“We have to get her out of here. You and I both know what’s going to happen when he wakes up. He’s either going to kill her or she’s going to be charged with attempted murder!”
“Martha, I know, but she has no family. She has nowhere to go. I need to make some calls.”
Hushed voices pull me into consciousness but no matter how hard I try, I can’t open my eyes. I try to speak but the pain in my throat is excruciating. I’m so confused. Why are Manny and Martha here? Where am I? What happened? My questions go unanswered as silence once again blankets my ears.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Where is that noise coming from? Please don’t let it wake up Mark. My eyelids are heavy as I struggle to grasp my bearings and find the source of the sound. I manage to open my eyes just to close them immediately. Sharp pain radiates from my corneas to the back of my head. My eyes burn as if I were staring directly into the sun. Or I’ve gone to heaven. Not a chance, too many indiscretions under my belt.
Mark is going to be so angry, I don’t have the strength to fight with him today. I slowly open my eyes again, ignoring the shooting pain. Finally adjusting to the light, I take in my surroundings and I realize I must be lying in a hospital bed. Movement to my right draws my attention and in my peripheral, Martha’s short white curls come into view.
“Oh, good! You’re finally awake. You gave us quite the scare, young lady.” Her soft voice soothes the raw fear building in my gut. Opening my mouth to speak, I can barely form words over the gritty feeling in my throat and start to cough, my tongue like sandpaper.
“There, there now. Wait just a moment and sip this.” She reaches for the table next to me and pulls back a small plastic cup with a straw. My throat is so dry. I feel like I might gag on my own tongue. Putting my hands on either side of my hips, I sit up as best I can. Pain flares from my midsection and it sucks the air out of my lungs. A wave of nausea crashes over me and I pause to ride it out. I feel like I’ve gone three rounds with Miesha Tate. The cactus in my mouth reminds me of the task at hand and I lean in, taking a tentative sip. After the cool liquid coats my throat, I croak out.
“Wh-what happened?” It takes everything I have to spit the words out and I sound like a chain smoker with a cold.
“Oh, dear.” She pats my hair softly. “You don’t remember, do you?” I shake my head, instantly regretting the movement. “We are so proud of you, Teagan. You fought that bastard with everything you had.” Her eyes become tender as her delicate fingers squeeze my arm. “Sweet Tea, you won.”
Warm tears prick my eyes as I take in her words. No one has ever been proud of me for anything before. Pride is such a complex emotion. One I’m not equipped to process. I know it’s probably ridiculous for a twenty-nine-year-old woman to be so elated to hear those words, but I am.
A chance encounter several years ago lead to a feeling stronger than adoration. Manny, a rather round Cuban man in his sixties, owns the small diner a few blocks from my house—his house, as he so often reminds me. I go there nearly every morning after my run to have coffee with Martha, a spry woman in her eighties with a fading Irish accent. They are probably my favorite people on Earth, not to mention, my only friends. Regardless of my efforts to hide it, they are both aware of my situation.
I’m overwhelmed with so many emotions. I’ve been searching for the imaginary thread that could unravel it all, but I’ve come up empty handed. Warmth spreads through my extremities as I graciously accept her affection. A gift I’ve never been given.
My blood runs cold as it all comes crashing back.
His wild eyes.
His sweaty grip around my neck.
Hard steel against my fingers.
My chest tightens. Oh, God, the gun.
“Di-Did I kill him?” I ask, both anticipating and fearing her response. Her pale blue eyes gain an edge when she responds.
“No, Tea. You didn’t. You shot him in the left side of the chest, but it entered high enough to miss anything important. He should still be in surgery now.”
“How did anyone find us?” I ask, my voice heavy with trepidation.
“The gardener was just outside the kitchen window and he heard the scuffle. When the gun went off he called nine-one-one. An ER nurse called me when you were brought in. Seems you were smart enough to list me as an emergency contact.” Her motherly smile reaches the corner of her eyes and the comfort I find there feels like home.
Relief trickles over my soul as the information sinks in. I didn’t kill him. I no longer love the man I married, but I can’t fathom taking someone else’s life. Even if he is the Devil himself.
Manny’s heavy footfalls break my thoughts.
“Hey there, how’s my favorite girl?” He coos, leaning over to gently place a kiss on my forehead, much like a father would a small child. The gesture invites more tears to well in my eyes. “I hate what that excuse for a man has done, but I couldn’t be prouder of you.” I’m so close to bawling over the emotion that blankets my soul. The feeling is both empowering and humbling. Mark is the only person who has ever acted like he loved or cared about me. But it was never like this. Probably because now I know it was just that; an act.
Martha breaks the silence, “You should know, Manny and I talked and well… We think you need to leave town.” Her expression says it all. She’s afraid. But I’m not sure if its fear for my life or how she thinks I might respond. The weariness written on her face cuts me deep. It’s eye-opening to see how far I’ve actually fallen.
I grew up in homes with abusive men. I’ve seen what that kind of treatment has done to my own mother. I’ve always told myself I would be better than that. Smarter. Wiser. But you know what I learned? It’s a hell of a lot easier to judge a woman for staying when you don’t fully understand the situation. I thought I was safe with Florida’s golden boy, Mark Langford, the state’s district attorney. Boy was I wrong. He was the beginning of the end. Bad things happen when you accuse the DA, who just happens to be the governor’s son, of domestic abuse. Rampant disbelief and painful scars were my reward. I’m not stupid nor weak. I’m afraid and it’s time to take control of my life.
How did I let it get this far?
“I agree, but my situation isn’t any different now than it was then. I have nowhere to go. You and Manny are the closest thing I have to a family. He won’t let me work, so I have no money. Hell, even my car isn’t mine. I have nothing. I swear I’m working on a way out. I just have to be careful about how I do it.” My heart falls heavy before I continue, my tone meeker than I deserve. “You’ve seen what happens when I try to leave.” My stomach churns as the unwanted memories surface. “The only reason I was even allowed to go on my runs every morning is because he didn’t want my ass to get too fat sitting around the house all day.”
Thankfully, Manny interrupts the disparaging replay in my head when his voice cuts in.
“Baby girl, I think we’ve reached a point where there is no other option. I’m owed some favors and I think it’s time to cash them in. We are going to get you out of here.” His tone has a finality to it that I can’t argue with. He’s right. Wrinkles form on the tan skin between his brows, making his worry evident.
Martha’s soft blue eyes land on me again. “Sweet Tea, there’s a catch. You need to get out of here today. The nurse said you aren’t going to be discharged for a few more days, but we can’t wait that long. If we wait until Mark wakes up, it will be too late.”
Fear, mocking and all too familiar, grips my thoughts. Taking a moment to consider this, I know I’m ready. I’m ready because the fear didn’t consume my heart.
“Ok then,” I attempt to sit up straighter as determination sets in. “What’s the plan?”
Manny glances at the clock on the wall noting that its nearing midnight. He pops his head out into the hall, looking both ways before turning back to us. “Ok, looks like there are only two nurses and an aide on the floor right now. One just entered a room a few doors down.”
Martha smiles cheekily, causing the skin around her eyes to wrinkle. “I can distract them, Manny, if you can help Teagan down the stairs.”
She throws a bag I hadn’t previously noticed onto the bed. “Quick, put this on.”
“Wait a second. Why are we sneaking me out of here rather than just signing myself out?” The two share a look before Manny turns my way. Fear flashes in his eyes as he lowers his thick eyebrows. Uncertainty forms a heavy stone in my gut.
“Baby girl, it’s going to take time to do that. They will do everything they can to convince you that you need to stay. That’s time we don’t have to waste. You are the only one that can explain what happened tonight.”
His words sink in and I take a moment to breathe, preparing myself for what lies ahead. With the help of Manny, my feet move from the bed to the floor, slowly gaining my balance. My ribs ache and nausea washes over me, threatening the contents of my stomach. He turns his back to allow me privacy to change but remains close, his protective side on high alert. I start to undress but quickly realize I am still attached to the IV. Grabbing a tissue from the table, I gently peel the tape back.
“Here goes nothing.” I murmur to myself as I fill my lungs with air and yank the line out. Quickly pressing the tissue in the crook of my arm to stop the bleeding, I peel the tape from the IV line and use it as a makeshift band aid. I manage to dress myself without incident and fight the urge to laugh at how absurd I must look. Staring down at myself, I smile, noting the floral cotton moo moo and Crocs I am now sporting. Martha’s ability to offer comic relief in any situation never ceases to amaze me. Looking back up at her delicate features, I arch an eyebrow, failing to hide my smirk. She is the grandmother I never had.
She looks at me in astonishment. “What? I was going for comfort and none of my pants would have stayed on your skinny arse.” She feigns offense but her smile sneaks through.
I’m going to miss them so damn much.
“Ok. I’m ready.” I nod to Manny who waves Martha over.
“Martha, you’re on,” he announces as she saunters her frail body out to the nurse’s station. Manny takes my arm in his and we head for the door.
My entire body aches but the pain serves as a reminder that I’m still alive. He didn’t break me. The realization sparks a newfound resilience I didn’t know I was capable of. Just before the door to the stairwell swings closed, I hear the male nurse ask Martha if he can assist her with anything. I nearly trip over my own feet when I hear her ask if he personally performs mammograms.
We make it out to Manny’s boat-sized car without being noticed. Anxiousness fills the car with every passing second. A few minutes later Martha strolls, albeit slowly, out to the parking lot to join us.
“Martha O’Connor, you dirty ol’ woman. Where have you been hiding?” I ask failing to stifle my laugh no matter how hard I tried. She has the nerve to look embarrassed when she responds.
“What? I needed to get his attention. It worked, didn’t it?”
Manny steers the car toward the freeway as he fills me in on the plan. “We are going to stop by your house to let you get whatever personal effects you need. But baby girl, your house is considered a crime scene. It’s unlikely that anyone will be there, but you need to figure out a way in that doesn’t go through the main doors. Especially near the kitchen.”
The phrase ‘crime scene’ tightens the already taut strings on my sanity.
“I think I can do that,” I reply with more strength than I feel. “There is a trellis on the side of the house that I can climb. I’ve always left the window in the guest room unlocked. Just in case.” I stare out the window taking in the scenery around me. The serenity of the night calms my racing thoughts.
A few minutes later, we pull up several houses down from our destination. Manny speaks up again. “Just in case, Martha, you stay in the car. I will go with Teagan and serve as a sort of look out.” He turns to face me, apprehension laces the lines of his face. “Baby girl, this needs to be quick. Just the essentials. Few changes of clothes, toiletries. Only the items that are necessary.”
As we approach the house, my pulse picks up speed. I have to fight back crippling fear that he might be inside waiting for me. No, I remind myself. He’s still in the hospital recovering from me this time. Its vindictive, but I feel a rush of bravery knowing that he’s the one in the hospital and I’m the one who put him there.
After accepting Manny’s pre-offered flashlight, I climb the trellis as quickly as I can manage. It’s harder than I expected and the pain radiating from my ribcage is excruciating. My breathing is labored, and the inhale of each breath sends pain shooting down my side. Thankfully, the second-floor window was still unlocked. I climb through, visibly shaking. Once both feet are planted on the plush white carpet, I take a moment to listen and slow my racing heart. Flipping on the flashlight, I quickly creep down the hall toward the master bedroom. I stop outside a closed door on the opposite side of the hall, my stomach twisting in painful knots. I start to reach for the handle but hesitate. I stand there for a moment longer contemplating if I should go in, but it’s just too hard. I’m not ready to open that wound again. Instead, I turn on the balls of my feet and head toward my original destination. Looking around the room, I realize there isn’t much that is actually mine. As I take in the Egyptian cotton sheets, rich drapery and plush furnishings, I realize this house could never have been a home. Not with that monster.
I snap back to the present, chastising myself for wasting time when I should be hurrying. I rush around the room grabbing a large black suitcase, stuffing in what clothing and toiletries I can fit. Pulling a sweater from the closet, I knock a couple of bags off the top shelf. When they hit the floor I instantly remember why they had been shoved up there.
About a year ago, I was feeling defiant. Mark had demanded I go and purchase more suitable clothing. Complaining that he would not tolerate a wife who didn’t look her best at all times. My clothes barely saw the light of day, but if he wanted me to buy new clothes, then new clothes I would buy. I did purchase what he required but I also purchased clothing that suited who I was. The Teagan I was—before Mark. I hid them away just as I had my personality. Well screw this. I tossed all the Mark-approved clothing from the suitcase and quickly replaced it with the pre-Mark-approved apparel.
I changed into my own clothing—a pair of jeans, vintage tee, chucks, and a light weight hoodie, before grabbing my bag and heading for the door. In the hall I hesitate once more outside the closed bedroom door. My chest constricts as I am reminded of the ultimate loss. But I refuse to let him take the remaining light from my life. With sweaty palms and more determination than before, I push the door open and try not to cry. Remembering the urgency of my situation, I rush for the framed sonogram photo on the dresser. I clutch it tightly to my heart and quietly close the door before I break down. Every emotion I am capable of flows freely down my face. Each stream is another vision of a life not lived. Gathering my courage, I head for the escape window. I need out of this house. Now.
As we pull up to the bus station, sadness hangs in the air. This is it. I am likely saying good bye to the only people I care about, for the last time. It’s as if my heart is physically breaking. I step out of the car and Manny meets me at the curb with my bag. Martha is right on his heels.
“We are going to miss you so much mi hija.” He pulls me in for a hug and I can feel the wetness on his cheeks. An avalanche of emotion threatens to suffocate me. Life is so unfair sometimes. Why are the people I love always taken from me?
“Take this money and buy a ticket to Miami on the next bus out of here.” I glance down at the wad of rolled bills he hands me. “I have an acquaintance there who is going to meet you at the bus station with a car. I know it isn’t much and Miami isn’t nearly far enough, but that’s the only place I could get you to this soon,” he expresses, trying to hide how emotional this is for him.
I can barely get the words out over the lump in my throat. “It’s perfect, Emmanuel. No one has ever done something like this for me before. I’m a tough cookie and have had much less.”
“When you love someone, you will do anything for them. You’re family, Sweet Tea. Don’t you ever forget it either.” Martha’s words bust the tight hold I had on my emotions and I break down. I cry for the years I’ve lost. I cry for the child I once was. I cry for the family I never had. But most importantly, I cry for the family I am now leaving behind. The tingling numbness creeping down my arms is becoming far too familiar.
They both hug me as tightly as they can, and I in return. “Now, that’s enough of the tears,” Martha cuts in. “This is a happy day. Teagan baby, you’re finally free.”
Her words allow a whole new wave of emotion to wash over me. When did I become such a crier? Pulling myself together, I gather my things and head for the door. I glance over my shoulder and shoot my family a wink and a smile as they watch my retreating back.
I’ve experienced more pain than any one person should have to endure. I can say with absolute certainty, that leaving my family behind is one of the most painful things I have ever experienced.