Trigger warner: Please be aware that there is a descriptive PTSD episode of domestic abuse in this chapter.
Chapter Two:
I spent most of the morning pouring over notes with my earbuds in with covers by my favorite piano and cello duet on repeat. I was the ultimate study scene.
Alone.
Focused.
By the time I took a break for lunch, I almost couldn't hear the chime of the big clock in the glen as it sang the usual song for noon. The pang of pseudo-bells rang through the concrete walls, and I only remembered them rather than recognized them. Glancing down at my phone, I noticed a text from Jess.
"Lunch at Chipotle. Want to come?"
My heart sank. Despite her efforts to pry, I hadn't told Jess much about me. I was embarrassed about my lack of support. She could never know about my mom or where I had come from. She wasn't from a rich family, but she had nothing to worry about financially. She had no idea what it was like trying to scrape by, especially when her parents offered to pay her share of the rent. It was why I had decided a long time ago that I wouldn't tell her about my situation. I didn't think she would understand. I typed out a reply:
"Can't. In the zone. Thanks for the invite."
I sent up a prayer that she wouldn't give up on me. I wanted to be her friend. But even I was aware that friends hung out with each other. Friends ate together and told each other about their home lives. All I could offer was a listening ear, an awkward presence in our bedroom, and a prompt text reply. After she didn't text me back, I packed up my bag and began my daily pursuit of a place to sit and eat.
I walked to the packed food court and quickly abandoned the idea of finding an open table. I should have known better. Finals weeks. Luckily, being a senior had its perks. I knew a lot more of campus than I did when I first started. Instead, a bench on the second floor would be my picnic area.
Today's special was the leftover bagels from work two nights ago. During finals week, the librarian made sure to provide snacks in the library for late night students and I just so happened to garner permission to take home the leftovers. I had begun to unwrap my lunch when my phone pinged, and a message came across the screen. It was my mom. I swiped it open and looked at the text.
"Avery, I need you to come over. Now."
I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself as a familiar scenario began to unfold in my mind. Her new boyfriend, Caleb, was quick to temper and my mother was equally as clumsy as he was reactive. She either needed help with something around the apartment or... something worse had happened. I fought down panic as I tried to remain calm until I had more information. I typed out a reply:
"What's going on?"
A word bubble with dots appeared at the bottom of the screen as she worked on typing out a message back to me. It seemed like it took much longer than it probably had, but eventually her text came through.
"Caleb."
This time I didn't hesitate.
"On my way."
I shoved my lunch into my bag without wrapping it back up and hurried down the path toward the bridge. The last time she texted me like this was when her last boy toy, Sean, left some pretty artwork on the walls. Like fist-sized holes in the drywall and table and chair legs poking out of walls. A real modern day Picasso.
The walkway was still slick from ice, but I ran anyway, careful to place my weight on my boots. When I finally got to my car, I threw my backpack into the passenger seat before slamming the driver's side door shut. I started the ignition and took off before the car even had a chance to warm up. My car groaned, but it eventually warmed up enough to move forward without shaking.
My mom's apartment was in the next town over about fifteen miles away. The drive usually took me eighteen minutes in good conditions. I made it there in fifteen. The old apartment complex was dirty and run down, reminiscent of the people who lived in it. They didn't have much care for anything in life, just like their landlord over this building. The door was unlocked when I tried the knob, and I rushed inside, immediately noticing the broken glass and dishes on the kitchenette floor.
A feeling like an anxious bolt of energy coursed through me, causing my limbs and chest to seize up in discomfort. I squeezed my eyes shut as my body threatened to shut down. A flashback of screaming and the sound of dishes being thrown at the wall overtook all of my senses, and I sank to my knees clutching my hands over my ears. Ringing. It always came with a tinnitus kind of loud ringing sound. I shook my head as I tried to regulate my breathing, and I felt the wetness gathered at the corners of my eyes.
He was so angry. Plates, bowls, heirloom crystal glasses shattered against a wall behind me, the shards causing small cuts as I hadn't moved away fast enough. Yelling. Blame. A hand grabbing at my collar and hauling me toward a bedroom. I couldn't get away. He was just so angry. Mom pleading, begging to take my place, and then silence as I'm abandoned. A click at the door. No way out. No one coming in. Hunger. Thirst. Need to pee. More hunger. It burns to pee.
My body was shaking at the memory, and I tried to remember the words from the therapist who had seen me in high school. 'Breathe, Avery. Try to train your attention on what your body is doing to help with how it is feeling. You can control this. It's just going to take practice. Breathe. Focus.' I could hear her voice. The consoling tone gentle, yet authoritative. I focused on my inhales and exhales until my heartbeat slowed and my breathing became slow and regular.