Unhinge - Calia Read Page 0,15
agreed softly.
During our honeymoon, Wes and I made promises to each other. On how the future would be and how we would do things right. In a few years, we would break ground and build our dream house. If we had an argument we would work things out and we would never go to bed angry. We had plans and I was determined to keep every single one.
I glanced back at my mother and realized that she had been talking this entire time. “…And then you’ll have a family and house like the one you grew up in.” She gestured to the English, country-style monstrosity of a house beside us. Growing up in this house had been like growing up in a maze. I constantly found new places and dead ends. I think my active imagination was born from this place. There was such a wide age gap between my brother and me and on the days where my friends couldn’t come over and play, I would create imaginary friends. They never complained. Or fussed. To them, all my games and ideas were brilliant.
If only imaginary friends stuck with you during adulthood. Maybe then things wouldn’t be so rough.
I didn’t know why she still lived here. I moved out after college and my brother had left three years before me. I suppose she stayed here for the memories. I know she wanted the same for me but I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had no desire to have a home so big that I could get lost inside it.
“What are you two talking about?”
At the sound of Wes’s voice I turned around. He shut the patio door behind him and smiled at me. His black dress shirt was tucked into an equally dark pair of slacks. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Sunlight reflected off the watch strapped around his left wrist. He came up behind me, his hands curving around my shoulders. My head rested against the hard muscles of his stomach.
“Oh, nothing,” my mother answered breezily. “Just talking about how lucky you are to have my daughter.”
Wes grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to me. He gave me that signature smirk of his. The one that pulled me under and never let go. “I’m lucky, all right.”
December 2012
Her bruises were severe.
Her lip was busted.
The fluorescent lights didn’t help her much; they highlighted each mark. She cradled her right hand close to her chest, refusing to let me or Dr. Pelletier look at it. I was pretty sure it was sprained.
Dr. Pelletier was an older, gruff man. But if you looked past his demeanor, you saw he truly was a caring man. I’d worked with him on and off for the past year. Whenever he was on shift I knew the time would fly by.
For the sixth time he asked her how she had gotten hurt. Every time, though, he asked the question differently. Her answer was always the same: She fell down the stairs. She slipped on some water one of her kids had spilled. Just an accident, really.
I’d heard so many explanations for bruises and broken bones, I could write a book on it. From Dr. Pelletier’s scowl I knew he felt the same. His eyes gave away nothing, but his shoulders drooped slightly.
Dr. Pelletier told her to get some rest and left the room. I stayed behind and waited for the door to close, before I gave her a comforting smile.
Her name was Alex.
She couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me. But life hadn’t been kind to her. Her skin was sallow, eyes blank, hair limp around her shoulders. If I could, I’d have locked her in that room until she finally agreed to leave him for good.
There was always a “him.”
I should have been used to situations like hers, but I wasn’t. It was just as painful to see as the first time. Mostly because I tried to help them, to fix the damage, but I knew that they’d go right back into the arms of violence. It was an awful feeling.
“You don’t have to stay with him,” I said quietly.
Alex didn’t lift her head. It was almost as if she was used to this statement.
“There are shelters you can go to. Hotlines you can call. There’s so much support waiting for you.”
She sighed. “It’s not that simple.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. I had to lean in to hear her.