Seven
“Now, here’s your phone and the remote control. I stocked the fridge with all of your favorite stuff so you should be all set.” Rachel was rambling as she prepared to leave for work. It’d been two days since I came home. I’d been glad to get out of the hospital. Rachel hadn’t left me alone for a second though and I knew her anxiety was through the roof as she got ready to leave me alone for the night.
“Thanks, Rache,” I said as I situated myself on the couch.
“Remember to call me if you need anything. And I mean anything.” She was looking at me with that motherly stare she’d perfected over the years even though she was only three years older than me.
“I know and I will call, but I’ll be fine.” I was trying to reassure her, but the look on her face said I wasn’t doing a very good job of it.
“I’m deadbolting the door the second I leave and don’t you open it for anyone.”
“Got it,” I said as I reached for one of my textbooks on the coffee table.
“I mean it, Sam.” Her voice was stern now and she grabbed the book out of my hands so I was forced to look right into her eyes. “This isn’t something to just shrug your shoulders at. This is serious. You know I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have to, but since I do, I need you to promise me that that door will stay locked until I get home.”
“So, I’m a prisoner? Am I having bread and water for dinner too?” I started to laugh, but she only continued to glare at me and I felt badly when I saw my strong as steel sister’s eyes brimming with tears.
“I’m glad you can joke about this, but I don’t find it funny at all.”
It grew quiet for a few seconds while she stared down at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, knowing I’d pissed her off.
“I know you don’t remember what happened to you, but I remember. I remember getting that phone call and I remember seeing you lying in that hospital bed not knowing if you were going to be okay or not. I don’t find anything about it funny so keep the door locked and if he comes by or contacts you at all, you call the police.”
Rachel was right. I didn’t remember how I’d ended up at the bottom of the stairs. I prayed constantly that my memory would come back so I would know if Rachel’s assumption about Tyler was right. I knew the way he treated me was wrong, but I didn’t know if I could ever believe he’d try to kill me.
“I promise.”
She was quiet as she wiped at her eyes and then I saw her swallow hard, as if she was preparing to tell me something she didn’t want to. “I called Mom.” Her words were quiet and I didn’t know what to say. We didn’t talk much to our mother. We hadn’t since Rachel finally got us away from her.
“Why’d you call Mom?” I asked.
“I thought she should know what happened to you.”
“And?” I asked, waiting to see how my mom had reacted since I hadn’t heard from her.
“She was upset and hopes you’re okay. She wanted to come see you…”
“Then why didn’t she?” I interrupted.
“Typical Mom excuse,” Rachel said with a sarcastic grin. “Tim’s not been feeling well. Something with his emphysema. She has to stay and take care of him.” I snickered and shook my head.
“You’d think one would come take care of their child,” I scoffed.
“I know. It’s pathetic,” she said and then paused for a second. “I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. You’re here,” I said softly. “You’ve always been here.”
She reached for me, pulling me off the couch and hugging me tightly, while also being mindful of my injuries.
“I love you, Sam,” she said softly into my ear. “And I’m sorry I have to leave, but I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
I nodded and she let me go, grabbing her purse and walking out of the apartment. I heard the deadbolt lock and then her footsteps disappeared down the hall.
I looked around the room. It was the first time I’d been alone since I woke up in the hospital. I’d never been scared in this place and I told myself I had nothing to be afraid of now, but there was something lurking in the depths of my mind I wasn’t able to reach that told me I should be afraid of something. I walked quickly to the door, making sure it was locked, even though I’d heard Rachel lock it.
I hated this. I hated not remembering. I hated the void that was left in my mind, like an itch you can’t scratch. I was always on the edge of remembering, but it would never come. The doctors told me my memory would come back. I just hoped it wouldn’t be much longer because this missing time in my mind was maddening.
I decided food would be a good distraction and I went to the fridge to see what Rachel had bought while I was still in the hospital. Yogurt, fruit, and Coke among the usual. I then opened the freezer and smiled when I saw two pints of ice cream. One strawberry and one cookies and cream. Rachel had definitely made sure I was taken care of.
I decided to save the ice cream for later though and opted for a yogurt instead. I was still tired. Had been since the moment I woke up in the hospital. I needed something with some real nutritional value if I was going to try and catch up with my coursework. Rachel had contacted my professors. She’d told them I’d had an accident. She hadn’t gone into details, which I was grateful for, but nonetheless, they’d been supportive while I waited to return to class and work. It would only be a week from now, but I wanted to stay as current as I could with the reading and assignments and the notes my professors had emailed me. I was actually grateful I’d be busy. The thought of being cooped up in the apartment for the next week was not something I was looking forward to. I’d be lying if I said part of me didn’t think curling up on the couch and feeling sorry for myself was a good idea. I couldn’t though. I had to stay busy. I couldn’t obsess about what had happened, why it’d happened or why I couldn’t remember. It’d happened and I had to move on, even if my eyes kept drifting to the door, wishing I could recall anything from that night.
I shook my head, and after taking a bite of the strawberry yogurt, I sat down and pulled up the site for my American History class. I smiled when I saw the A next to the paper I’d been struggling to finish the day Officer Torres had let me off with that parking ticket. It seemed like forever ago that I was a haggard mess at Café Java. When I looked at the A though, I told myself I’d done it. Despite the craziness and Tyler, I’d done well on my paper. I felt a pit in my stomach suddenly though as I felt the grip of Tyler’s hands on my arm that night, the way they curled around my skin, pinching and rubbing so tightly. I could feel the weight of him against me and the fear I felt having him so close. I’d known it wasn’t right. I shouldn’t have been afraid of the man who professed to love me, but I was afraid of him and because of that, I’d let him do whatever he wanted to to me.
I closed my eyes tightly, embarrassed of what kind of person I was with him. I squeezed them tighter, hoping to erase those shameful moments from my mind. I hated how he made me feel. I hated who I was with him and I’d let him do it. All of it. It was my fault.
My mind started to drift and I saw my mom, the same mother who couldn’t take time out of her life to come check on me. I heard her cries as his hands met her skin. The way I would jump at the sound of the slap and the shriek of her voice, begging him to stop. I could feel Rachel’s arms around me as she whispered we’d be okay as we prayed we wouldn’t be next. She would sing to me sometimes. Her voice was soft and she made me feel safe. She did what she could to make it okay, even though she was just a child herself. We were just two little girls, huddled in fear, thinking this was how it should be. That what was happening to our mom, while terrifying, was what men did. We knew it wasn’t right, but then why didn’t she do anything to stop him?
I felt warm tears streak out of the corners of my closed eyes. I was just as weak and pathetic as my mom. I’d become her and I made myself sick. When I opened my eyes again, I saw that A staring back at me. The pride I’d felt moments ago was gone. It meant nothing.
I slammed the computer shut and shoved the textbooks onto the floor, my optimism from earlier gone along with my pride. I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself because I didn’t want to be myself, not with the person I’d become.