There’s a deafening thud, an echoing and eerie silence as a breath escapes him and then nothing. His
body lies motionless, his hand on my ankle drops loose over my injury and I kick it away with my other
foot hastily.
I’m crouching at an odd angle, still gripping the bar so tightly that my nails have pierced my own palms,
breathing so hard it’s painful and making me dizzy. I turn to stare at the bulky form in the dusky light
and something inside of me snaps. All fear and flight go out of me and emotionless clarity and sense
come over me; a dark sense of quiet calming stillness, followed by a moment of completely detached
pause and I listen to the long slow steady breaths from his almost lifeless body.
If I leave him this way to go and get help, he could get away, he could wake up and run or he could
catch me before I get anywhere. He will never stop coming for me if I always run from him.
I hold up the bar and contemplate hitting him again, but he doesn’t appear to be conscious and I know
in my own heart I don’t have the stomach or the willpower to kill a man … Even him … Even if I could
justify it to myself, justify it to the world, I could never look at myself in the mirror the same way again.
Jake would never look at me the same way and how could my child?
I scramble around on the floor trying to find something to help me figure out what to do. The pain in my
ankle is hot and burning through me intensely but I push it down and claw my way across the space,
dragging my leg behind me like an injured animal, slowly and surely. My head is a scrambling mess,
my emotions all over the place and a hard tension growing in my pelvis is making my body rigid. I can’t
begin to analyze how I really feel I’m just spurred on by the breathless anxiety of knowing that I am not
out of danger yet. He could wake up at any second and the pain in my body is weakening me with
every movement.
My vision is blurred by sticky liquid in my face and my mouth is full of the taste of blood. My head is
pounding and swelling across my brow at an alarming rate, bringing back the deep nausea and
dizziness once more. My body is giving up on me and I need to save myself before it does.
My eyes wander to the phone on the unit and I crawl to it, yanking the cable right out of the wall like a
crazed woman, biting into my hands and slicing my palm with the strength of my force. I pull it from the
base of the phone stand and crawl back to him. I’m determined to do this, the overwhelming trembling
of my body going into shock is slowly creeping up from my toes, so I need to be quick.
I’ve never restrained a person this way before, but sheer fear and adrenaline has me looping his hands
behind his back and tying as tight as I can a multitude of complicated knots. I don’t care if I cut off all
circulation, the feel of his rough skin is making me recoil internally, the stench of his musky body is
choking me, but I keep tying the cord hoping that this will be enough.
His breathing is shallow, so he’s alive, and I can make out dark liquid oozing onto the floor by his head.
I injured him in the way he injured me and somehow it starts a tiny spark of strength deep inside of me;
a calm that sweeps up through me, giving me focus and determination.
I take a deep breath, and sit back to look at my handiwork, taking a moment to calm my crazy body and
reeling thoughts. He’s strung up at the back and I’ve run out of cord to do more. I hope it’s enough and
his knee is too smashed to be able to use his legs should he want to come get me.
I need Jake. I need help. I need the police. Get help, Emma … Go.
I realize my phone is in my bag upstairs and I must’ve dropped it with his assault. There’s no way I can
muster the ability to get up that steep winding staircase and I’ve just disabled the only landline nearby.
Fuck’s sake, Emma. Well done.
Stupid. Stupid. Okay, look around, Emma. Look! What can I find? What can I do? How can I get help?
I grab at my temples and knock my head, trying to think. My eyes wandering around the room
desperately searching for something to help me get comfort.
Calm, Emma, be rational. Sylvana is right next door.
The street … Get to the street.
I try to get up and my ankle gives out completely, another sharp agonizing pain, wooziness hitting me
with ferocity and a dampness now coursing down my chin as a fresh wave of blood pulses further down
my face. I’m shivering, my body is shaking so badly that my hands are becoming unusable.
I trace the warmth of the liquid up to my forehead and realize he’s cut my head open with the force of
my collision into the door upstairs. My brow is swelling, and my hairline is crusting with blood.
“Jake is going to fuck you up!” I snarl at his motionless body, suddenly enraged at what he’s done to
me. What he intended to do to me! The anger I used to harbor kicks free and claims me with a fury I
normally keep locked up, like some seething crazy past Emma.
This is not going to be over if the police take him away, he will just bide his time and come back. He’ll
wait in the shadows again until we least expect it and lash out in a new more horrendous way.
I look down at my stomach and recoil in sheer fear and terror.
He will come for our child … I know he will.
Something in me tells me he would, that his level of patience and craziness means he will be a threat
forever, one that even Jake can’t keep us safe from.
I need to get to Sylvana, she will know what to do. Mathews will come back, and he can do something
with this piece of shit while Jake comes to me and figures out what to do. Jake always knows what to
do.
I try to stand again, with more determination, to walk out of this house but my ankle bites at me in pain
and I crumble in screaming agony; nausea washing through me so fast I can’t contain it, and I throw up
on the floor; finally giving up the contents that had been threatening to expel all along.
I lean back in disgust and grab at my swimming head, spitting blood and sick out of my mouth and use
my sleeve to wipe at it. I clutch at my stomach as a tremor of ache courses through my lower abdomen,
a prickling of anxiety at the fear that maybe my baby might be damaged in some way; that this physical
encounter has hurt her. The ache hits again, low and winding, like a punch in the gut and it strokes
panic in me once more.
The sheer force of deep-rooted fear at the possible loss of her hits me, consuming everything but the
need to get help for her … For my baby.
He will not take you from me. He cannot win.
The tears start pouring down my face and I can’t take much more of this pain soaring in my heart;
every aching assault on my abdomen comes in waves and is like a piece of my heart being sliced
away.
I lift my chin, defiantly, and drag myself onto my knees moved by the power inside to get my child the
help she needs to stay with me. My belly is aching and twisting inside of me and tears flood my face,
diluting the blood and mess, leaving a trail across my shirt and neck.
My arms are aching, and my body is shaking violently. I crawl purposefully, ignoring everything else but
the need to save her, my beautiful little green-eyed girl. I want to see her smile back at me. I want to
hold her in my arms and know the smell of my little one against my face. The feel of her delicate skin
and soft breaths. I won’t lose her now; I’ll grip onto her harder than I’ll ever grip onto anything in my life.
I crawl to the front door, trying to haul myself to my feet to reach the handles, crying with every single
effort and calling out in pain. My eyes are screwed shut and my fists are clenched to get my body to
move upwards.
I won’t let him do this to me. I won’t let him destroy any chance of happiness or take away our life in
this way.
I reach up, hauling at the handle in one last desperate effort, trying to get enough purchase to open the
door and shove myself up further against the screaming pain.
I connect with the handle and tug, the door opens enough to catch with my fingers in the crack and sob
out loud in relief, grappling manically and slumping back down onto my knees, relieving the
excruciating pain of my ankle somewhat.
I pull the door back as far as I can against me, shifting my weight out of the way to accommodate the
opening of the door. It is less than a second before the alarm engages at the disruption.
My home turns into some flashing beacon of lights and wailing sirens, overwhelming my senses in a
terrifying assault; crying for help in deafening proportions and I make out the blurred lights near the
front door, blinking in time to the brain fogging ringing all around me, knocking the last of my senses
into oblivion.
I did it. I signaled for help and now I want to lie down and curl around my child and hold onto her for a
little longer. My body is giving up on me while my brain tries to find the calm in the chaos all around me.
Stay with me, sweetheart, hold on for just a little longer. They’re coming. Daddy will come. Please baby
…
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