strong. Even as a homeless man, he was stronger than me.” Her cries sear my soul to the bone, digging into me more than the knife I took to the gut in college.
“He raped me in the dark confines of that street. Ruining my childhood and taking my innocence along with it.” Her voice croaks at the admission. She bends over and heaves, and I feel the nausea overwhelming me too, unable to imagine what it must have felt like for her.
“A month later, I woke up sick. Vomiting, heaving, shaking as blood leaked from me. It took everything in me to go to the hospital because leaving the flat was near impossible. I didn’t feel safe, didn’t know up from down, left from right, life felt unlivable.”
No. Please don’t say it.
“I was pregnant.” Fuck. Fuck! FUCK. “I’d been losing the child. A child he forced into me. As cruel and sick as that man was and what he did, I thought it was fated in all sense. How fucking tragic, right?” I don’t answer because I can’t. I just let her talk it out. “The doctor informed me I had chlamydia. So, on top of the rape and pregnancy, I had an STD.” She combs her fingers through her hair, pulling harshly, making my skin chill. “The disease caused my fallopian tubes to be blocked, decreasing blood flow to the baby. It killed it. He killed it.” She lets out a shaky breath, tragedy hardening her features. “It made me unable to have babies by permanently damaging my tubes.”
Standing here speechless, I wait for the words to form as she tells me the most horrific story known to man. How do I help? Fix this? Ease her guilt? Do any-fucking-thing? How?
“Joey—”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she interrupts me, her face red, blotchy, and barren of any emotion. She walks past me, not even offering a glance, keeping her distance. Why am I such a piece of shit? I let her walk away.
Because I’m a coward.
Chapter Twenty-One
Past
Joey
God. Why did I admit all of that? Seeing the pity on his face made me squirm more than the recount. Not my dad, Gray, or even Wes knew about Paris and what that man did to me in the alley. No one knew the status of my health or that he ruined my body for the future. They couldn’t possibly know the extent of my pain, losing a child I didn’t even know I was carrying. Everything hurt. Admitting it, getting it off my chest, it didn’t ease the reality; it only made someone else aware of what I had to live with.
Lying in that hospital bed alone.
Crying as they listed all the traumas.
Bleeding for days after losing my baby.
It killed me. Most of all, it made me hateful.
When I found Gray three weeks later, it wasn’t merely coincidence. It was fate.
“You can come home in a month or so, Josey. I don’t think right now is the time.” Of course, Dad would think me a burden. How could he know a man raped me in the streets almost two months ago, stole my purse and money, gave and took from me, and now I’m living off what’s in the flat. My stomach churns thinking of the cigarette smell and odious perfidy that man exuded.
“Please, Daddy, I can’t stay here,” I meekly beg, praying he tells me it’s okay. This hurts. I want to die. My body wants to give up.
“Josephine Ellis Moore, is paradise not enough for you? I’m spending all this money for you to take a holiday while Marsha gets settled in—”
“It’s not that... I miss you, is all,” I lay it on thick. Not untrue, though. I missed Dad—just wish he loved me as he once did.
“Baby girl, only a few more months.”
“Daddy,” I cry, finally letting the ache from my soul burden him for a moment as it does me daily.
“What is—”
“Clay!” Marsha yells, stealing his attention. He sounds muffled on the other end, like he’s covered the phone so I wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation. “I’ve gotta go Josey-pie. Talk soon.”
He hangs up before I can respond.
Tears leave my eyes, dripping, dripping, dripping, until nothing’s left. I pull out my leather-bound journal, the last thing I can remember Mom ever giving me. I’ve always had a wild streak and wanted exploration, to be free... She gave me this journal for my travels. She believed I’d explore the world one day.