Warning – this chapter contains mention of child abuse…
Chapter 1: An Intervention of a different Kind…
I drove to my mother's house, frantic for a safe harbor, a place to hole up. My mother was a wonderful woman who dared to restart her life when she realized her husband wouldn't get better. She literally grabbed me when I was four and ran. We only had the clothes on our backs when Mom left my dad, Charlie. The irony was not lost as I squinted my way to her neighborhood.
Renee and my stepdad Phil still lived in the same place they bought when they first married. Charlie was a police officer who served on two tours in Vietnam. The two of them were high school sweethearts who married before he shipped out to Vietnam. When Charlie came home, he drank away the horrors he remembered and the things he saw daily from his job as sheriff's deputy. By the time I was born, my father had numerous affairs. When I was two, he started hitting my mother when he got drunk. After one awful night, she grabbed me, some clothes, and a stash of cash that she spirited under his nose.
My father didn't see me again until I was eight. He would call every now and then but didn't make an appearance until one day, I was playing on the playground at school. I saw a tall man in a police uniform with dark hair and a bushy mustache who looked vaguely familiar. It was him, Charlie. It took me a minute to figure it out, wondering why this policeman was so familiar, as the last time I saw him had been during that night we left.
I had been excited and scared, not remembering him except for the bad parts. He motioned me over and started talking, smelling like peppermint and tobacco, not beer like I remembered. It lasted a month. Charlie came to my school and spoke to me at the chain fence. Years later, I realized that Charlie visited me this way because my mother had a protective order. My teacher saw us talking and notified my mother. The next day, Charlie showed up drunk and different from the quiet man at the fence the previous day. I wouldn't see him again until a couple of years later.
My mother managed to get sole custody based on the abuse and his failure to pass a court-mandated alcohol test after she left. He had to go through her to get to me and until he came to my school, I wondered why he did not see me. After that day, when he exploded at the principal, I never questioned why again.
Phil and Mom met at the school where they both taught. Mom was an art teacher, and Phil was a baseball coach who also taught science. He was a widower who transferred the schools the previous year with a daughter my age, Rose. Rose's mother had died giving birth to her. It took me a while to warm up to both Rose and Phil. Rose had the same problem with Mom and me.
I knew I had a father out there, and Rose wished her mother was still alive. Somehow, in the next couple of years, we managed to become sisters, and Phil became my dad. I started calling him dad after my father showed up drunk at school. Mom and Phil had another baby the year Charlie made his reappearance. Our sister Angela gave Rose and me something to bond over.
While Mom flourished, Charlie fell deeper into his alcoholism. He eventually lost his job as a policeman. My father struggled to find work and struggled to connect with me. When he did show up to see me, he would badmouth my mother, and in turn, I would tell him I hated him. I didn't hate him; I hated his addiction. It took years for me to understand the difference. When Charlie was sober, he was the best; when he was drunk, he was the devil.
Two things happened when I was sixteen, Charlie went into his last rehab and got sober permanently. My Mom helped him get into a program that clicked with him. He would eventually find work as a carpenter and marry his current wife, Sue, a divorced nurse at the hospital where I work now. She had a son, Seth, and a daughter, Leah. They were ten years younger than me, so I wasn't as close to them as I was to Rose, but we all got along. My mother's family and my dad's, me the only glue keeping them together.
The other thing that happened was that I met Jasper in high school. Like my parents, we were high school sweethearts. Jasper got me. He knew alcohol scared me. That is why Jasper and I clicked. I was afraid to drink or do any kind of experimentation. Jasper was an athlete who did not even have a sip of beer, fearful of what it could do to his career as a football star. He was a talented running back who was petrified of losing a chance at the NFL. He never pushed me to drink and was happy to stay sober with me.
Jasper got a shot at the pros, but a knee injury killed his hopes. His knee. His goddamn right knee, I thought as my mother's house came into view. During his senior year in college, a bad tackle tore his ACL. He needed surgery, which he had, but the surgeon said there was more damage than he thought. So, Jasper had his second surgery the year after we had Alex. They gave him an Oxycodone script for pain management. Jasper went through the first bottle in two weeks. The script was supposed to be for thirty days. And so, it went. He built a tolerance fast, and he would use all his pills up. Then he would get another script and another. He had already been to one rehab where his newfound sobriety lasted a week before slipping.
And here I was, pulling up to my mother's house with my face swelling up and my side flaring up in pain. History repeating itself. Vague memories from when I was a very young girl flitting in my brain. My dad shoving her into a wall was a particularly vivid one.
The sunlight illuminated the oak tree in my Mom's yard, the old tire swing hanging from it, the gray rope hanging from when Phil first hung it when we moved in.
"Kids, we're at Nana's," I said, turning off the engine. A check in the review mirror told me we were safe for now. Another look in the back made me realize Alex had bruises from where Jasper grabbed his scrawny arm. I turned back in horror, staring at my parents' garage door.
"It's okay, Ellie," Alex said, hiccupping and petting her foot. "Mommy saved us."
And there it was: Mommy saved us.
I might have been alright if he hadn't been so earnest, but I burst into tears. Ugly tears, the type that would give me a migraine later, that kind that caused you to gasp for air, and, that moment, caused pain from where I was grabbed. The type that scared your kids was because Ellie was crying again, and Alex started stuttering. We sat pitifully in the car when Phil left the house, lunchbox in hand. He must have been getting ready for work, as coaching often began early in the morning.
I had no idea he was there until he tapped on my window. I gave a little squeal, thinking that Jasper must have caught to us.
"Bella, honey, are you okay?" he asked.
I stopped crying and everything went dark for a moment. "Bella," I heard my name being called as I fell farther into the darkness. "Bella! Renee!"
Something happened around me as cool, soothing air swirled into the hot car. I still couldn't see it, but I felt someone lead me out of the vehicle while Ellie cried. It was so surreal; I felt detached from my body as I tried to focus on my baby.
Voice swirled in the background.
"Oh my God, Phil, what did he do her?"
"Daddy did it."
"What did he do, honey?"
"He hurted Mommy when he was looking for his medicine. Daddy gets real mean without his medicine."
"Dad, he did that to her, didn't he!"
"I'm going to fucking kill him, Rosie, that motherfucker."
I didn't know where I was; I just knew I was sitting somewhere. Shivering, I was so cold. Someone must have noticed; something was put on my shoulders.
"Mom, she's in shock; we should take her to a hospital. Her and the kids."
"I'm going to call my buddy; she needs to file charges."
"Charlie, is that really necessary?"
"Please tell me you're kidding; her face looks like a checkerboard. That fool she married is lucky I don't call my buddies and give him a dose of his own goddamn medicine!"
"Charlie!"
"Don't 'Charlie' me Renee, look at her face! Look at the boy!"
The boy – Alex. My Alex, my sweet Alex. What was the matter with my son? My anchor to the world, my son. What kind of mother was I? I just left him the car. Oh my God – what if Jasper caught up to us?
My mind stopped drifting, and things started coming back into focus—or as much focus as they could. I realized that when Jasper hit me, my glasses went flying and were probably in my garage somewhere.
As my senses returned, I realized I was in Mom and Phil's living room, on the couch. Everything was still blurry since I didn't have my glasses, but I could make out my parents, Phil, Rose, and Emmett. I was shivering, even with the blanket someone put on me, and Alex was cuddled to my side.
"Mo-om," I stuttered, my mouth parched.
"Mommy!" Alex squealed, pushing his little fingers into my blanket-covered arm. Thank God it was covered because his fingers were sharp, almost like little pencils gripping my arm.
"Hi, Sweetie," I said, making a move to put him on my lap.
"Bella," Mom said coming, over, her concerned face coming to my view. "Careful honey."
"Why?" I replied, before getting my answered. My entire side burned from where I fell on the phone. And crawling over the seat like I did probably didn't do me any favors. In fact, I felt like hell. My side hurt, my face felt like it was on fire, and my head had a dull ache.
"Don't move, B," Rose told me sternly. "You need to go the hospital."
"What, no," I squawked. We lived in Berry, California, a small town fifteen miles south of LA. There was one hospital I worked at; there was no way this would stay private if we went there.
"Bella, you need to get checked out. You look like hamburger meat, and Alex needs to be looked at," she replied.
"Listen to your sister," Charlie ordered. He came closer so I could make out his flannel, his standard uniform, which replaced the sheriff's uniform of my youth. He must have gotten off work and come straight here.
"Charlie, what are you doing here," I asked, confused.
"I called him," Mom said simply, coming down to me. "We couldn't get your attention when you got here."
"How long have I been here?" I asked, realizing I had to have been here a while for all these people to come over.
"You've been here over an hour," Phil replied.
"An hour?" I gasped and clutched my side again.
"Mommy?" Alex asked, "Are you hurted?"
"I'm fine, baby," I flat-out lied. "How about you? Are you okay?"
"You need a doctor, Mommy," Alex said, getting up and touching my forehead, "That's a bad owie, and doctors and mommies make it better. Grandma, give Mommy a kiss."
"Sure, Alex," Mom said, leaning down and gently kissing me on the forehead.
"See Mommy? Dontcha you feel better?"
"I do, Alex," I told him, trying to wince with the effort this was taking me.
"Angela, why don't you take Alex and Ellie to the backyard so we can talk to your sister? Alex, why don't you make a sandcastle for your Mom?" Phil said, looking at my seventeen-year-old sister standing in the corner, her arms crossed. From what I could tell, she looked shell-shocked, her arms crossed on her chest. When I first started dating Jasper, Angela had been pretty young, probably around seven. In fact, she had a slight crush on him, saying she would marry Jasper herself one day.
Alex looked at me, his little bruised face too serious for a toddler.
"It's okay, Alex," I told him, "Go with Auntie Angela."
"Will you be okay?" he asked so seriously.
"Of course, if I need you, I'll have Papa Phil get you," I promised.
"C'mon, kiddo," Angela said, taking my little son by her hand and Ellie on her side
"Thanks, Ange," I told her.
Angela just shook her head. "I got them."
I could barely make out everyone in the room, but I knew everyone's eyes were on me. Pure mortification filled me, and I was so embarrassed. So hurt and ashamed. The physical pain was almost a blessing. The bruises would heal, but the emotional abuse, I knew that wouldn't go away anytime soon. If I lived to be a hundred, I would never forget the pure horror I felt this morning when Jasper attacked me.
Despite the warm blanket on me, I started to shiver again and burst into tears. "I'm so sorry," I stuttered, "I'm so sorry that –"
"What that you came to get help?" Rose snapped, her arms still crossed. "Are you kidding me, B? You don't have anything to be sorry about! Your piece of shit husband, well, better not see me in a dark alley."
"Rose," Phil gently reprimanded her.
"Dad, don't 'Rose' me," she snapped, "look at her goddamnit! You and Charlie were saying the same fucking thing before she woke up!"
"I'm here don't refer to me in the third person," I stuttered again, unable to speak clearly.
"Bella, you need to file a police report," Charlie said gently—far too gently for his normally gruff exterior.
"I, I," I started to say.
"Bella, your dad is right," Emmett said, his normally jovial face serious. "You know I love Jasper like a brother, but he hasn't been well for a while. For fucks sake, you had to drive yourself to the hospital in labor when you were having Elle because he was too high. He beat the shit out of you. He hit your kid, for Christ's sake! What are you waiting for? For Jasper to wake up and smell the roses? He ain't going to do that!"
I burst into tears again, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment. I had hoped that Jasper's behavior was noticeable to me. Guess I wasn't as stealthy as I thought.
"Emmett, Rose, Phil, you can please go join Angela outside," Mom said abruptly, standing up. She had herself in a tight embrace—the one you saw in traumatized people from war-torn countries.
"Renee!" Rose protested. "Bella is-"
"Bella is my daughter and Charlie's daughter. And we need a minute with her," Renee replied firmly but not unkindly. She and Phil shared a look—the look that long-time married couples shared.
"I'll be outside if you need me," Phil promised, looking at Mom and me. Because genetics had nothing to do with it. Phil was my dad in the ways that counted.
Mom waited for them to leave, taking her place next to me again. Then, she motioned to Charlie to take the wing chair next to us.
"Bella, we've known that something has been wrong for a long time," Mom told me gently, putting her hand for Charlie not to speak. "I've seen that look; it's the look I had when your dad was sick."
She motioned to Charlie who started to speak. I had a feeling they had been discussing this for a while, since the two of them limited their contact to me and the kids.
"And I've been watching Jasper. He has the look I had when I was drinking and using. That hungry look that nothing will fill you up no matter how much you have."
"He's, he's sick," I sputtered.
"Yesh, he's sick. I get he's sick, but he hurt you." Dad replied. "And that's not forgivable."
"But he's not normally like that," I replied, feeling desperate again, "When he's sober –"
"Bella," Mom interrupted, "Don't say it. I've heard it, I've said. Do you know how many times I said that? 'He only hits me when he's drunk'. That should have been tattooed on my head; it was my own goddamn catchphrase."
"But he can get better," I said, "if I had pushed him into rehab-"
"Don't you dare blame yourself," Dad retorted, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his face. "Because this is not your fault. Anymore then, it was your mother's fault when I hit her. Because it was my fault when I hit your mother. It was my fault when I hurt you. It was my fault when I tried to break into that school to see you. It was my fault when I lost my job. Because this is Jasper's fault. Having an addiction isn't his fault; not getting help for the addiction is. And he's been struggling for a long time. And right now, for him, his addiction is more important than you and the kids."
"Well said, Charlie," Renee said, putting her hand on his.
Charlie took a minute to compose himself. He was not a demonstrative person by nature, and this had to be tough for him.
"I'm so –"I started to say.
"Don't you dare say you're sorry," Charlie snapped, "Don't be sorry, be angry. Be angry at that son of bitch who dared laid a finger on you. Be angry for what he did to Alex."
Another old memory flashed through my mind. My parents were fighting again, and my father was getting ready to hit my mother and I got between them. In my own squeaky toddler voice, much like Alex's, I demanded that Charlie leave my Mom alone.
Charlie's response had been to slam my mother and me into a corner and whip his belt out. He belted me four times, one for each year of my life and said, "You watch your mouth you goddamn motherfucking little bitch. Next time you get between me and your bitch mother, you're going to feel it goddamnit."
I remembered it being more of a shock then a pain when he hit me. He usually ignored me when he was drunk in favor of hitting Mom. It was the night Mom finally left.
"You belted me," I said more as a statement than anything else.
Charlie turned a mottled red from the mortification he felt. "You'll never know the regret I feel from hurting you two, especially you, Bella," Charlie said, choking his words, trying to get his composure. "But know this, Bella. When I hit you like I did, nothing else mattered at that moment. The shit I had flying in my system, and baby, you don't know half of it; only your sweet mama did. I didn't care about anything but what was between me and my next fix. Not my job, your Mom, or you. And Bella, you were the only good thing in my life. And I still hurt you. I'm not telling you this for some sort of sob story or belated forgiveness. I need you to know how Jasper is thinking and feeling right now. Right now, he's pissed you, messing with his high. Tomorrow, he's going be regretful."
"And you can't let his sorrowfulness get in the way of what you need to do for you and the kids," Renee finished, "And make no mistake, he's going to beg and plead for you to forgive him; he will probably even promise to go to rehab. But the odds of him being done ready to get well, who knows. I know that you need to get away from this because, honey, this will get worse, not better."
"How do you know he might not be serious about getting help?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I was a social worker after all, I knew the answer, I had seen the answer a million times in the ER."
"Because I was doing the same thing to your mother after she left," Charlie said, taking my hand, "Bella, please do not go back. He is going to something worse next time."
Another thought occurred to me. "You're giving me a come-to-Jesus talk, aren't you?" I asked, realizing this was their version of an intervention.
"I'd say anything to keep you from going back," Mom said, no trace of humor in her voice. She looked ready to kill Jasper and Charlie was ready to hide the body.
I nodded, because I reached my limit. I just hoped I was strong enough to do what I needed to do. Being weak got me here.
AN: People are often judged for not leaving their abusers sooner. A sad fact is that it is estimated that drug abuse plays a part in 40%-60% of domestic abuser cases. Another sad fact is that it takes several tries for victims to leave their abusers. They see a wisp of the person their abuser used to be and try to on hold to that moment.
Addiction is not necessarily a choice as we've seen with the opioid epidemic. People got hooked on oxy like Jasper did, following their doctor's instructions. And at time of this story, 2008, people were starting to realize how dangerous and addictive oxycodone could be, although real action is a few years off. Opioid overdoses rose over 519% from 1999 to 2019 in the United States.
I've spent the better part of two decades part of two decades in healthcare and I've seen how desperate and violent addicts get.
In the next chapter Bella is going to the hospital to get treated and Jasper may or may not wake up tomorrow, sober and horrified about what he did. The real question is whether Bella will take him back.
One more thing – yes, if you've already read the prologue, I did change the name of Bella's son from Jacob to Alex. It was too confusing with Jasper. I hopefully got all the changes – in the Prologue if you want to look. Thank you everyone for all the kind word you said about my cousin.