Page 16 of All In
Unfortunately, I didn’t come up with a plan because Chad spotted Sam’s watch resting on my wrist last week. I was stupid enough to keep it on one day. I always tucked it away in an old pair of shoes, hidden at the back of the closest. But Sam must have been on my mind (as he always is), and I didn’t take it off. Putting it on makes me feel as if he’s right there by my side.
Obviously, Chad demanded to know where it came from. I think deep down, he knew. When I didn’t answer right away, and before I could register what was happening, he punched me. Never in my life have I seen someone change in the blink of an eye. When his fist came into contact with my chin, it felt like my head blew off of my body. As the pain shot through my head, tears welled up inmy eyes. It was a bone-chilling, hair-raising moment that left me trembling in terror.
As I stood there, holding my cheek, I knew right then that I needed to get away. Of course, he apologized and swore that it wouldn’t happen again.
Typical abuser.
As soon as he got in the shower, I called the police. They were waiting for him when he stepped out into the living room with only a towel wrapped around his waist. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he rounded the corner and saw two very large police officers standing in the middle of the apartment. My favorite part, though, is what the police heard him say.
He was walking, shoulders bent, out of the bathroom and was rounding the corner toward me. Staring at his feet, he said, “Sweetie, I am really sorry. I will never hit you again.” He faltered backward as he looked up and saw the police officers step out into the living room.
He backed himself into a corner and couldn’t lie his way out of the hole he dug for himself.
The police escorted him out of the apartment (they wouldn’t even let him get dressed) as I frantically packed up my things. I called my parents, and they arrived soon after to help. In twenty minutes, flat, my car and my dad’s became filled with the things I brought with me into this relationship. He can keep the rest. I don’t want one reminder of my life with him.
Chad never said a word as I walked past him, my head held high, and proclaimed, “I quit.”
We are going to start the protection order process first thing in the morning.
Chad is out of my life for good.
Steam from my shower fills the bathroom as I wipe away the mirror. My hair is up in a towel, and my pink robe clings to my wet body. Leaning in closer, I inspect the area where Chad’s fist contacted my chin and cheek, trying to get abetter look. The bruise, once purple and prominent, is now barely visible. What remains I can cover up with makeup.
Almost two weeks have passed since that frightening day, yet it feels like longer. It’s amazing how quickly I could leave Chad in the past. Even though I didn’t file charges, the authorities issued a protection order against Chad, which stopped him from contacting me. I haven’t heard from him since.
Good riddance.
Being back home has also given my parents and me a chance to talk, reconnect, and get closer, which has been nice. It’s the best our relationship has ever been. What happened, though, six months ago continues to strain my parents’ marriage. They try to hide their arguments from me, but they forget I am a grown woman now and not a child. I know what’s going on.
Despite my dad’s ongoing job hunt, I was fortunate enough to land a waitressing job at an upscale restaurant. The money is decent, the tips are amazing, and my boss is a woman who doesn’t harass me. A total win-win.
Mostly, things in my life are looking up.
There is still one lingering matter that continues to haunt me. It’s been on my mind since the day I moved back home.
I have to try to mend things with Sam, maybe repair our broken relationship.
It’s Friday, and with the night off, I can finally set my plan in motion.
Honestly, it’s not much of a plan, but I gotta try.
My so-called plan is to drive over to Sam’s, sit down with him, and tell him every detail of what happened, and plead for his forgiveness. Forgiveness that I don’t deserve.
I’m not above begging.
I have no idea how this is going to go. He could shut the door in my face. There’s a good chance he may tell me to go to hell. Or it could go exactly how I’ve imagined it. Will we get back together?
“God, I hope so,” I mutter to myself as I dust on some eyeshadow.
But if not, at least I can finally lift this weight off of my chest by telling him the truth. I have planned out what I’m going to say and replayed it repeatedly in my mind. The visuals of him at first being mad but then understanding andembracing me play in a constant loop. Our lips would meet in a passionate, earth-shattering kiss, bringing us together again.
The mere thought of his lips on mine again causes a rush of warmth to spread across my cheeks.
I knew ending it with Sam and not having him in my life would be hard. But honestly, I did not know how big of a void it would leave in my life. I miss his touch and his husky voice. I miss his strength, how his arms would encase me and make me feel safe. I miss his optimism and his honesty. And, of course, I miss his lips.
Nerves erupt in my stomach as I leave the bathroom, ready to get this show on the road. Operation Get Sam Back is in full swing!
Peering into my closest, I chose an outfit that Sam always loved on me. It’s a basic black dress that showcases my legs. After taking way too long on my hair and makeup to ensure they both look perfect, I cast a final glance at myself in the full-length mirror.
