now, not with the image of Brian waiting for her fresh in her mind. She was going to have to call someone. Her eyes slid shut. The weight of embarrassment settled on her shoulders. She didn't want to imagine the look on her rescuer's face when they realized what she'd done. But she saw no other options. She saw no other way out.
She hailed the bartender, who took her bill and made change. He shot her a dirty look, probably expecting her not to leave a tip, but she ignored him. She slid slowly from the stool, clutching two quarters in her palm, and wove her way between the other patrons. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear, shaking her head as she inserted her money. "Shit," she muttered.
She dialed the number from memory and waited. And waited. "Come on, come on," she whispered, desperation creeping in as the ringing continued. "Please pick up."
She waited ten rings, then fifteen. There was no answer.
Abby paused outside the door, looking through the glass inset at the people inside. She didn't know why she was here. It was beyond stupid, being out on the street alone, when Brian hadn't been caught yet. She should have taken Susan up on her offer to sleep on her sofa. She should have asked one of the other nurses if she could stay with them for the night. Hell, she should have crashed on the couch in the lounge. Instead she was here, standing on the street in pale blue scrubs and a jacket she'd borrowed from Susan, holding a five dollar bill she'd found in her locker.
She looked down at her shoes, at the money in her hand, then back at the door again. She squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden rush of tears. And she pushed the door open and stepped inside.
She stood just inside the door, looking around at the activity. At just after midnight it was still buzzing. The space wasn't overly large, but there was a crowd. There was a cluster of tables scattered off to one side, mostly filled with small groups, and a few couples dancing on the small rectangle of linoleum in front of the windows. Half of the stools along the other side of the room were filled, and with a deep breath of inevitability, she crossed the room and slid onto one of the empty ones.
Taking care to comb her hair over her swollen eye, she leaned forward and scanned the dozens of bottles lined up on the shelves in front of her. Some she recognized, some she didn't. Once upon a time she'd been acquainted with several of them.
"What'll it be?"
She looked up at the bartender. Gruff and gray-haired, he didn't look the sort for conversation. Not the friendly sort who liked to listen to his patrons pour their hearts out. Good. That's not what she'd come here for. She'd come here for empty comfort and faded memories. For long moments the words lodged in her throat, emotions threatening to overcome her. She swallowed hard. "Draft, please."
A moment later the mug was in front of her and the bartender had moved on. She nudged the glass with her finger, spreading condensation on the shiny wood counter. She shouldn't be here, not with this or any other glass in her hands. She shouldn't be here in the first place. She should be some place safe. Not here, alone, near-broke and vulnerable.
A few hours ago she'd been in her apartment, waiting for her pizza to be delivered and trying to reassure Joyce that everything was going to be okay. The woman was on shaky footing, not sure she'd made the right decision by leaving Brian, but at least they'd gotten her into the shelter. They'd gotten her help. Abby could only cross her fingers that they'd really gotten through to her, and that she'd stay in the shelter until she could get back on her feet on her own.
She brought the mug to her lips, then set it back down without drinking. Shaking her head, she turned slightly and looked out at the room. The foosball table was there, in the same place it had been before. The night she and Luka came here for their first date. She'd had a blast here that night, and even then she'd started to feel something grow between them, something hard to define, but deeper and more meaningful than simple friendship. They were kindred spirits, lost souls who desperately wanted to connect with someone but had forgotten how.
When the paramedics had brought her in tonight, he'd been right there in the ambulance bay, not quite able to hide the frightened, anxious look on his face. She'd watched his lips tighten as he noted the blood and the swelling, and his attempt at a reassuring smile when he'd caught her looking at him. She hadn't wanted him to see her like that. Not broken and battered, alone and scared. She didn't want him to see her weak. How could he ever want her again if she was weak?
God, she'd never been so scared in her life. Back in the ER, with Joyce only a few feet away, she'd turned around and Brian was there, in her space, demanding, menacing. The look he got in his eyes---like he wouldn't think twice about doing her harm to get what he wanted---had truly frightened her. She believed he would have tried to put his hands on her right then and there if Luka hadn't come out of the exam room at the moment he had.
Her hands trembling slightly, she lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. No man had ever wanted to do her physical harm before. When she'd fought with Richard the last shaky months of their marriage, it had always been verbal. She treated victims of domestic violence all the time, but she'd never been a target before. It was more than a little unsettling to know she's been the focus of Brian's anger. That she might still be if he saw her again.
She dropped her head and squeezed her eyes shut. When she'd opened the door for the delivery guy and seen Brian's face, her mind had been momentarily paralyzed. She'd pictured Joyce, bloody, freezing out on the steps in front of the building. She'd pictured the woman's terrified, deer- in-the-headlights gaze as she'd begged Abby to let her stay the night before.
Abby had made him leave, but not before she'd seen fury flare deep in his eyes at her refusal to give him Joyce's location. The knock had come seconds after she'd shut him out, and the biggest mistake of her life had been releasing the deadbolt.
She choked on a derisive laugh. She'd never claimed to be a genius, but why the hell had she opened the door?
A tear leaked out of her eye and down her cheek. She brushed it away impatiently and took another sip. She felt so damn alone right now---alone and lost and scared. But the thing of it was, she had no one to blame but herself. She didn't let people in. If they tried, she just pushed them away. The end result was that she was left alone, which normally suited her just fine. If no one was counting on her, then she couldn't disappoint anyone. Right now though she regretted that stance. Because what she needed more than anything was someone to lean on. Just for a little while, she wanted someone to hold her, to ease the coiled tension inside her.
Exhaustion dragged at her, but she kept her eyes open. She scanned the room, searching for something, anything, to hold her focus and keep the nightmare at bay. Because every time she closed her eyes, he was there. Shooting daggers at her through the cracked-open door. Charging at her. Fist hitting her.
"Asshole," she muttered head bent low over her mug.
The sound of the door smashing open, of the chain being ripped from its mooring, had reminded her of the report from a high-powered rifle. Jarring, deafening. Her heart had leapt into her throat, adrenaline surging in a dizzying wave, during the short eternity it took him to cross her threshold.
She choked back a sound of distress. She clutched her hands together and tried to get the shaking to stop. She couldn't stop seeing it. Brian coming at her, rage in his eyes, seeming bigger than she remembered. His fist shooting out, striking before she had a chance to react. Blinding pain a few seconds before she hit the ground and lost consciousness.
She felt tears coming again. Oh God, she thought. She was going to lose it. She had to get out of here before she made a complete fool of herself. But where could she go?
She turned to look at the door, but light reflecting from inside made it impossible to see outside. For all she knew, Brian was standing out there right now, just waiting for her to leave. Waiting for his chance to start round two. Her breath caught suddenly, and she dropped her head against a sudden wave of dizziness. She was so stupid. How could she have come here when he was still on the street?
She took another sip, a longer sip, just to calm her nerves.
She pulled out her five dollar bill and looked at it, then at the payphone across the room. She looked down at her mug, then back at the door. Well, there was no way she was going out there alone. Not now, not with the image of Brian waiting for her fresh in her mind. She was going to have to call someone. Her eyes slid shut. The weight of embarrassment settled on her shoulders. She didn't want to imagine the look on her rescuer's face when they realized what she'd done. But she saw no other options. She saw no other way out.
She hailed the bartender, who took her bill and made change. He shot her a dirty look, probably expecting her not to leave a tip, but she ignored him. She slid slowly from the stool, clutching two quarters in her palm, and wove her way between the other patrons. She picked up the receiver and held it to her ear, shaking her head as she inserted her money. "Shit," she muttered.
She dialed the number from memory and waited. And waited. "Come on, come on," she whispered, desperation creeping in as the ringing continued. "Please pick up."
She waited ten rings, then fifteen. There was no answer.