5. Chapter 5
Chapter 5
Abby
O nce we park the bikes after getting home from the library, Dallas stops me short of the front door. “Wait, can I talk to you about something before we go in?” He looks nervous, fidgeting with the strap of his helmet.
I turn around to fully face him, gripping my helmet in one hand, the other holding tightly to my backpack straps. “Uh, sure. About what?”
He takes a deep breath. “My mom called. She’s curious if you’ve put any more thought into starting this whole legal process. She says the sooner you start it, the easier it will be. For the system, that is. Not necessarily mentally. But we’ll be here for you the whole time.”
I swallow hard and look at the ground. I kick around a few pebbles idly while I think about what to say. My mind feels so jumbled that I’m not sure I’m making any coherent thoughts. It’s been pleasant ignoring my problems the past two weeks and I almost forgot I chose to press charges. Now, with that decision placed in front of me again, I feel my energy for it wavering. “I don’t know,” is all I can muster.
Dallas watches me for a moment before speaking. “Do you think you’d be up for at least talking with my mom? Seeing what she has to say?”
“I don’t know,” I repeat. Everything sounds so daunting. The weight of it feels like it could crush me.
Dallas lets a long breath go and steps closer, grabbing one of my hands. I keep my sight trained on the ground but relish the warmth of his touch. It's the only thing keeping me stable right now, keeping me from running from where I stand. Away from here. From my problems. Away from all of it.
But I don’t want to leave him.
“I know this feels terrifying right now, but you may feel a little better just getting some perspective from someone in the legal system. She’ll be able to give you better insight into this than I can.”
He pulls my eyes to his with a finger on my chin. There’s a hint of desperation there.
“Okay,” I say, that single word feeling so heavy.
He nods, pulling me into a tight hug.
I look past his shoulder, seeing that spot at the side of the parking lot where Sam fought so hard to destroy me. But standing here, Dallas wrapped around me, my worries seeming to slip away with each passing second, I remind myself that he didn’t. And he won't. I won’t let him.
The conference room is quiet. Much too quiet for how big it is. And dull. They need to get something to hang on the empty gray wall across from me. The small, framed picture of a fruit basket that sits on a single, mounted shelf does little to calm my nerves that ricochet from wall to wall.
Dallas places a hand on my bouncing knee, trying, hoping, to soothe the anxiety racing through me.
“Deep breaths,” he says, now tracing idle circles on my knee. It's enough to pull my mind back to what's in front of me.
I nod, closing my eyes, and inhaling to follow his instructions. I force the air in through my nose, deep into my lungs until I physically can't draw more in and let it out slowly, directing my breath into a single spot on the table. I repeat that until a knock raps on the door a minute later only for all my hard work to slide right back out.
I look up to see Dallas’s mom enter through the heavy wooden door with a large binder. She’s dressed in a navy pencil skirt and a matching blazer. Her warm brown hair falls in soft curls at her shoulders, bouncing with each step. I think she’s dyed it since I last saw her at the hospital because it’s darker now. Maybe it’s the lighting, but it no longer matches the light brown color of Dallas’s like it did that day. She smiles, setting her binder on the table and coming over to hug Dallas. She squeezes him tightly before turning her attention to me.
“It's good to see you well, Abigail." She takes a seat next to me. "Is Abigail okay or would you like me to call you something else?”
“Just call me Abby, please.” My mother is the only one who still calls me Abigail. I don't hate my full name, but I've been going by Abby for so long now that Abigail just doesn't feel like me.
My smile is forced while I readjust in the brown leather chair. My feet dangle below me and my toes graze the old gray carpet as I subconsciously swing them back and forth.
“Abby. Of course. I’m Trisha, in case you forgot, but most people call me Trish. Feel free to call me whatever is easiest. Before we get started, would you prefer Dallas stay here? Otherwise, I can kick him out.” They smile at each other before Dallas nods in agreement. They both look at me, waiting for an answer.
“I’d really rather he stays.” She's not threatening, but I severely need the familiarity Dallas provides. He squeezes my knee before wheeling his chair closer to the table. She nods again and opens the binder.
“Okay. Why don't we get started then? I want you to know that if you need to take a break at all, just let one of us know and we can pause.” She smiles at me again but doesn’t wait for me to respond.
So much smiling. It’s weird, maybe a little unsettling. Happy isn't exactly how I would describe this moment in time. But maybe that’s the point. It’s supposed to soften the blow of everything she’s about to tell me.
She pulls a packet of paper from the first clear protective sleeve in the binder and folds the first page over. “So, I’ve been going through the history. Anything I could find. Police reports. Hospital records. Text messages from Sam over the last month. I have to say, I’m shocked nothing came of this sooner. I’m very sorry our legal system has failed you.” She peers at me with a slight tilt to her head, seeming to assess my reaction.
I shrug, unsure of what to say. Did it fail me? Yes. Do I expect it to fail me again? I don’t know, but I don’t exactly have a great track record. So, for now, I’ll stand by, giving as much of myself to this process as I can, but I refuse to lose myself in it.
“Before we dig in, I think we should do a recap of everything. Nothing too in-depth, but I want you to be able to add or correct me on things if need be. How does that sound?”
When I agree, she starts with the first police report I made six months into the relationship and works through the rest of them. I find myself barely remembering half of what the reports say. My brain has suppressed the trauma. I don't have many comments to add. Most of this is me letting her know she has the right information.
When she arrives at the more recent occurrences with the day I broke up with Sam at the party, the resulting stalking, and ultimately the hospitalization, I almost tune out. I almost stop listening to the words she’s speaking as if it's a foreign language. The knots in my stomach, building up into my throat, are almost too much. I’m nodding, but I’m not sure if my nodding means anything to anyone, or if I’m simply trying to reassure myself that I’m still alive, that I’m not drowning in that relationship anymore.
But then she stops. Dallas’s hand moves to my knee while he rubs circles over the fabric. They’re both looking at me when I raise my head.
“I want to give you some hope here. We can process this as a criminal case. I’ve evaluated everything, and from where we sit, there's a good chance we win this and get a good sentence for Sam. There is plenty of evidence, and with your testimony, I think we are sitting in a good spot.”
“My testimony?” I ask, my heart already pounding in my ears like a bass drum. “I’m going to have to see him again?”
No. No. I can’t. I can’t do that.
She takes a deep breath, places the packet of paper back in her binder, and closes it. She folds her hands on the table, crosses her legs, and focuses her attention on me. I feel Dallas rub my knee again, reminding me he’s still here. “Legally speaking, no. You are not required to be at the hearing. I can’t, and won’t force you to do anything, but your testifying would help this case immensely. We will have a better shot of the jury being on the same page, our page, if they hear your story.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I don’t know if I can do that.” What did I think was going to happen? I just file this away, everything goes smoothly, and I can go about my merry way? The thought almost makes me laugh though it'd be void of any actual humour. Of course, seeing him again was going to be a part of this. Of course, talking to him again would help. I can’t believe I was so na?ve.
“I won’t make you decide right now, but please take some time to really think this over. It could be the one thing we need to get an appropriate sentence.” I focus on a darker spot of wood on the table, tracing the lines with my eyes while she continues. “I do want to mention that domestic cases can take a while to complete, but I will do everything in my power to speed up the process as much as I can.”
I nod, still tracing that spot on the table.
“Do you want to take a break?” Dallas asks, leaning closer.
I shake my head rapidly. “I’d rather get this over with all at once.”
“Okay,” Dallas says calmly.
Trisha continues after grabbing another piece of paper from her binder. “I think the only other thing I want to do today is file for the protective order. This will prevent him from having contact with you until further notice.”
“Further notice?” I ask, fear slowly seeping in at the thought that he might not have to leave me alone forever. But at the same time, is a tiny, thin piece of paper really going to keep him away? I shake the thought from my head, focusing back on Trisha.
“For now, the order will be good for the duration of the case, but once the sentencing happens, I’m going to fight tooth and nail to get the judge to validate this for as long as possible. And if a year or two down the line, we need to apply for it again, then I will fight for you again. I promise you, Abby. I will not leave you alone in this. You’ve got me fighting for you until you tell me otherwise. Dallas will protect you, too. I know he will.”
Dallas nods, squeezing my knee again. I take a deep breath, forcing the fear away, at least temporarily. “What do I need to do?” I ask, and at that moment, it feels like the air gets lighter, easier to breathe, easier to move through, even if only a little.
I hadn’t realized just how little control I felt I had while I was in that conference room until I asked those final words or until we walked out the front door of the county court building. Pausing at the top of the concrete steps, I breathe in the fresh morning air, forcing it deep into my lungs, through my veins, through every limb, until it feels like I didn’t just start the single most difficult thing I may ever have to face. When I open my eyes, Dallas stands a few steps below me, slightly to the side, observing me. Our hands are still intertwined. He squeezes mine, pairing it with a comforting smile.
One final deep breath and I feel like I can move my feet again. I thank Dallas for the foresight to ride the bikes here. I could use some wind therapy right now. And just like that, the hum of our bikes, the twists of the roads, the air soaring past us … It calms me and lets me temporarily forget about life's problems.
Dallas lets me lead, not caring where I take us. He trails close behind, following my every move. I let the bike sway back and forth over the asphalt, my hands held out wide to feel the wind fly past. It’s this kind of peace that I can’t find almost anywhere else, that is until Dallas came along. It’s a similar peace, a little different, but still needed. It’s something I haven’t felt before, even when Sam and I started dating. The thought makes me smile. As much as I can’t stand to remind myself of that dreadful party, it somehow brought me to Dallas.
We pull to a stop on campus, parking in the only decent motorcycle parking section near the cafeteria. I’ve avoided this place as much as possible, but sometimes, I just need a good parking spot. I don’t plan to be here long. I just need to drop off some paperwork with Dr. Kraus and then Dallas has to go to work. I haven’t decided if I’m going to join him or not. A night at home might be exactly what I need after this morning.
As I’m pulling my helmet off, I hear a voice shouting at me from a short distance away. A woman stands from a bench near the cafeteria and starts heading our way. “Abigail?”
No. Not now. I told her I would come pick up the mail myself. My mother strolls forward, a little hesitant, a stack of mail hugged tightly to her chest.
“Mom?” I say, more out of shock than to question whether it’s her or not. There’s no mistaking my look-alike striding toward us.
She smiles awkwardly, looking between Dallas and me as her unspoken question hangs in the air. She stops a few feet away, eyes still trained on Dallas, who I’m assuming she thought would be Sam. “Hi, honey. I brought you your mail. I thought it would be a good reason to come see you. I came to the cafeteria because I assumed you were still working here. But they told me you quit? When did you quit? And why? Did you get another job? You have bills to pay, you know?” She holds up the stack of mail.
Her incessant questioning comes at me like a bus, and I fight the anxiety rising in my chest. I look back to Dallas, who's attempting to school his features into something much calmer than mine before I stalk up to my mom and take the stack of mail from her. “Uh, thank you. I told you I’d come pick it up sometime this week.” I say, ignoring the tail-end of her questions.
“Oh, I know. I just didn’t want to keep you waiting in case there’s something important in there.” She smiles and looks back at Dallas again. “Who’s your friend?”
How the hell am I going to explain all of this to her? I could lie, tell her he’s just a friend, that Sam is busy today so he can’t see her, and that I quit to focus on my studies. But what good will that do? It would draw out the truth longer than I need to, and I’m not sure I could keep up with all the little lies. I’d surely slip up at some point. Be in even bigger trouble.
Before I can protest, Dallas jumps off his bike and jogs over. He extends his hand to my mother. “Hi, I’m Dallas.”
This is not how I wanted them to meet.
She takes it graciously. “Dallas. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Leslie, Abigail’s mother.” She looks around at the other bikes behind us. “Where’s Sam? I expect he’s out riding with you, too. I would love to say hi. Maybe have lunch with you two?”
Dallas must sense my panic because he jumps in before I do although I’m not sure what I would have said in the first place. “Sam's busy right now. Abby was just about to drop off some work for her professor.”
She looks to me now. “Oh, well maybe you and I could still get lunch? And if your friend Dallas here wants to join, he’s more than welcome.” She sends another sweet smile his way.
Look at her, being as friendly as ever. Typical. “I uh, yeah. I have some paperwork to drop off. I guess we could get lunch.”
Fuck. Honesty? It’s now or never. What’s the point in waiting, lying?
Dallas whispers in my ear, “You could have lunch at Landry’s. That way you’ve got me there if something goes wrong.”
My mother eyes us suspiciously.
“Let’s meet in a half hour at Landry’s Bar and Grill. It’s not too far from here.”
She sighs. “Okay. I suppose that’s fine. I could join you back at the apartment and I could drive us.”
“No,” I assert far too quickly. Trying to regain my composure, I simply say, “Half an hour. I’ll meet you there.” Rather than giving her another option, I head toward Dr. Kraus’s office to hand off the paperwork. I really hope she and Dallas don’t make things too awkward.
Dr. Kraus isn’t in his office when I arrive, so I slide it into his mail slot before leaving. My mom is gone by the time I return to the bikes where Dallas sits atop his, his legs crossed over the handlebars, scrolling through his phone.
“Well, that went well,” he says, flipping his legs over the sides, and I can’t tell if he’s serious or if that was sarcasm.
I roll my eyes before putting my gear back on and hitting the road again.
Dallas walks slowly through the parking lot toward the front door of Landry’s. He fidgets with his motorcycle key before pausing in front of the door. “So, are you going to tell her everything?”
I focus on the ground, the cracks in the concrete sidewalk, and the swaying of the short lanyard attached to his key. “I think so. Or at least I’ll try. I know for a fact she’s not going to take it well. She loved Sam. Loved him. Or loved his money at least.”
“I’ve got money,” Dallas jokes, pulling the door open for me.
I smack his arm playfully as I search the mostly empty restaurant but find no sign of her yet. “I don’t know what she’ll be more upset about. The fact that I broke up with him and his money, or the fact that he’s abusive.”
“Surely, she’ll be more upset about the latter. Don’t you think? That would rattle anyone’s parents.” Dallas moves behind the bar, signing in on the computer. He starts setting up his station, making sure all the straws, lemons, and limes are stocked while I lean my shoulder against the edge.
“You don’t know my mom. She’s obsessed with money. Has been ever since my dad died.”
The front door opens with a chime overhead, and my mom walks in. She smiles when she sees me standing at the bar.
“Come on. I’ll get you guys a table.”
Dallas walks us over to a corner booth, a little more secluded from the main part of the restaurant. He sets down some menus and two full glasses of water.
“Dallas, thank you. Will you be joining us?” she asks, taking a sip of her water.
“No, ma’am. I have a bar to tend.” He nods his head back toward the bar where a few older men sit talking, beers in hand.
“Oh, you’re the bartender. How … fun.” She’s unamused, a slight look of disgust resting on her face as she eyes him and then the bar.
Dallas takes the comment rather well, simply smiling before saying, “Jen will be with you shortly.” He mouths good luck to me before heading back to the bar.
I take a few deep breaths and sip my water. There’s a short moment where I’m searching for anything to say to put off this conversation as long as possible. But my mom has other plans.
“So, how’s Sam?” she asks quickly.
Another deep breath. I avert my gaze to my lap, searching desperately for the right words to say. “Sam is …” I start but stop suddenly, swallowing the knot in my throat. I grip my glass of water with both hands as the condensation wets my palms. I can’t keep dancing around the truth. “We broke up,” I say quickly before I can stop myself.
My mom almost spits her water out as she sets the glass back on the table. She presses a hand to her chest.
“Broke up? What? Why? When?” she asks, her voice getting louder with each question.
I wipe my hands on my pants. “Things were … not working out.” I will my heart to slow but the look on my mom’s face causes my insides to churn.
Her face tightens, a scowl now lacing her features. “I’m going to need more than that, Abigail. You two were so good together. He’s been good to you. He’s provided for you. For me even.” There's an appalled distaste to her words that clings to my name.
I clench my fists under the table so hard my nails dig into my palms. “It was never going to work between us. Things were going downhill. Even if you couldn’t see it.” I’m trying to explain this as delicately as possible.
Her eyes dart around our surroundings before landing on me, and her brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t understand. You two seemed so happy, especially at our last family dinner. And he got a promotion. Doesn’t that count for something? He’s been busy with work. Maybe that’s the problem. He’s trying to create a future for you, for us.”
I can’t hold back a scoff or the way my head falls back against the booth. “This has nothing to do with you, Mom.” Again, with the money talk. My blood slowly begins to boil.
She leans forward, sitting up straighter. “Of course, it does. He’s been a part of the family for almost two years. You’re just going to throw that away? For what? A bartender?”
“He was hitting me, Mom! He sent me to the hospital!” I yell louder than I wanted, but it’s too late. And as the last of her comment sinks in, I realize she's picked up on the unspoken truth, too.
The outburst spilled from me unwillingly, the entire restaurant an unwanted audience. Dallas has stopped all movement. All eyes on me. And I can’t stop the tears now streaming down my face. The knot has returned to my throat. The shaking of my balled fists. All of it crashes through me like a gut punch from Sam all over again.
My mom presses her back against the red cushion behind her, eyes wide. She doesn’t say anything as she processes my frenzy. “That medical bill …” she trails off.
“Yes. It’s from the hospital,” I sigh, my voice almost a whisper. I stare at the glass of water in front of me. The restaurant has mostly gone back to their usual conversations. Everyone except Dallas whose eyes are trained on me, my every move, my every breath.
She takes a deep breath and then looks at her hands in her lap. “How long?” she asks quietly. I sense some anger laced in those words.
I swallow. “A year.” My voice almost breaks with those two words.
She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Her brows are drawn together as she closes her eyes and takes a long, drawn-out breath. Her next words are too calm. “You’ve been lying to me for a year?”
I think I’m too stunned to say anything. Too shocked to begin to process the words that left her mouth. I think I stop breathing for a few seconds before realizing the inside of my lip is now raw. I fold my hands in my lap as tightly as I can, the circulation cutting off from each finger.
“ That’s what you care about? That I lied to you?” I frantically wipe the tears from my hot cheeks before standing from the booth and pointing at the door. “Out. Get. Out.”
“Abigail—”
“Stop. I’m so fucking tired of this.” My voice breaks with the words. “You need to go.”
I fix my eyes on the floor as I hear her slowly move from the booth. She attempts to place a hand on either side of my arms but I back away. I point again without saying anything this time.
“Can we please talk about this?” she asks, softer this time.
“Talk? I just tried to, and you latched on to my lying instead of the months of abuse. So, no. We’re done talking. Go.”
She takes a long breath, and I know she’s hesitating. For a moment, I think she might fight for me. And I think I want her to. But any last slice of hope of her trying to fix this vanishes as she grabs her purse and moves slowly to the door. And as the door clicks shut, Dallas is already there, pulling my head to his chest. My tears soak into his uniform as I wrap my arms around his torso, clinging to the fabric for dear life.