101-Grounded Airplane
**PIPPA**
I never get rid of anything in my bag and I am more than thankful when I grasp the keys to my apartment.
*This is it. Xaver and I are through. My worst nightmare has come true.*
My voice rings hollow as I say, “I think it is best if you drop me off at my apartment.”
“That is a damn good idea,” he says curtly.
In the time it takes to get there, we don’t say another word.
***
Xaver drives away, tires squealing. He doesn’t look back. At all. I wait until he has disappeared before I trudge up to the steps and sit down, thinking of how far we have fallen.
I ignore the cold. The bitter wind doesn’t chill me. Xaver’s demeanor has.
The time spent with his parents was a dream come true. All I have ever wanted was to be accepted. To have a family of my own since my childhood wasn’t ideal, and it was snatched from me before I had a chance to really get comfortable.
Because of a secret I couldn’t bring to light.
If I could do it over, I would. have marched into Xaver’s office, pulled him out of whatever meeting he was in and made him privy to truth...
How I regret not telling him. Still, when was a good time?
*Never.*
Seems like I have my own answer. I held off letting Xaver know about Sonia and the baby because I was scared. Scared of this exact same scenario unrolling like a dog’s tongue in the heat of summer.
Just as I figured, he got angry and shut me out.
*That is only temporary. He won’t see reason now, but perhaps in time...*
How much time?
Until I have my next OBGYN appointment?
Until he throws my items onto the street?
*Well, he would probably mail them to me.*
What about work?
*I can’t go through his frostiness again.*
That time after our first fight was awful. Working with him. Seeing his scowls. He was so close. Close enough to touch. To see. To hear. Smell his scent.
I was saved from a week of hell when he went to Arizona. Nothing will save me now.
*I won’t be able to handle it. I will try and work from home...*
*What home? You have no home.*
The lease on the old apartment is good until the end of December. That will keep a roof over my head for another six weeks at least.
After that...
I have money enough saved to cover expenses for a couple of months, but not near enough to make first month’s and last month’s rent for an apartment in Manhattan. Oh, I can’t forget about the security deposit either. There are a ton of hidden expenses when renting, even turning on the lights and the gas is a chunk of change.
Not even if I started back at Bene tomorrow could I save enough.
With that debillitating thought, I stand and enter the outer door. Behind it, I resist the urge to let gravity pull me to the ground once again.
The tears haven’t come yet. They will soon.
A lake. A river. An ocean.
I’ll cry and then break and then piece myself back together. I’ve done it before and I can do it again.
With that resolve, I shuffle down the hallway. Every step away from what I once had is torture. The pain is akin to pulling my fingernails from their beds and throwing them into a fire.
I put the key in the lock and turn the handle.
The drawn blinds make the apartment pitch black.
The darkness is what I deserve.
It has yet to get darker.
“I’ve been waiting for you, bitch.”
The force of the slap to my cheek knocks my head into the wall. Stars burst in my vision as I sink into the void.
***
Days. Hours. Minutes later, I come to.
The living room lamp is on. The bulb’s weak wattage sends out a desperate glow.
I twist to my side. Pain explodes like fireworks inside every cell.
“Get up, bitch.”
A black dress shoe connects with my shoulder, flinging my arm back. The initial sting settles into a deep throb.
I’ve had worse. A lot worse.
He did, however, clock me a good one to the side of the head. There is an all-too familiar ringing in my ear, coupled with the sting from the impact. The first spikes of a headache crowd around my temples.
Yep. There is a lump on my head from hitting the wall.
I roll over to stand, protecting my womb as best I can.
Craig Farkas is before me, chest heaving with his quickened breathing. His eyes are wild and unfocused. His lips pulled back in a wolf’s attack snarl.
I stand on shaky legs.
He backhands me, busting my top lip with his wedding ring. I feel the split as I stumble, stopping myself from falling by catching hold of the little knick-knack table by the door.
It rocks back and forth against the wall.
Droplets of blood coat my denim skirt and the floor.
I feel my face for the damage. My whole palm comes away red. Seems like my nose was caught up in it as well.
“Do you know what your fuckboy did?”
I press my lips together, wincing at the pain, my face set in a neutral expression.
That is the first lesson I learned in the study of *Getting Hit 101*. No use in begging or pleading. The abuser only gets incensed. They used that as justification for their actions, like a free pass to beat out the sass.
Instead, I try to calculate my next move, quickly measuring the distance between myself and Craig.
*Too close for a kick in the knee.*
I do a grapevine, heading to the couch. Forcing my petrified mind to stay one step ahead.
I’m on my own. As always. There is no one else to depend on, except for me, myself and I.
My heart beats a mile a minute while my stomach does somersaults.
Craig copies my movement. He takes two steps forward to my one step back... until I can no longer move.
My attacker towers over me, his angry presence making him seem twelve feet tall. Fire comes from his flared nostrils and sulfur spews from his mouth. I curl my nose in distaste and tense my thighs, ready to spring into action.
He raises a tightly clenched fist. Blood dots his knuckles and his veins stand out with heated fury.
“He ruined my life.” The deadly whisper of his words makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.
*The pain is coming.*
It won’t be a love tap this time, but an all-out war. I see it brewing behind the flatness of his eyes. Craig Farkas, pushed to the brink, has nothing to lose.
And I have but *one* chance to get this right.
He swings.
I duck and let the momentum carry him forward. Pivoting, I place all my weight into my hands in a shove that could move a mountain.
Craig’s feet fly up. One shoe connects with my forearm. The heel leaves a long scratch.
I am already turning to pick up an ashtray of Jenna’s. It is black with ‘Atlantic City’ written in white letters. She has had it for years.
If it breaks on his thick skull, I trust she will forgive me.
I turn back to my attacker. A hysterical cackle bubbles from my mouth.
Craig Farkas is ass-deep inside the black hole. His arms flail. His legs pound out a chaotic rhythm on the floor.
*This man came in here to harm my babies.* To harm *me.*
A dark and terrifying hatred comes from deep inside my soul. I transform into a vengeful being, intent on destruction and damage.
I swing the ashtray at his head. A satisfying* THUNK* reverberates throughout the room. Craig’s eyes lose focus and flutter back in their sockets. I bring the ashtray up again, eager to smash him into oblivion. The porcelain hits his arm. The *POP* sound it makes is music to the ear I can still hear out of. I lift it up again, but strong arms grab me from behind, holding me aloft against a hard chest.
I scream in frustration, more than eager to do more damage. I flail my legs against strong thighs and dig my nails into a marbled arm.
“Get her outside.”
I am pushed against a figure almost as tall as I am.
My eyes find their focus.
The fight leaves me as Seth wraps a hand around my waist. Skin-upon-skin noises come from the direction of the couch as we head to the hallway. Blood from my face and arm leaves connect-the-dots on the floor.
Freezing air stings my eyes and sets my teeth to chattering, cutting off questions of* why* and *how.*
I don’t think I could ask them, anyway.
The cops and ambulance are already there. The paramedics put me on a stretcher. Shame fills me as I see the blood on Seth’s jacket. His mother will have to wash it before he goes to school tomorrow.
Justice looms over me. He has blood on his hands, spatters on his face, and some on his shirt. I don’t think, for a minute that it is all mine.
And I am damn glad Craig lost some in the process.
“You will be okay, Pip. You will be just fine.”
He brushes my hair back and I lean into his touch.
“I’ll be there as soon as I am finished talking to the police. You hang on, okay?”
At my nod, I am lifted into the ambulance.
A tall, thin paramedic who looks as if he’d be more at home on a ranch than in a big city says, “You’ll be all right, darlin’. Don’t you fret. We‘ll take good care of you.”
I nod. It’s all I can do.
“Do you want something for the pain, ma’am?”
“No. I’m pregnant.”
And no amount of medicine will take my ache away.