Joie

 

It was a pleasant night compared to the frigid temperatures we’d been having all winter. I was more than ready for spring to arrive for so many different reasons. Right now, I was enjoying the bike ride home with just a hooded sweatshirt and memories of Cole’s kiss to keep me warm.

Turning the corner to our street, I felt the familiar rush of anxiety. Would Davis be at my house again? And if he was, would my mom be with him? She wasn’t much of a buffer, but she was better than nothing. Davis had become bolder the last few days, appearing out of nowhere disrupting the patterns I was accustomed to. I tried to quiz my mom about him the other day. Her eyes had glowed with happiness as she described how wonderful he was and how much they had in common and wasn’t he just the best. I nodded non-committedly and wandered back into my own room to search for any evidence of tampering with the locks on either my window or door. I did not trust Davis or the predatory look in his eyes.

Mom’s car was parked in the driveway. This used to mean she was home or she was out. I used to be able to trust that if she was home she might or might not have company and if she was not home, the house would be empty. Now, I didn’t know what I was getting into before I walked through the door. Now, I had to wonder if Davis was in there and whether or not my mom was with him. How could I leave this to luck? I wished my mom was responsible enough to reply to my text messages asking for her whereabouts. I wished my mom was responsible enough to not put me in this position in the first place.

I parked my bike on the side of the house by the trash bins and made my way to the front porch. The light was on, but the rest of the house was dark. That didn’t mean anything. He could be in there. Lurking. In the dark.

Different scenarios flitted across my mind. Where was mom? What would I do if he was in there? Should I just go in the window? I’d left it unlocked so I could do just that. But did he know that? Was he in my room with the door locked from the inside?

Terror crawled up my throat, threatening to choke me. I glanced at Cole’s house. Lights glowed cheerfully from each of the downstairs windows. I knew Mrs. Parker was inside, probably making dinner. Cole wasn’t home yet. Neither was his dad. I wanted to go over there. I wanted to never go into my house again. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go home without fear. To feel warm and loved and safe. Maybe I should find a way to move out sooner than the end of the summer. But then I wouldn’t be able to save the money I would need to go to California.

Making a decision, I lifted the rolled-up ladder off the sill outside my window and put my foot on the bottom rung.

 

Cole

 

I raced home from school. I wanted to see Joie, but I also couldn’t shake this feeling of dread. I knew things were going on at her house. I’d been keeping watch out my window for the last couple of months since the day we’d run into the guy with all the tattoos. Joie tended to enter her house through her bedroom window rather than the front door. After leaning her bike against the side of the house, Joie snuck up to the window and unraveled the ladder. She’d grown adept at pulling herself over the edge of the window and into her room. She never failed to immediately reach for the ladder and roll it back up before closing the window and locking it. It was the same every time.

So, when I rolled up to my house and my eyes, which were immediately drawn to Joie’s window, took in the unfurled ladder and open window, I knew something was wrong. Without even taking the time to park in my driveway, I pulled to a screeching stop at the curb in front of Joie’s house. Leaping from my car, leaving it running, I sprinted to the front door, banging on the surface with my fist, while trying the knob with my other hand. It was locked.

“Joie!”

Scuffles broke the evening’s silence. Pausing to listen carefully, I heard something again.

“Joie!” I pounded on the door once more.

“Cole!”

Leaping from the front porch, I raced to Joie’s window. Launching myself up the rungs of the ladder, I vaulted feet first into her room.

 

For years to come I would have nightmares about what I saw in her room that day. I would have dreams of not reaching Joie in time to keep her from harm. I would see the terror in her eyes as they found mine once my feet hit her floor. I would dream I wasn’t able to keep the man with the tattoos from hurting her any more than he already had. Sometimes her mom would appear, strung out and worthless, just watching as her daughter fought for her life.

I woke up each time, reaching for her beside me in my bed, which was ridiculous since Joie hadn’t slept in my bed since we were fifteen. Long before that day. The day I could never forget.

Tattoo man was strong from years of living to survive. I think the only reason I was able to get the jump on him that day was pure surprise and pent up rage from years of wanting to protect Joie and not knowing how to do it. Tattoo man presented me with a perfect opportunity and I wasn’t going to squander it. In the end, Joie had to pull me off him.

With shaking hands, I dialed 9-1-1. While I described to the dispatcher what had happened and where we were, I lifted the blanket from Joie’s bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. She wanted to change her clothes, cover herself more, but I wouldn’t let her. As much as it hurt, the police needed to see exactly what had happened. Tattoo man was still unconscious when the police arrived.

My parents were completely unaware until they heard sirens coming down the street only to stop in front of Joie’s house. When they saw my car parked, running in the street out front, they rushed to see what was going on. My mom immediately relieved me of comforting Joie duty, even though I was loathe to relinquish my hold on her.

Tattoo man was taken away in an ambulance, his hands cuffed to the rails of the stretcher. Joie’s mom was found, passed out in her bedroom, a bottle of pills spilled on the floor at her side. She was also taken to the hospital and would be under investigation by child-protective services. Joie was handled with great care, taken to the hospital and examined. Tattoo man hadn’t done all that he could have and for that at least, I was glad.

Refusing to leave her side, I held her hand through the night and wondered how much more this girl could take. Swearing to myself, I vowed I would never allow any harm to come to her again.