Broken Love

Are you there, God? It’s me Alicia. If you’re there, help me. 

I breathe, not wanting to open my eyes. I’m alive but too afraid to act it. “Play dead, play dead,” I tell myself. If he thinks you’re dead, he will leave. 

The latch clicks. My lungs empty. You’re safe now, I tell myself. My eyes are still closed. I wonder how long I lay there, on the cold linoleum. Minutes, hours, days? I push myself up to sitting and touch my face; tender. I pull myself up, using the pedestal sink as my climbing rope. Gravity pulls and my muscles protest. 

I see myself in the mirror. “Not as bad as I expected,” I tell myself. I remember reading that our brain protects itself in traumatic experiences. I wonder if that’s what is happening here. Because I don’t look good. My eyes are already swollen. Blue begins to peek from behind my pale skin, warning of bruises that are coming. Blood leaks from my nose. It is doubled in size. “Broken,” I say out loud, to no one.

I don’t remember driving to the emergency room, but when I arrive horror is apparent in the faces of nurses and doctors who shuffle me this way and that. They try to hide it, and remain professional- a feat, because I know what I look like. I steep in their kindness. Each offers me a wheelchair, but I decline. 

“Hi, Alicia. I’m Dr. Tucker. I want to hear from you what happened. I’m worried for your safety. You have a broken nose, a broken rib, and a facial hematoma.” A young-ish female doctor comes in and immediately gets down to business. She is direct but speaks with empathy. I wonder if they keep her in the back for delicate situations such as this. I knew this moment would come. I sigh without realizing it. I find myself telling the truth, to everyone’s surprise, even my own.

“My boyfriend. I guess he’s my ex-boyfriend now. I won’t go back to him, I promise.” I tell her what I know she wants to hear while still being honest. The nurse clacks on the keyboard and I’m reminded that this is all being reported, recorded. I wonder if they will call the police.

Dr. Tucker takes a reassuring breath, I know she’s relieved to hear I won’t go back to him. I only hope I’m right. 

“We did your blood work, Alicia. You’re pregnant.” She tells me with little emotion, but still some. 

“I want an abortion.” I say it without thinking. The words escape my lips and I try to grab them but it’s too late, they’ve already broken free.

“Okay. Let’s get an ultrasound machine in here and look, just to be sure.” Her words are reassuring. Maybe it’s a false positive. Dr. Tucker and the nurse walk out of the room. I look down and see my fingers are crossed.

They come back with the ultrasound machine and wordlessly get to work. Dr. Tucker preemptively asks me if I want to hear the heartbeat if there is one. 

“No,” I say. No connection. If I don’t hear it then it doesn’t exist.

“Okay. Found it.” She says. “You’re measuring at thirteen weeks. So, an abortion is not an option at this point. I will bring you some pamphlets on your other options.”

The room begins to spin. Gary will kill me. He will kill me, and he will kill this baby. I know he will think the baby isn’t his. Where will I go? What will I do? I try to calm myself. I pull out my phone and scroll my contacts. 

Mom. He knows where she lives. 

Darren, my brother. He knows where he lives. Too obvious.

I swipe my finger from bottom to top, quickly. The names spin and blur as I see the alphabet zipping down. 

Ah, Sarah Heath. Perfectly random. Sarah was one of my closest friends in high school. We haven’t spoken in years. There wasn’t a fallout, we simply lost touch. I pull up a message to text her.

An incoming call covers the screen of my phone. “GARY,” it says, popping out like a clown in a haunted house. I audibly gasp, but don’t hit decline like my gut tells me. If I hit decline, or answer, he will know I’m alive. As far as he knows, I’m dead. I’d like to keep it that way, so I can get a head start. 

His name disappears as quickly as it materialized, and I write my text to Sarah.

Hi Sarah, long time no see. This is Alicia Fuller. I am in a dangerous situation and wondering if I could stay with you for a bit.

Writing these words feels so surreal. My breath catches in my throat and a moan of grief threatens to escape, but I grab it and pull it back before it gets the chance.

Hi, Sarah. So good to hear from you. I don’t know what’s going on but I’m staying with my dad right now, you might remember him. I’ll send you his address. Sounds like we can both use a friend right now.

Dr. Tucker comes back in and brings me pamphlets for local battered women’s shelters and adoption agencies. 

“I have a personal contact at each of these if you’re interested. I want to help you.” I see genuine kindness behind her eyes, but I know my situation isn’t her responsibility. I have a plan. 

I get discharged and walk back to my car. My adrenaline is starting to slow its course and I begin to feel real pain eking its way through my bloodstream. I pull up the address in the “maps” app on my phone and begin driving. I feel like a squirrel crossing the street; I am maniacally looking left and right, my eyes bulging. I am petrified.

I pull into the driveway of a familiar home. I remember this place, we had sleep overs here in high school. It is such a distant memory; I dust it off in my mind. I almost laugh, thinking how simple life was then. I park and must throw myself out of the car to get out. My muscles are sinewy and no longer move with ease. But I force them to do their job, they don’t get a choice.

I knock on the door of Sarah’s dad’s home. What was his name? Bob? It seems like everybody’s dad is named Bob. It’s not Bob. What is it? I’m searching for it when Sarah opens the door.

“Oh my God, Alicia.” She says through a gasp.

“It looks worse than it is!” I try to sound upbeat and jokey, but it comes out pitiable. 

“Come in.” I follow her down the entry hall to a small kitchen on the left. The right is a living room with all leather furniture. The end of the hall is two sliding glass doors which exit to a compact patio, with a view of a pond. This is so Jeff, I think. It isn’t Jeff. Good grief, what is his name?! I’m exasperated with myself. 

“You remember my dad, Frank.” She says, leading me to a chair next to him.

Frank! That’s it! Frank! I almost say this audibly but find control.

“Hi, Alicia! So good to see you. Glad you could join us. Just in time for coffee, too.” He says with a warm smile. He acts as if he doesn’t see the bruises and damage to my face. My hand involuntarily jolts to my face, to make sure the wounds are still there.

Still there.

“What happened?” Sarah says. No time for pleasantries I see. Frank glares at her.

I tell them how Gary accused me of cheating and when I called him ridiculous, he snapped. This has happened before, but never to this degree. I tell them everything, it spills out of me like vomit that can’t be stopped. Ipecac of words. They look at each other every now and then.

“I can help you. My first question is, do you want to press charges?” Frank says.

“He’s a cop,” Sarah says, before I can answer. An explanation. How did I not remember this? “He never wanted anyone to know.” She answers my question before I get a chance to ask.

“I don’t know if I want to press charges. I just want to move on with my life and never see him again. That’s why I wanted to come here. To hide from him.” I wring my hands as I say it, knowing how it sounds. Obviously, he deserves to go to jail for doing this to me. But it’s more complex than that. “I also left something out of what I told you earlier. I’m pregnant. Thirteen weeks. Just found out today. I don’t know what I want to do about that either.”

Frank tells out a long, loud sigh and it smells like coffee. 

“I know,” I say. “I’ll figure it out. For now, thank you for letting me come here.”

“You’re always welcome,” Frank says.

We all drink coffee and eat old donuts that Frank had in a box on the counter. Frank and Sarah do their best to make me feel at home. They offer me clean clothes, a shower, and plenty of food to eat. We pass the time by playing Scrabble and watching football. Evening comes, and we have spaghetti for dinner. I think several times that I should call my mom, but I can’t bring myself to do it- yet. I climb into the soft twin bed in Sarah’s room and try not to think about what I endured the last twenty-four hours. When my brain tries to go there, I tell myself, “puppies and kittens.” Juvenile, but it works. I’m able to fall asleep.

A loud sound startles me awake and I sit up so fast my hair comes second; it can’t keep up with my speed. 

“He’s here,” I say. 

Are you there, God? It’s me, Alicia.