Chapter 1
His large hands pressed tightly around my neck. My tongue thrust. Saliva rolled from the corner of my mouth.
As if divine intervention pried his fingers from my neck, he let go. Then, he smacked me. He stood at the foot of the bed. “Bitch, you think I’m crazy?”
Too weak to move, I lay on the blood-soiled sheets, balled in a knot. I tried to shake my head. As if my response enraged him, he jumped on the bed and straddled me. With the force of a bull, he threw repeated blows to my head. Finally, the tears he awaited began to flow. I cried. “David . . . I . . .”
Sweat rolled profusely from his forehead. Sprinkles of his alcohol-contaminated saliva splashed on my face, as he spat out, “Who you fucking?”
I shook my head.
“Why the fuck you using birth control?”
I stuttered, “I . . . I didn’t. I . . . I . . .”
He smacked me. “You’s a weak bitch!”
He wrapped my hair around his hand and pounded my head against the headboard like I was a rag doll. “You got me thinking we’re trying, and you fucking playing games.”
I pleaded, “I . . .”
With his fingers still intertwined in my hair, he stood up. My head dangled from the king-sized bed. He yanked me. My naked body thumped on the floor. He began dragging me. I tried to crawl, but he pulled faster. The carpet scraped against my bare breasts. Long strands of hair ripped from my scalp. Suddenly, my body tumbled down the stairs like a wagon in tow.
The full moon beamed through the large window in the foyer. I wished upon a star. Just as I attempted to escape the reality, his size 13 boot smashed against my chest. “Bitch, clean up this house.”
I lay facedown on the ceramic tile at the front door. He stomped in circles around me. He yelled, “All I try to do for your sorry ass.”
He mumbled to himself. “Sorry bitch.” He chuckled. “After fucking the whole city, I guess she can’t hold no babies.” He bobbed his head from side to side.
After four miscarriages, you’d think he would sympathize. I pleaded for his compassion. How could I bear the pain of losing another baby?
He kneeled down and asked, “When was you gonna tell me you was on the pill?”
I cried, “I don’t know.”
He rubbed my sore face. “Just tell me the truth.”
The bastard grabbed my bloody face in his hands. He kissed me. He whispered in my ear, “Don’t bullshit me. I’ll kill you before I let you make a fool of me. You know that. Right?”
I nodded. He dropped my head and walked into the kitchen. I watched him move. He opened another fifth of Bacardi Gold, the ammunition of his fury.
He took a sip. “Laila, clean this shit up.”
Knowing that lying there would only enrage him again, I rose on my arms. I fell back to the floor. I whimpered, “David . . . I . . .”
His temper slowly crept back, and he shouted, “Get all this shit off the floor!”
Too frightened to submit to my exhaustion, I hopped up. My body swayed. I searched for strength, enough to kill the tar-colored man standing before me. Instead, my heart cried for him. All he wanted was a child of his own and the woman he loved was fruitless.
Twenty minutes of my daily preparation was devoted to covering scratches and scars. As I stood in the bathroom patting under my eyes with concealer, David walked in.
In the mirror I watched him walk behind me. As if he was sleep walking, he stumbled over to the toilet. He yawned. As if he’d exerted all his energy fighting me, he appeared to sway back and forth while he used the toilet. I didn’t speak, because I was angry. He probably didn’t speak because he hadn’t noticed me standing there.
It bothered me that I wasn’t sure to whom I should direct my anger. Was I angry with myself for letting my birth control pills slip from my purse? Was I angry because this man had a temper like lighting fluid? Or more important, was I angry that I had no other option?
To avoid confrontation, I said, “Good morning.”
He staggered around and stood behind me. Though he mugged, I smiled. Hoping his sober state would be a cause for a better morning, I turned slightly to face him. “Hey, baby.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Hey, baby.”
I exhaled. The tension that followed the morning after we fought always made me antsy. I never knew if the fight was over or not. So, I always prayed. I always observed his actions. What would he do? What would he say?
He stumbled to the sink next to me and began to wash his hands. I glanced down at his swollen knuckles and winced. He looked at me in the mirror. I smiled. He stared and said, “Your skin is so perfect.”
That was his way of admiring how fast I healed. I nodded. He lifted my hair and kissed my neck. “Black is so beautiful.”
As I watched the marks miraculously disappear, I grew to value the gift of dark skin. I pulled out my lip gloss, and David snatched it from my hand.
As if the sight of makeup disgusted him, he tilted his head and frowned. “Why you wear that stuff ?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t know.”
He grazed my face with his abusive hands. “You look better plain.”
If you weren’t whipping my ass, then I wouldn’t need makeup. I nodded. “I know.”
I didn’t fight for the gloss. Instead, I threw my makeup in my small case. As I bent over to stow it underneath the sink, he pinched my butt and walked out. “That a girl.”
I watched his back exit the bathroom. That a girl. Did he really think I was his child?
I twisted my ponytail and pinned it up into a bun. My hyperventilating began as I walked from the bathroom. Would today be a good day? What could I do not to piss him off? How could I make him happy?
I looked at the source of my anxiety. He nodded his head. “That’s the way I like you. Just like that.”
I smirked. “Thanks.”
He stood in the middle of the bedroom floor, forcing me to walk around him. A permanent roadblock. With my heart beating a mile a minute, I slipped into my scrubs. I needed to breathe. When he realized I was done getting ready, he yawned and sat on the bed. “Oh yeah, Happy New Year, baby.”
I grabbed my keys from the armoire. “You too . . .”
He flipped the channels of the TV. “Shit is gonna be different this year.”
I ignored the same resolution I’d heard three years in a row. As I headed out the bedroom door, he reached out for me. I walked up to him. He wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’m sorry.”
Hoping to ease my own panic, I stroked his head and closed my eyes. “I know, baby.”
As much as I hated our fights, I knew he meant no harm. He just didn’t know how to express himself. I pushed his head closer to me. As he rested his head on my belly, this vulnerable moment told me that he needed me as much as I needed him. We were silent. Though he hadn’t asked for it, I forgave him.
As if he heard my heart, he promised, “No fighting. No drinking. This is our year.”
He lifted my shirt and landed kisses near the womb too weak to grant him his wish. I tried to explain, “David, I’m sorry for . . .”
He reached up and covered my mouth. “Shhh . . .”
How could alcohol turn such a caring man into a crazy animal? I tucked my bottom lip in and took a deep breath. Why did I trust a man who had beaten me for four years? I kissed the forehead of the only person on whom I could depend. “I love you so much.”
He stood up and hugged me. “I know, baby.”
I grabbed the ugly black mules that I wear to work and slid my feet into them. David lay back in the bed with his hands behind his head. He watched me move, admiration in his eyes. “I hate to see you leave the house.”
In an effort to avoid a debate about me working, I rushed out of the house. I sat in the car and took deep breaths before pulling off. The pond across from our house was a part of my calming ritual. I looked out at the pond and imagined one day taking my kids for a walk there. Daydreaming has always been my way to escape. I snapped out of it and started my car.
My job was no more than fifteen minutes away. I traveled the same way every day. All that I needed was on my way. Wal-Mart. Publix. Marshalls. Pompano Citi Center Mall. David checked my mileage so frequently that everything I needed had to be done in the area that covered Copans Road, to Florida A1A, to Atlantic Boulevard. Trapped in a cage in suburbia. His efforts to keep me as far away from the alluring streets of Miami was all for my sake. So he claimed.
Often, mixed emotions filled my head on my short drive to work. You can make it on your own if you start dancing again. You should leave that crazy bastard. Then, reality settled in. He will find my ass. I shook my head as I pulled into the strip mall.
I sighed. Freid Chiropractic Center. The same emotions came over me each time I saw the sign. Peace. Gratitude. If it had not been for Dr. Freid offering me this job, where would I be? I often wondered.
He was a sweetheart for no reason at all. He gave me a chance when I had no experience and he didn’t ask for anything in return. Everyone else I had ever trusted took a piece of me in return for what they offered. Not Dr. Freid. I came to his office two years ago with a back injury. He laid me on the table and performed miraculous “cracking,” as my ignorance labeled it at that time. The pain seemed to diminish with each visit. The relief left me longing to know more about chiropractic care. After each appointment, I would ask questions. Dr. Freid would allow me as much time as I needed to explain everything. He was passionate about his work and my curiosity made him happy. One day, he offered me a job. Although I was apprehensive, I accepted. Of course, I was accused of fucking my way into a job. David fought me every step of the way, but it was the one thing I was determined not to let him control. Finally, he surrendered. Our fighting increased, but nine hours a day out of his sight was worth every battle. This was my daily antidepressant.
As always, I arrived thirty minutes before everyone else. Just to have coffee, relax, and imagine a life without pain. A girl can dream, can’t she?
When the receptionist, Jodi, came in she yelled to the back, “Happy New Year, Laila!”
I strolled to the front of the office, holding my coffee cup close to my swollen lip. “Same to you, Jodi.”
She looked at me strangely. I smiled, “Do we have a busy day?”
Without taking her eyes off me, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
She logged on the computer. “It looks like the morning is pretty light. I guess most people are hung over from last night.”
I sighed and felt a little sad. My New Year’s Eve was stripped away from me because of a mere slipup. I had come down the stairs wearing a black strapless knee-length dress and strappy sandals. My hair was blown out straight. I waltzed into the kitchen, as we had planned to celebrate the night at a hotel on South Beach. Just then I realized I needed to change purses. Because we’d had a peaceful few weeks, my guard was down as I began to transfer items into my evening purse. My birth control pills fell out and David went out of control. I nodded as the fireworks that occurred in my house replayed.
Jodi laughed. “Yeah, I know I didn’t want to come in.”
The wind chime on the door jingled and interrupted my moment of reflection. We both sang, “Good morning, Dr. Freid.”
A party hat rested on his bald top. His thin brown hair stuck out on the sides. We looked at each other and shook our heads. He hugged Jodi, then me. “Happy New Year, ladies.”
He got settled in his office and came back out to chat. I leaned on the counter resting the swollen side of my face in my right hand. He asked, “What did you do last night?”
I shook my head. He turned to Jodi. “And you?”
She was young, rich, and white. She always had something awesome to share. Although I tried to fight it, I envied her. She rambled about her night. “My friends and I ate on South Beach.”
I was supposed to be on the Beach last night. As disappointment dismantled my shield, my hand slipped down from my face. I folded my arms and imagined the life that Jodi lived.
Dr. Freid glared at me. I swiftly shielded my face again with my hand. He chuckled. “Well, Jodi, sounds like you brought the year in right.”
I sat there wondering how some people got favor and others got shit. Dr. Freid looked at me and shook his head before going to his office. He often gave me that look. I knew what he wanted to say, but was thankful that he kept his comments to himself.
It startled me when he yelled to the front in a demanding tone: “Laila, I need to speak with you.”
My heart sank. I hated when he called my name like that. It always made me feel like my job was in jeopardy. Jodi looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. I did the same and rolled my eyes. She shushed me. “It’s probably nothing. Go ahead.”
I slouched into his office. From the doorway, I spoke: “Yes?”
He was taking off his cheap suit jacket. “Come in and close the door.”
His intense gaze frightened me. I closed the door and nervously sat down. “Yes?”
He pushed his glasses up on his protruding nose. He took a deep breath. Paused. Another deep breath. Another pause.
Each passing second made me more and more anxious. No. Please don’t tell me that you don’t need my help. My eyes begged him not to fire me. He said, “Laila, I don’t know what to say.”
My voiced trembled. “Please don’t fire me.”
He forced a smile. “I’m not trying to fire you, Laila.”
I relaxed in my seat. “Whew!”
He shook his head. “You’re the best employee I’ve ever had.”
I sighed. “Oh, Dr. Freid!”
He didn’t allow much time for me to gloat over his compliment. “Which brings me to my point.” He sighed. “You’ve been here for almost two years and I sometimes feel as if you’re my daughter. You and Jodi.”
I raised my eyebrows and nodded. He wiped sweat from beneath his glasses, obviously contemplating his next comment. “I have never pried into your private life.”
I nodded and rested my elbow on the side of the chair, while attempting to cover my face with my hand. I nibbled on my bottom lip. My eyes shifted around the room.
“I think I’ve stood by for long enough.”
He took another deep breath. His eyes filled. “Laila, I know.”
I didn’t respond. A tear rolled down his face. He pulled his glasses off. Still, I was silent.
“You are so smart and so beautiful.”
I looked down at the carpet. How could I look him in the eye?
“Laila, why?”
I often wish I knew how to explain my life, my situation. Trying to sound convincing, I said, “Dr. Freid, it’s not what you think it is.”
He stood up and sat on the desk in front of me. He put his hand out. Without looking at him, I put my hand in his. “Laila, I can help you.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Honestly.”
He put his hand on my bruised face. “You’re not fine. I see your face like this at least once a week. I can’t take it anymore.”
He looked at me waiting for a response. I looked away. He continued to talk. “How can you let some man just do this to you?”
He huffed. “I’ve known what was going on with you since the day you walked in here.” He grunted. “Twenty-year-old women don’t get back injuries like that from falling down stairs.”
In efforts to avoid eye contact, I looked up, down, left, right. His eyes chased mine. As he detailed how he knew, I felt like a failure. How had I been so careless? As if I could change my situation. He pleaded. “Why? How?”
His words hurt. Finally, I confessed. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Leave, Laila. Leave. You don’t have to take it.”
My balled fists covered my eyes, as I literally fought the tears that were trying to escape. I vigorously shook my head.
“You have to get out of this relationship.”
He could never understand. He spoke as if it were so simple. I huffed and looked him directly in the eye. I let the tears fall as I explained, “I don’t have anywhere to go. I don’t have any family.”
He looked baffled. “You don’t have anywhere you can go?”
I shook my head. “Nowhere that he won’t find me. I’ve tried to leave before, but I don’t know where to go.”
He walked back around the desk and sat in his chair. Jodi knocked on the door. She spoke through the door, “Mr. Gregory is here for his 9:30 appointment.”
I wiped my tears and blew my nose. Dr. Freid walked to the door. “Get yourself together. I’ll prepare the room. Stay here.”
He left me in the office to think. Thoughts about leaving fil. . .
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