When Love Hurts (9 page)

Chris leans over into my face. “You got one hour to stop bleeding, get yo’ shit, and get out of here before I kill you. You’re lucky I took anger management or I wouldn’t be so nice.”

He grabs my purse from the floor and pulls out my wallet. He takes my money and throws my cell phone against the wall before stomping on it. “Just so you can’t call someone to help you.” Then he walks away smiling.
 

It takes thirty minutes before I can pull myself up. It takes me another thirty minutes to change out of my dress and into a pair of jeans that are lying near my feet. I choose a red T-shirt to camouflage my blood. I rip another shirt in half and use it as a bandage for my head to stop the bleeding. I wonder where I’m going to go, and I think about the police. Just as the thought enters my mind, Chris’s voice booms out, “If you go to the police, I’ll kill you and that baby.”

I can’t see him, but I know he’s close by. I need to leave here as soon as possible, so I try to stand up but I can’t. I decide to crawl out the door so at least I won’t have to breathe the same air as him anymore. I pull the door open and crawl into the hallway of the apartment building. I wonder again why nobody has called the police for me, and I’m starting to lose faith in my so-called neighbors. I keep crawling until I make it outside the main door. I try to use the doorknob to help myself stand up, but I don’t have the strength, and I slide back down the door facing the quiet streets. I know I shouldn’t fall asleep after a head injury, but my eyes are getting so heavy and my head is throbbing so bad, I’m losing the battle. I have no idea how I look, and I’m afraid to look at my reflection.
 

It’s dark outside, and I stare at Chris’s car still parked under the streetlight. I have no idea what time it is or how long I have been leaning against his door. Eventually, I maneuver away from the door and sit down a couple of feet away, as if it’s safer. I really don’t have anywhere else to go, and even if I did, I don’t have any money for transportation or a cell phone to call someone. I know Chris will eventually find me here, and there will be nothing I can do to hold him off. I feel so fucking weak, and I hate it. I hate myself for believing that he changed and that I was making a good choice by choosing him. Jaylen was right.
 

As soon as his name comes into my head, I want to see him. I want to apologize and say he was right, but then I remember what he said. He doesn’t want me crying back to him, and told me if I went back with Chris, I was dead to him.
 

I pull my knees up to my chest and start crying silently. The people that walk by don’t stare at me too long. What is stopping them from kidnapping me, raping me, robbing me, or doing whatever they want to me? Nobody fucking cares about me anyway. I don’t belong anywhere.
 

I’ve never felt my body hurt this much. I reach up and take off the half-shirt I tied around my head. There’s a big red spot on it, but it’s not that big. I reach up and touch the side of my head where I’m sure the bleeding is coming from, and it seems to have stopped. I slide my hand lower to my face and know with one touch I’m getting a black eye.
 

I’m too afraid that I’ll slip into a concussion and Chris will show up to kill me if I go to sleep, so I sit next to the door to our apartment building until the sun starts to rise. When the sun makes an appearance, I feel exhausted, hurt, confused, and cranky. I told myself throughout the night that Chris had gone mad by accusing me of sleeping with his friend. Chris never introduced me to his friends, so how could I have talked to them long enough to suggest having sex?

I tie the shirt back around my head just to be sure I stopped bleeding. I feel my stomach growl and hate the fact that I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Too bad I’m broke. I lean my head softly against the wall and see a woman walking her dog down the sidewalk. She’s about sixty years old and wearing a gray jogging suit. She stops when she sees me and stares in my direction. I smile to let her know I’m okay, but she keeps staring, and I begin to feel more self-conscious.
 

“Are you all right?” she asks in a shaky voice. Her poodle starts to bark loudly at me, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. I try to nod, but it makes my head spin. She takes my not moving as a no and starts walking toward me. “Are you hungry?”

I want to tell her no thank you and that I’m fine, but I know I’m not. I’m hungry, and I’m scared of Chris coming out of the house any second to give me a final blow to the head. I don’t have anywhere to go, and this lady’s acting like she cares. “Yes,” I breathe out after a few moments.
 

I try to stand up, but my legs have fallen asleep, and I have to move extra slow because I know I’ll get dizzy. She walks over to help me up when she sees me struggling. The dog doesn’t come any closer, and its barking doesn’t let up. The lady holds my arm as I steady myself. I stand still and blink for a few seconds before I think about walking. Luckily, she doesn’t let go of my arm as we walk to the sidewalk. “Do you want to tell me who did this to you?”

“Huh?” I ask. “Oh. I just . . . um. No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

She helps me walk down the sidewalk, and we continue up the street. Her dog barking is going to give me a migraine, but she never tells him to shut up, and I don’t have the energy to yell. Besides, she’s being so nice to me, and the least I can do is tolerate her pet. Her house is five houses down from Chris’s, and it looks like a little cottage with a brown picket fence. She has a bunch of tomato plants growing up the side of her house with tomatoes looking ripe and red. She also has a birdbath and a handful of dog toys lying in her yard.
 

We walk into her living room, and she lets go of the dog’s leash. The dog runs to the couch and curls into a tight ball, forgetting all about me. I turn to face the lady, and she smiles sweetly.
 

“Let’s go to the kitchen, and you can sit down in there. I can fix you some breakfast.”

I nod and smile back. She leads me to the kitchen, which is hardly big enough for the table and two chairs, but she manages to fit a fridge, stove, and a countertop in there as well. She sings as she makes the eggs like she doesn’t have a domestically abused stranger in her kitchen. She seems so happy, and I wonder if she lives alone, if she has kids somewhere in college, or if she’s content being single and living life by herself. I wonder if she has any family.
 

She turns around and places the eggs on a plate in front of me. I dig into them right away and immediately start to feel better. I forgot I have the urge to eat more since I got pregnant, and I’m sure I need to get my weight up or something. I finish the eggs in five minutes, and she offers to make some more, but I refuse. I don’t want to take all this lady’s food, because I don’t know how much she has. I’m just grateful for what she gave me already.
 

She smiles at me. “I’m Helen, by the way.” I realize that I don’t even know her name, and yet I let her cook for me. She continues. “I work as a nurse at Northwestern Memorial Hospital. I can look at your head for you, if you like. I have some bandages.”

I feel like biting my tongue and refusing her offer, but I know I need to be looked at. I’m pregnant, and I need to realize that my life isn’t the most important thing anymore. I nod a little firmer this time, and she walks out of the kitchen.
 

Helen comes back moments later with a first-aid kit. She stands right in front of me as I sit in the chair and starts to take the shirt bandage off. She looks at the shirt briefly before focusing her attention on my head. I can tell by her scrunched-up face she doesn’t like what she sees.
 

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Helen asks with her shaky voice again.

“Jessica.”

“Do you live around here?” she asks as she dabs the wound with alcohol. I wince. It must have stopped bleeding if she’s putting alcohol on it, and that’s good. She puts a more appropriate bandage on my head and then goes on to my eye.
 

“Well?”

I take a deep breath. “No. I don’t really have a home. I mean, I was staying with someone but . . . it didn’t work out.”

“I see,” Helen says. It feels like she has miracle hands when she works, and before I know it she’s done doing whatever she had to do with my eye and is sitting down in the chair beside me. “You should be all right now. I have some aspirin if you have a headache. Is there anywhere else you want me to look at?”

My whole body feels sore, but I don’t think she has anything that can get rid of that right away, so I just shake my head no. “Thank you so much,” I say. “I am pregnant, though. Is there any way to make sure the baby’s all right?”

Helen’s eyes widen but quickly return to normal. “You should go to the doctor. They have equipment they can use to check you out.” She bites her lower lip. “You don’t look pregnant.”

“I’m about two months, and I am showing a little.”
 

Helen nods. “You should let me take you to the hospital.”

Even though I’m grateful for her help, I don’t want her taking me to a hospital. I don’t have insurance, and they might ask too many questions if they think it’s a domestic abuse case. I don’t know exactly what they’ll do, but I don’t want to take any chances. I shake my head.
 

“I would rather not, but you can take me somewhere if you like. To a friend’s house. He can take me to the doctor and give me a place to stay. He doesn’t live but fifteen minutes away from here.”
 

Helen smiles and stands up. “Great. That’s an excellent idea. You need to be around someone that can take care of you. Just be sure to go to the doctor so he can check you out. Make sure you’re at your ideal weight and eating the right things. Let me grab my car keys. I’ll be right back, sweetie.” I notice her voice is firmer when she’s speaking about serious things.
 

We pull in front of Malcolm’s apartment about twenty minutes later. I get out and thank Helen sincerely for all her help and caring. She brushes it off and asks if I need money. I hastily refuse. I tell her my friend has plenty of it, and she smiles, waves good-bye, and pulls away slowly like she has all the time in the world.
 

I walk inside the building and up to Malcolm’s apartment door. I ring the doorbell but there’s no answer, and even though I don’t want to make my head pound, I bang on the door. There’s still no answer, and I figure he must be at work. I have no idea what time it is.
 

I’m about to settle in and sit beside his door until he gets home, when I spot his neighbor, Jonathon, come out of his apartment across the hall. He smiles when he sees me, but frowns when he notices my eye and bandage.
 

“Hey, Jessica. What’s going on? Are you all right?” he asks, locking his door. He walks toward me.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just had an accident. Um . . . I was looking for Malcolm—have you seen him go out today?” I ask.

“Oh,” Jonathon says after a while. “You sure? Because, um . . .”

“Very sure. So have you seen Malcolm?”

Jonathon continues to stare at my head like he wants to say more about it, but he doesn’t. He looks at my bad eye. “He went somewhere for the rest of the week. I think he had to see a friend somewhere. I forgot the details. He left two days ago. He should be back in about three or four days.”

I look back at Malcolm’s door with my mouth hung open. What am I suppose to do now?
 

“Do you want me to call him for you?” Jonathon asks.

“No, no. I was just . . . tell him I stopped by, but it would do no good calling him if he’s out of town. I’ll come back later. Thanks anyway.”
 

I start walking toward the exit, when he calls out to me. “Do you need a ride somewhere? I’m going to work, but I can drop you off somewhere,” he says with a husky voice.

I shake my head and try to sound confident. “No, I have other errands I need to run. I was just stopping by to see him. Thanks anyway.” I wave and he waves back.

I leave the building and start walking down the street. The sun has risen fully, and more people are outside now. Kids are riding their bikes and enjoying their summer. I keep walking and ignore the stares people give me as I walk down the street. The heat’s rising, and my walk become slower and heavier. I urge myself to keep walking, and I keep walking straight for what might easily be three miles.
 

My stomach has taken a turn to being famished, and I don’t know what I should do. I have no money, and I don’t want to beg on the streets. I keep walking until I see a line of people hanging out in front of a building. It’s a homeless shelter, and the people in line look just as rough, if not worse, as I do. I’m about to keep walking by, when I realize that homeless shelters have free food. So I wait.

The shelter’s called Peace Tribe, and they have beds, cots, and sleeping bags, as well as serve food at certain periods of the day. The building is pretty big, but it’s only one story high. It’s clean on the inside, but it’s crowded and popular, so I figure fresh air is better for me.

I’m sitting on the curb eating noodles, when a middle-aged woman sits beside me. She also has a bowl of noodles and starts to slurp them. I have no plans to make conversation, but she looks over at me and stares at my head. “Your man did that to you?” she asks.

I turn slightly toward her and notice the round softness of her face. In comparison, I probably look like a rough kid who lived on the street all her life. She looks like someone who’s just down on her luck. “He’s not a man,” I say to her question. I hope she will leave it at that, but she keeps talking. She’s saying a bunch of inspirational things that are no doubt things said to her in the shelter. I half-listen because I don’t want to be rude, but I realize that if I had listened to Jaylen, I wouldn’t be sitting outside Peace Tribe in the first place.

Her name is Compella, and she says she got the name because people found her compelling. She smiles, and I smile back to join her humor. We sit and talk about lighter things even after we’re done eating. I don’t know why I find her interesting, but she’s kind and witty, and I don’t have anything else to do.