I was able to pull myself together enough to drive home. The tears continued to fall and I continued to wipe them away. I made it into the apartment building. The stairs leading to my apartment seemed monumental; the climb exacerbated by the physical aches and pains I felt from being on my feet so long. I was tired. My body was tired. My mind was tired. My heart was tired.
Once I got into my apartment, I locked the door behind me and breathed a saddened sigh of relief. I dropped everything in my hands at the door, took off my shoes and made my way to my bedroom. I was too tired to eat, bathe or even undress. I pulled the covers back on my queen- size bed and climbed in - nursing uniform and all. I promised myself that I would lie down for just a few minutes and take the pressure off my feet. Then I would get up a little later and get ready for bed. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
Almost instantly the nightmare began. Flashes of Amanda being attacked played in my head. I couldn’t see him, but I could see his hands around her neck; choking her and slamming her head into the concrete over and over; the blood splattering my closed lids. It got so bad that I felt like I was being choked and it was my head hitting the unyielding asphalt.
I sat straight up in my bed. My eyes flew open trying to shake the haunting visual that pervaded my sleep. My heart was racing; my eyes and mind trying to adjust to the familiar surroundings and shield me from what awaited me when they were closed. I couldn’t rest. Peeling the covers away, I abandoned my bedroom and made my way into the kitchen thinking a warm cup of tea might help me unwind.
I made my way into the kitchen and found my favorite chamomile tea.
What was it about this girl that bothered me so much? It’s not like I hadn’t seen this kind of thing a hundred times before. Not only had I seen it, hell I lived it for longer than I care to remember. I had even seen other women killed at the hands of their abusers, but something about Amanda shook me to my core.
The teapot whistled in the background. I reached in the cabinet, got a cup and prepared my tea; all the while pondering the struggle I was having.
I took my cup and moved into the living room. I made myself comfortable in my favorite oversized chair. I turned the television on; hoping that the background noise would help to quiet my thoughts. Maybe if I had something else to focus on I could let this other thing go. Maybe I could stop seeing Amanda’s bloody head. I clicked through a few channels and found an old black and white movie. It was Casablanca with Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman circa 1947 - my favorite. I settled into the chair and sipped my tea as I tried to connect with the characters on the screen.
Screaming…banging…
Something startled me…
I must have dozed off in the chair; my tea cup empty and resting on my lap. As I oriented myself to my surroundings, I heard the noises again. Then it registered – Percy and Zenobia!
All I could do was shake my head as I looked at the television screen to see that Casablanca had been replaced by another classic, Double Indemnity. The ruckus from downstairs continued. I thought about calling the police myself but what difference would it make? They would come and take Percy to jail. Zenobia would cry and beg them not to. They would lock his ass up again only for her to hock everything she owns just to bail his stupid ass out. They will reconcile and have makeup sex. She will walk on egg shells trying to figure out what she needs to change to make everything all right. He’ll get frustrated again and call her a bunch of bitches and whores. Then, just like so many times before, he’ll beat the shit out of her again. She’ll try to hide it with sunglasses and makeup. And before those bruises can heal, he’ll beat her ass yet again. Why bother? The cycle is so vicious and so gattdamn predictable. I’m sure the rest of the neighbors felt the same damn way. The shit just don’t make no sense. Somebody down there is going to come up dead…