Page 11 of Quiet Chaos

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“The Lord tests the righteous, but his soul hates the wicked and the one who loves violence.” Psalm 11:5

Sky - September 2019

Everything is my fault. If I hadn’t followed Christoff here, if I hadn’t sinned by living with a man I’m not married to, I wouldn’t be in this situation. We arrived in Garden City in early August, and Christoff was upbeat, full of hugs and kisses. A friend of his set us up in an apartment. The same friend who had a job for him. I asked Christoff about the job, and he told me not to worry.

Christoff doesn’t want me working, so I sit inside the apartment most of the time. He borrows money from me until there is nothing left to borrow. What money I brought along is now gone. He completes whatever job he was doing, and not long after, something shifts in him. Christoff is restless and distant. He stops gazing into my eyes, calling me beautiful, kissing and hugging. We have yet to visit the lake he spoke of before.

I spent years in a convent, yet this apartment is suffocating. It’s a beautiful day, so I venture outside. This city isn’t as congested as Salt Lake. There are parks and paths along Bear Lake. The smell of grilled food sparks the air. Dogs dart through a path of people, and in the distance, there’s the faint laughter of children. The sun warms my skin as I walk near the lake. I come across Christoff’s friend Jeremy, the one who got him thejob, and he asks me to lunch. I accept, figuring it’s safe because Christoff knows him.

When I return home, I don’t have time to put my purse down before I experience a sting against my cheek, which knocks me to the side. A chair breaks my fall.

Christoff shoves his finger in my face as he says, “You’remygirlfriend. What are you doing going to lunch with my friend?”

He backs me up into the wall, my hand still cradling my cheek. “I…I didn’t think you’d mind because you know him. He offered—”

My scalp burns from him yanking my hair, pointing his finger in my face. “Don’t think. You’re too stupid to think. I told you to stay inside.”

He releases my hair when he pushes away. I tremble, shocked by what has happened. I don’t understand why he is mad. What did I do wrong to make him hurt me? My shaky hands cradle my cheeks while my body slides down the wall to the floor.

I whisper, “I’m sorry, Christoff.” He passes, kicks my foot, and marches into the bedroom.

After the initial physical encounter, it takes nothing for him to go after me; a punch to the stomach, a smack across the face for something or nothing at all. His temperament increases when he can’t find a job.

One day, I hear him talking to Jeremy outside. He suggests Christoff make some money by letting others have sex with me. He tells Christoff that there are guys who would pay a lot of money for a virgin. Christoff glances at me inside the apartment and then shakes his head. Fortunately, he has a conscience.

Tears bubble and cloud my vision, so I cover my mouth to prevent sound from escaping. From head to toe, I quiver, and walking on noodle legs, go into the bedroom. How can someone suggest such a thing? Sell me for sex? Inside the closet, I curl into a ball, head resting on my bent knees. Why did I move here?Sister Mary would be disappointed knowing I’m living with Christoff. The sisters preached little about sins. They told me the answers are all in the Bible. “For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor.” I have control over my body, but if Christoff hands me over to others, I’ll lose it. My nails scrape against the floor, squeezing my eyes closed, as I release a steady stream of sobs.

Several smacks, punches, and days later, I hover in the bathroom, running my fingers over bruises.

Christoff hits the door, and I jump away. “We’re going.”

He walks away with me trailing behind, asking, “Where?”

As I get into the backseat of the car, Jeremy is in the passenger seat, and the acid in my stomach churns. Christoff drives, and they whisper in the front. He drops Jeremy off, who peers at me before going.

I pull on Christoff’s shirt. “What’s going on?”

“Sit back.” My back hits the seat. “We’re going to a friend’s house. Do as you’re told, and everything will be fine.”

Sobs wrack my body as I beg him not to do it. Not to give me to others who will defile and take control of my body. He ignores me. I rock back and forth, biting my fist to stop the twister in my stomach, head, and heart. We’re at a red light next to a gas station and there’s a little store attached to it. I send a prayer up to God, hoping the doors aren’t locked. I pull the handle, push the door open, and run into the store. Christoff maneuvers into the parking lot and comes inside. Tilting my head down to cover the bruises and blood, I stand near a woman, pretending to look at the newspapers. There are several people inside, and others waiting in line to pay for gas. He gets impatient and leaves.

Everything I own is at the apartment. On the side of the building, a little out of view, I sit and lean against it, tears rolling down my face. My nose bleeds again from his earlier assault. I’ma mess. I have a black eye from yesterday, a torn shirt, and blood seeping through the holes in my jeans. My hand grips the cross hanging from my neck as I whisper, “God, please forgive my sins. I should have stayed with Ms. Adeline. I’m so sorry. Please have mercy on me.”

My eyes open to the sun beating on me. I must have fallen asleep. I’m unsure of the time, so I approach a man standing by his truck. He gives me a bright smile and asks if I’m okay, and I let him know I’m fine. The trucker hands me a handkerchief, suggesting I clean my face. I notice him glancing around. He walks toward me as I take a step backwards, and my shoulders hit his truck. Pinned against the open door, his hands touch my body, and all I can do is scream. Nobody bothers to help. He struggles to get me into the passenger seat. I’m crying harder and yelling no.

To my surprise, a man walks up to us. I can’t see him because I’m behind the door.

He has a deep voice. “Let her go.”

Sweat drips down the trucker’s temples. He’s nervous, but he challenges the stranger. “Mind your own business.”

The man steps forward. All I can see is a wall of chest, muscles bulging from his folded arms. “This is the last time I’m going to say it. Let her go.”

Still not backing down, he yells at me to get in the truck. In an instant, the trucker is on the ground, knocked out cold. My hand covers my mouth as I look at the trucker and… my hero, who turns and leaves. I step over the man; arms crossed over my front to hide the ripped shirt and sit back down by the building. I’m shaking, knees pulled close to my chest, and a non-stop leaking of tears. How did I get to this point? I’ve tried being good.

A shadow covers me. My head turns upward to see my hero. He’s massive. Shoulders and body shadowing me and mysurroundings, as if darkness is creeping in. I’ve never witnessed anyone so muscular. I get to my feet, trying to cover myself. He extends his arm, holding a shirt, and nods. With a slight tremble in my hand, I take it and thank him. I face away to pull it over my head, and when I turn back, he is gone. I walk to the front of the store, and the man disappears on a motorcycle.

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