“No.”
John’s head snaps to attention and his eyes bore into mine. “What did you say?” he asks menacingly.
Eyeing the unchained door, I brace myself. “No, John. I’m not going anywhere!” My voice is more defiant than my nerve, but I can feel a charge of rebellion.
WHOOSH! He lunges for my throat.
I run for the door. It swings open wide, hitting John in the face, and gives me a fractured moment to make it to the stairs. He is running after me full force, and I scream at the top of my lungs, sprinting toward Italian Joe’s for safety. “Help! Help!” He’s seconds behind. “No! John! Stop!” I yell, hoping someone will intervene. I make it to the fence by the pool, crashing through the metal gate. Then, in direct view of the dinnertime crowd, John, relentless, catches up to me. In his outstretched hand, he manages to grab my hair and yank me down onto the cement by the deep end of the pool, brutally pounding on my body and face with his fists.
The looks on the faces of the dinnertime crowd at Joe’s is shock and horror—disbelief—but no one moves a muscle.
John’s strength fades as his adrenaline pours out into his raging fists, and his anger subsides. As if he realizes everyone is watching, he pulls me up and drags me behind him back up the stairs to our room. He locks the door securely behind him, peeks out from behind the curtains, and falls to his knees. “Baby, oh baby, I’m so sorry!” he heaves, sweaty grime caked in the creases of his brow. “Please, please forgive me.” He reaches for my arm, pleading.
Cringing at his pitiful attempt to touch me, I can’t look at him. My face and cheek are swollen. A goose egg swells on my forehead, and my lip is bruised and numb.
Desperately, he pulls me into his lap. Clumps of my hair sticks to his arm, and I let him rest his head on my chest and sob.
He has that scared look again. Like a lost little boy, I think. I give in and rest my arms around his sobbing frame, a broken man, until we fall asleep in each other’s arms… for the last time.
The alarm goes off at six in the morning. John is up to make coffee. Letting me sleep, he tiptoes into the bathroom to get ready for work. Stretching in a half sleep, I feel my head throb and remember the night before. I watch him as he dresses and finishes his morning coffee. He crosses over to the bed and sits on the bed next to me.
“Good morning, Dawn,” John whispers, stroking my hair and face. He waits for a long time, just staring. In my waking thoughts, I remember all the times he lovingly woke me in the past, brushing my hair from my face, telling me I was beautiful. “Sleep in. Okay, baby?” I give a small nod, feeling the pain in my face. He gazes a bit longer and then, kneeling down, breathes an “I love you, Dawn.” He kisses the bruises on my forehead and lips.
He starts to open the door, then stops. Shoulders slumped and head hanging low, he turns to give me one last look. “See you tonight, sweetheart,” he mumbles unconvincingly. Then, looking as if he has lost his best friend, he sadly leaves.
Bang, bang, bang! Bang, bang, bang! The door shakes at its hinges from the vibration.
“Yeah? Who is it?” I call, alarmed by the intensity of the knocking. I step up to look through the peephole. Big Rosie, Tom, Italian Joe, and Louise press up against the door. “Oh, hey. What’s up?” I shyly poke my head out, hiding the “bad” side of my face with the door.
“Are you okay?” Big Rosie barrels into the room.
“Yeah, uh, I’m okay, I guess.” I look away, embarrassed that they witnessed John’s rage on me last night.
“Pack your things!” she orders.
“What? I, I can’t. What about John?”
“What about John?” Rosie snaps. “That asshole! We saw what he did yesterday. He don’t deserve you! Now let’s go. You’re coming with us.”
I am stunned at the hurried rush of my friends gathering to rescue me. Overcome, I weep.
Big Rosie sees me crumble and reaches over to hold me as I cry in her thick, freckled arms. “Where, where will I go?”
Rosie rocks me protectively. “Louise’s divorce is final, sweetie, and she just got her house back. She needs someone to watch Heather while she’s at work. You’ve already been babysitting, so it’s perfect, Dawn. You’re gonna be okay.”
“He won’t find you at my houth, thweetie,” Louise lisps, “and no one’ths gonna tell him either.”
Tom and Italian Joe stand guard outside while the ladies help me pack. Holding a shaking Thor in my arms, I take one last look around the room. “Just a minute. I need to get one more thing.” Lifting the mattress, I pull out the .38 pistol and spare bullets, the one John had stolen in Alabama. “I’ll take this, just in case.” I shudder as everyone looks on. I am afraid… but it’s different this time. This time I am not worried about John; I am afraid for myself.
What have you done? my mind asks him. I gave you my love and my loyalty and you… you gave me… this. I steal a fleeting glance at the room I have called home—my last home with John—and without a tear, I turn and flee.
Louise and Heather are singing in the front seat of her brown-paneled station wagon. They are happy. At least Louise is. She has been going through a rough divorce and finally pulled through victorious for her and Heather, according to her. Everything is working out perfectly in her eyes. Her house, my needing a safe place to stay—things couldn’t be better.
But I am depressed and still not fully comprehending that I am getting away from John. Why am I acting like this? I wonder. Why do I still care about someone who hurt me so much? I know it’s because I never wanted to give up on love; I keep hoping there is still some good inside of him. In truth, I’m clinging to just a memory of something good. It has always hurt too badly to give up on what could have been.
“Hey, come on. Cheer up!” Louise sings.
I force a smile and tap my foot to the beat of an ABBA song, drifting in and out of thoughts of my last moments with John.
At Louise’s place, a house sunk deep in the suburbs of North Miami, I feel safe right away. He’ll have a hard time finding me here, I think because I know he will look for me. I know he is scared I will get him caught by either the police or… Eddie.
It is Thanksgiving week; since Louise is working, we won’t celebrate with a turkey, but it is a celebration anyway. I will get to call my family.
Mom sounds shocked when she hears my voice.
“Some people helped me get away from John, Mom. He hit me again and, well, I’m in a safe place now, and I’m working. I’ll try to make enough to get back… if that’s okay.”
“Yah. Okay. You sure? Yah, da police vas here looking for you. They told us people were out to kill you, Dawn. They said the whole family vas in danger. Stay away from him, Dawn. He’s bad news.”
“I know, Mom. I’m sorry. I have help this time, Mom.”
“Vell.” She sighs. “Vaht number can I call you back, den? So I can call you.”
I don’t blame her for not acting overjoyed. My God, my family thinks they could be killed too!
Mom calls me every evening, and it feels good to hear her voice. I don’t give her my address yet, just in case, but I look forward to her calls. When the phone rings, I race Heather to answer it. A week has passed since I left the Fountainhead and John… and I am feeling good again. I am in touch with my family and getting on my feet. The phone rings early that evening and, as usual, I am eager to talk to Mom. “Hello.” I am out of breath from dancing with Heather.