Round 57
ROUND FIFTY-SEVEN
ROSE
Blunt force trauma.
Domestic violence.
Diagnosis: cPTSD.
Rosaline Valera has been the subject of consistent, extreme coercion, manipulation, mental abuse, sexual abuse, and physical violence within the home.
This abuse began approximately one year after the onset of her relationship with Darcy Bisek.
Abuse consistent and escalating throughout the years following.
Trembling from the tips of my toes to the hair on my scalp, I carefully read the screen of my phone and pray Darcy remains too oblivious to take it from me.
Rosaline has expressed suicidal ideation and declared intense feelings of being trapped in her relationship. Fears ending the relationship with Bisek; predicts an extreme negative emotional reaction.
Rose has not attempted to end her life. But during moments of profound distress, discloses a desire for reunification with her deceased family. Admits she might have attempted suicide if not for the support and relationship she has with William Porter.
William Porter attended session today with Rose. Proposed exit plan put in place to ensure Rose’s safe extraction.
Rose attends session alone; primarily discusses distressing event from earlier this week.
Martha Bisek visited Rose’s workplace and declared her acute disappointment regarding Rose’s proposal rejections.
Rose identifying Martha’s behavior as manipulative, underhanded, and attempted coercion on behalf of her son.
DP’s thoughts: Significant progress made.
Six months ago, Rose would not have known to label Martha’s behavior so succinctly or accurately.
Rose attends session wearing a long-sleeve turtleneck.
Weather is cool, but not freezing. Emotionally dysregulated—predominantly angry—Rose acknowledges outfit and demands DP and RV not center discussion around it.
However, toward the end of session, Rose’s emotional state declines.
Reveals significant bruising on her neck and arms. Rose begs DP not to make a report to the police.
DP agrees, accepting that doing so would place Rose at significant, immediate risk, and could interfere with pending escape plan.
December 1 – Rose calls DP’s office from public payphone and leaves a message with reception. Rose has left the city safely. States she will contact again in the future. Asks DP to share updates on Liam Porter’s whereabouts if such information can be gathered. DP does not know LP’s whereabouts.
January 1 – Call received, female caller. No name given. Requested information re: LP. No update to give.
February 1 – No call received.
March 1 – No call received.
April 1 – No call received.
May 1 – No call received.
“I’ll forgive you for sleeping with him.
” Scarily calm, Darcy peeks across in the dimly lit car, the storm clouds sitting heavy in the sky.
“The doctor, that is. I forgave you for screwing around with Liam. I made sure it would never happen again.” He laughs, achingly vile and smug.
“Helped that his skull was already cracked once.”
“I never slept with Liam.” Fat tears well over and scorch my cheeks, branding my skin with twin rivers of pain. “I loved him like he was my brother, Darcy.”
“But you don’t deny being a slut for that doctor, do you?” His jaw clenches and releases, his lips firm into flat, straight lines. Glancing across, he sneers. “Don’t worry. I’ll come back for him once we settle in at home again.”
“I’m not going home with you!” I try for the door handle, pulling desperately on the latch that remains hopelessly ineffectual. “I don’t want to be with you, Darcy! I don’t want to marry you.”
“That’s not the Rose I remember.” He whips his hand across viciously fast, his smile growing cruelly curved when I flinch from his swinging arm.
But he doesn’t hit me. He doesn’t even grab me.
He steals my phone and digs it beneath his thigh.
“The Rose I remember was softly spoken. She was a lady. She never said no. Ever.” His jaw firms. “Except when I asked you to marry me.”
“Give that back!” I bound across the middle console. “Darcy! You can’t—”
He shoves me away, his palm colliding with the side of my face with a loud slap.
He digs his nails into my cheek and eye socket, tugging my skin while, with his other hand, he rights the skidding car, swerving back onto the right side of the double lines.
“Who the hell is this woman?” His chest and shoulders heave, his breath coming in long, painfully slow inhales that expand his frame.
He curls his fingers in until it feels like he might tear the skin straight off my face.
“Dammit, Rose! What did this town do to you?” Lifting his knees so he can steer without hands, he hits the button for his electric window, humidity and rain whipping into the car with a terrifying ferociousness.
Then, he scoops up my phone and flings it out.
“No—”
“Won’t be needing that.” He releases my face, wiping his palm on his shirt like my blood under his nails is gross to him, then, winding the window up again, he relaxes into his seat.
“Don’t touch your face, sweetheart.” He reaches across and takes my hand, impossibly gentle in the way he laces his fingers with mine. “We don’t want it to get infected.”
“You’re fucking crazy!” I lunge across our seats and slam my elbow against his jaw, then I grab the steering wheel and yank it left.
The tires scream against the road, skidding and screeching while the car spins and turns itself inside out as we turn, turn, turn a million times.
We cross the double lines and careen onto the other side of the quiet road, trees lining both sides.
Oh God. Is that where Barbara hit me?
Darcy panics and whips the steering wheel the other way, over-correcting and slamming his foot to the brake. But all we do is spin, and when we hit the dirt on the side of the road, we flip.
A scream tears along my aching throat, echoing throughout the enclosed car as we soar through the air.
Then we collide with a massive spruce, my head thrashing to the side and smashing against the passenger window.
The loud crack of my skull is a wicked, vindictive joke that leaves stars in my eyes and nausea tapping at the base of my esophagus.
Our vehicle wraps around the tree, folding and groaning, marrying itself with nature until the dash squeezes my legs and threatens to entomb me between the two.
Windows shatter, glass spraying across my face to add to the damage Darcy already inflicted.
And all along, the soft, creepy melody of Tammy Wynette’s Stand By Your Man plays on the radio.
We come to a grunting halt, rain pounding heavily against the undercarriage and smoke emanating from the dash.
I look out the busted windshield, the mossy, moist ground above me.
Not below. But when Darcy groans, I swing my aching head around and find his eyes trained directly on me.
His fury, a palpable, physical thing. The blood on his face, dripping from his brow and nose, takes me back to another night.
Another evening spent in the rain.
A memory drenched in panic plays through my mind, and then the weight of a gun heavy in my palm.
The booming crack as I pulled the trigger.
Oh God. I pulled the trigger.
You’re mixing all this up, ya know that?
Sick, I fumble and search for the catch on my seatbelt, pressing-pressing-pressing until the latch releases and I topple headfirst against the ceiling.
“You’re not leaving me, Rose.” Darcy looks for his seatbelt latch, too.
His breath coming out faster. Furious. Incensed.
I scramble to my hands and knees, desperate and shaky, searching for sense as I crawl through the shattered window.
But then he wraps his hand around my ankle, scaring a terrified yelp from the depths of my soul. “We’re meant to be together!”
“Hell we are.” I drag my leg forward, then drive it back and slam my heel against the side of his face. His grip on my ankle falters, his pained grunt sliding through my veins. Promised retribution. But I use his moment of weakness and rush through the window.
Rain pounds against my back. Into my hair.
Water and mud soak through my knees the moment I’m outside, but I put my hands beneath me, lifting to one foot and one knee.
The rich green tapestry of Plainview in the spring is all I can see.
Trees. Trees. So many friggin trees. My lungs spasm and my stomach rebels, a pained cry escaping as I push up and prepare to sprint.
But then Darcy snags my ankle a second time, wrenching me back until I land flat on my stomach and the oxygen is knocked clear from my lungs.
He grips me, crawling across the inside of the car. He’s not trying to pull me in. He’s using me to drag himself out.
“Let me go!” I try to whip my leg forward again. I try to drive it back. I kick and wheeze and twist and scream. And when I remember the corkscrew in my back pocket, I fall to my stomach and reach around in the mud to free the small contraption from my jeans.
My hands shake. My fingers turn numb, making it almost impossible to drag the corkscrew free of its casing. But I manage the small knife. Tiny and pathetic, it may as well be a stick I pick up off the ground.
He flips me onto my back and crawls along my body, pinning me to the ground and hyper-extending my knees.
I fist my weapon and swing my arm down, the small blade arcing through the air until the inch-long knife penetrates his shoulder blade.
His roaring cry echoes throughout the trees.
“Fuck!” He slams his fist into my ribs, brutalizing my kidney and winding me a second time, then he swings out and smashes his fist against the side of my face.
“You. Will. Do. What. I. Say!” He hooks his hand into the waistband of my jeans, tugging me further underneath him, and though I squirm and scream and fight his grip, he manages to pull himself out of the car and crawl over top of me.
He presses his weight onto my hips, the blood on his face running with the rain that sprays down over top of us both.
I writhe and wiggle and bend my knees, digging my heels into the space where the roof of the car and the earth meet, and though I try to use it as an anchor point, he’s too heavy. Too determined. Too vicious.
“It didn’t have to be like this, Rose.” He presses his hand to my throat, squeezing and crushing my windpipe. “You just had to love me!”
“Stop!” My words garble and break, ineffectual as I claw his wrist and kick my legs out. “Darcy!”
“It’s not so much to ask! Why can’t you love me the way I deserve, Rose? Why’d you have to go crying to your parents about us?”
My parents? I stop and still, my eyes flaring wide.
“I love you!” He weeps, his tears mixing with raindrops.
Already, darkness tickles the edges of my vision.
My heart sprints savagely in my chest, pounding and racing.
But I have no new oxygen for it. I have nothing left to give.
“I saved you when Seth died! I held you while you cried for him! I got you through that awful time, and then I got you through grieving for your parents, too. And this is how you repay me?” He fists my hair in one hand, trapping me into perfect stillness, and with a choked sob, he leans in and presses a wet, disgusting kiss to my lips.
“You were supposed to get better once your parents were dead. You were supposed to only need me after that.”
“You hurt them?” I try to push the words along my throat. I try to breathe. To live. To understand. “You hurt my parents?”
“You had to let them go,” he cries, gently stroking my bloody forehead with the pad of his thumb. “It was time for you to grow up.”