17. Rachel
Chapter seventeen
Rachel
“Hey, Get up!” A yell startled me awake. I sit up and look at Andrew.
“What’s going on? Why are you yelling?” I stretch and yawn as Andrew paces back and forth in front of our bed. He must be drunk or high, or both; his eyes are bloodshot, and he is bumping into everything as he walks, looking around like the boogeyman will jump out at any time.
“Get up! We need to go! Now!” I can hear the panic in his voice.
“Andrew, what is going on? Why are we rushing? Where are we going?” I am starting to panic with him. A sting radiates from my cheek. When my mind finally connected to what happened, I realized that Andrew had slapped me. This was not the first time he had hit me, though it was the first time that all I could feel was rage over the pain.
“Why the fuck do you always have to question me? I said that we are leaving, which means we are leaving. So, get your ass up and move!” He marches into the living room and continues to pace in there.
I walk to the kitchen, still processing what’s happening, while getting ice for my cheek. Fuck him, I don’t want to leave. I just graduated and started my job at one of the best Law firms in San Diego. Why should I have to move? I shouldn’t have to put my dreams and ambitions on hold because he most likely did something dumb and got into trouble with the wrong people. He had already had his drug dealer come to our house before because he didn’t pay. When that shit show happened, he tried to trade me for his debt. I didn’t realize he could be so stupid, but here we are.
“NO!” I say sternly. The confidence in my voice takes Andrew and me by surprise.
Andrew tilts his head slightly, “What did you just say to me?”
I straightened my back, looked him dead in the eyes, and mustered up as much confidence as possible. "I said no, Andrew. I won’t be leaving. I started my job here, and….” Another smack hit my other cheek. Tears rolled down my cheeks from the sting, but I wiped them away before he could see them because I refused to let him see me cry over him anymore.
“You don’t decide what is happening here bitch! You will do as I say when I say! You have no choice in this matter. If you keep up this back-talking, we will have further issues to handle, and I don’t have any fucking time for that bullshit right now, so go to the room, pack a bag, and get your fat ass back out here before your smart ass mouth gets you hurt worse.”
“Obviously, you didn’t hear me, Andrew! I am not going with you!” I have never seen Andrew spin around so fast in my life. He comes charging at me; I back up until I am flush with the counter, and I grab the first thing my hand can find to defend myself: A knife from last night when I cut the tops off my strawberries for a snack.
Perfect.
When Andrew raises his fist to punch me, I swing my arm and shove the knife deep into his throat, right in his carotid artery. When he puts his hand to his throat, he feels my hand wrapped around the knife, and his eyes widen when he realizes what is happening. I rip the knife from his throat, and blood sprays out everywhere. I sit there and watch the life drain from Andrew’s eyes, the blood running down his neck and chest, and listen to the gurgling of his lungs, trying to get air. What surprised me most was that I didn’t feel bad about what I had done. The knife in my hand feels right. Andrew deserved a much slower death, but I won’t be the one to bring him back to life to do that to him. I will just leave the dead where they are.
I know I need to leave this apartment and find a way to clean up this mess. But first, I am going to take off these clothes, burn them, and then shower. No one needs to know about this. I’ll take the knife, so the evidence isn’t there, but I need to go far away from here. But where will I go?
After I shower, I pack an overnight bag with one suit outfit for work, some leggings, underwear, a spare bra, and my lucky red heels. I rush into the bathroom, grab my hairbrush and toothbrush, and zip up the bag. I am out the door within minutes and walking towards the beach about five miles away. Finally, I sit down on a bench to catch my breath and process everything that has happened.
FUCK! I stabbed someone! I murdered someone! How the fuck am I supposed to be a Lawyer and hold up the law when I broke the law. What the fuck!
I pulled out my phone and searched my contacts for anyone willing to help me. Thanks to Andrew cutting off all my friends, I no longer have anywhere to go. Then I freeze. The name Alex García is on my phone. There is no way that this is the same Alex who helped me at the hospital, is it? I hover my finger over the little green button, contemplating whether I should call him or not. Before I can talk myself out of it, I close my eyes, jam my finger onto the little green button, and put the phone to my ear.
After the second ring, he answers.
“Hello”
“Um. Hey. Alex? It's Rachel. The girl you helped get to the hospital.” Well, that was brilliant… not… I could have said anything else.
“I knew it was you, Rachel. I put my number in your phone before you left the hospital in case you needed me again. So what made you call me?” He is so calm and collected. What will he think when I tell him the truth? Can I tell him the truth? Will he turn me in if he finds out that I killed Andrew? Will he think I am crazy when he discovers my real feelings about how I liked it? While I am lost in my spiral of questions.
I am snapped back into the conversation when Alex asks, “Rachel, are you OK? What made you call? Are you hurt again? Did Andrew do something? Where are you at? I will come to get you.”
“So I am at South Mission Beach. I am not with Andrew. I was wondering if you could pick me up and possibly take me to a motel. Andrew and I are no longer together and don’t have a place to stay.”
I heard rustling on the other end of the phone. There was something about getting keys and a jingle. I assume Alex is getting in the car.
“Hey, stay where you are. I will grab you, take you back to my house, and figure out a plan.”
The tires squeal in the background when Alex says, “I’m on my way!”