A Changed Man

Chapter 2

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“Hold on baby, we got you now.” Hearing her own heart race, she could hear it pumping blood. Just let me go. I can’t go back to him. The paramedic won’t stop talking to her, “Focus on your breathing, do you know who shot you?” He did. Don’t make me go back to him. Please. All she could do was shake her head. Lub dub, lub dub. Focusing on the white interior of where she was, her obscure vision faded in and out. Lub dub. “Incoming trauma we've got a bp of 90/60. Shallow breathing. In and out of consciousness. Vitals dropping.” Lub…dub. Feeling her body being placed onto the gurney she takes one last breath, lub… Weary eyes waking up, looking at the tiled white hospital ceiling above her. She could hear the doctor talking to someone, a man, very quietly. What happened? “She suffered great trauma, due to the bullet nearly missing the heart. You have a very lucky wife here, take good care of her. I’ll be back every few hours to check in and she can discharged in a few days.” The doctor dressed in a white coat with his blue scrubs underneath explained to a man. Wife? No, it couldn’t be him. He left me. Trying to sit up she saw the back of man, she noticed his dark hair before the blurriness came back. She fell back and started thinking about all the 'what ifs'. “Rachel. Look what you made me do.” In the car on the way to her mom’s (family Thanksgiving dinner was always celebrated there) she looks out the window, watching as the houses went by, all looking exactly the same; 4 bedroom homes with white picket fences. Pulling in, she remembers what she forgot, the bottle of wine Michael picked up for her parents. He always overacted about these little things, she was going to pay later for this. Michael held his hand on the small of her back, silently whispering what was going to happen; it always did. He was careful, he makes sure no one would hear him, even the neighbors, constantly paranoid if they were alone. She was always the one to blame and he would always forgive her because he loved her. She rings the doorbell and is greeted by her mom first; 45-year-old woman with darker hair and the same blue eyes, they were about the same height. Both her mom and dad had darker hair yet she was a blonde. Her mom loved her blue crystal eyes the most, they reminded her of dad. Walking in, she said hello and hugged all of her family members, along with introducing her fiancé. Saying fiancé brought butterflies to her stomach even 2 months later. She wished her dad was here till this day, to meet Michael and tell him how much she loved him. She was enjoying dinner, catching up with her sister and telling old funny stories which always raised the mood. At then end of dinner she was walking to put her dish in the sink and accidentally dropped it. S i l e n c e. She scrambled to clean it up but it was too late; she didn't know how he would react. Her mom moved to help her and told her it was okay. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him walk away, frustrated and pissed off. After she cleaned and said her goodbyes, she went to grab her coat. His hand struck out and gripped her wrist tightly, he started to twist. “Why do you keep doing this me? You love me don't you?” Please let go. Please. This was nowhere near how bad it could get but she remembered she was still at her parents. Now not wanting to leave, she said goodbye to her family one last time; not knowing when she’d be allowed to talk to them again. The car ride home was silent. Getting out of the car she walked to the front door and waited, hoping he would forgive her, forget what happened and move on. He closed the front door behind her. Setting down her coat she was pushed, pushed into the wall head first. Bouncing back and falling down she felt the blood start to trickle down. “I thought you learned last time. What else do I need to do to get it in your head?” He kicked her in the stomach, throwing her body to the side. He kicked and kicked and kicked. She couldn’t breathe now, wind knocked out of her. She tried to stand up, to just say sorry, how much she loved him. This time he punched her in the face, not careful enough to know there would be a mark in the morning. He ripped off his coat and hit her with it, rupturing the skin on her cheek. Blood starting to flow faster, she’d have to remember to find the sewing kit. He took one look at her on the ground and walked away with disgust. She felt worthless, ashamed to even be alive; she didn't deserve to be. What’s the point?

She lied there that night, crying herself to sleep in the doorway; too scared to go near him, too ashamed to show her face.