22. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Dallas
T oday, the gym is mostly empty. It’s a new gym for us. We had to sign up for an actual membership since we can’t use the university gym anymore. It’s a nice place. We picked it mostly because of the extra amenities like fully closed showers and extra equipment most other gyms don’t provide. They even have a small climbing wall in the back.
Logan and I start at the treadmill to get in some cardio first. We both put our headphones on and start jogging. About twenty minutes later, we hop off and head in separate directions. We used to be on similar workout plans, even though Logan tended to almost double whatever he was assigned by the trainers, much to their dismay. Since baseball ended, we’ve started doing more of our own things. I can focus less on my thighs and calves and more on, well, everything else.
I’m halfway through a set of chest presses when a slow trickle of girls makes their way through the gym to one of the glass-encapsulated rooms on the far-left wall. They hold classes in those throughout the day. A variety of options. They seem popular with college students. When I finish my set and let the bars back in, I notice two familiar black braids walking away from me toward the same room.
There’s no way. Right? She surely would have told me she was planning on taking classes. Hell, she could have asked me or Logan for help. Maybe she’s embarrassed. She probably doesn’t know this is the same gym Logan and I signed up for. There are three gyms in Oxly, aside from the one on campus. In the room, a female and a male instructor stand talking to each other at the front. That’s odd. They usually only have one.
Once the class starts, I wander over to the bulletin at the front desk and look over the classes. There’s only one class at this time today. Self-defense.
The finger I had scanning the paper hangs in the air a split second too long. Logan eyes me from across the room. I drop my hand and make my way over to the bench he’s sitting on.
He sets his dumbbells down on his thighs. I could probably get half a set out of those with how heavy they are. “What? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Abby. She’s in the class over there. I’m pretty sure. I never saw her face, but I think I can recognize her from the back.”
Logan smirks.
I smack him on the arm. “I’m serious.”
“Okay, so what’s wrong with her taking classes? She decided to start working out. What’s the big deal?”
“It’s a self-defense class, Logan.”
He opens his mouth to say something but shuts it. Now he gets it. He looks toward the full room. There are about fifteen people in there. Mostly girls, but a few guys too. They’re starting with some warm-up stretches. I search the group for Abby and find her in the far back corner. I knew that it was her.
It takes all my willpower to not watch the class. I pull my eyes away to focus on the machines and weights around me, forcing my body to do the work. But my mind, it’s sitting in that room with her. It’s cheering, and crying, and angry, and irritated. I could think of a million words to describe how I feel right now, and none of them would do justice to the buzz of them all spinning inside me like a tornado.
I’m not sure if she’d be upset if she found out I know. I don’t know if I should stop her after class or say something at home. I decide to at least wait until we get home to say something. Bombarding her here in front of everyone seems counterproductive.
Logan and I finish up and head to our motorcycles out front. But just as we’re about to throw our helmets on to leave, Abby walks out the front door with her backpack slung over her shoulder and her helmet in hand.
All movement ceases when she notices us. Logan keeps putting his helmet on, not wanting to intrude on whatever is about to happen. Her features are flat and rigid, and she’s doing a good job of hiding any other emotion besides the obvious shock. I don’t hear it, but I see her say “Fuck,” before she drops her head.
“Hey.” I pause. I open my mouth to say something, but I’m not sure what. Abby cuts me off before I do.
“Can we not discuss this here?” She looks around at the trail of people leaving the building.
“Sure,” I say and offer a soft smile. I’m not sure it hit right, though. She holds up her helmet and continues toward the back of the lot where she parked her bike. Logan and I wait at the entrance for her before we leave.
At home, Logan heads inside, leaving Abby and me alone out front. She pauses next to her bike with her things.
“I didn’t know you two used that gym. I just wanted to take a class to see if working out was for me.” She stares at her bike, rubbing a smudge off the windshield.
“Abby, I know which class you took.”
Her head shoots up, and her face instantly turns red. “I just …” She bites the inside of her cheek while she thinks of what to say. “I want to feel like I don’t need you around every second of the day. It’s nothing against you. But I just—”
“You don’t have to defend your decision, Abby. I get it. I’m not upset with you. I’m proud of you for taking this step and for wanting to be able to stand up for yourself.” I take a breath because I can feel myself getting worked up. “I’m heartbroken that you’ve been put in a situation where you feel the need to learn to defend yourself, that everything has gotten to this point.”
She gives the smallest smile, but it's more empathetic than anything. “Sam made me feel so powerless, so incapable. I was so dependent on him. And now I feel so dependent on you. I want to prove that I’m not as helpless as I feel. More to myself than anyone else, I think. I hate feeling like that. I don’t want you and Logan to feel like you have to babysit me all the time.”
“I’ll speak for both Logan and me; we don’t feel like babysitters. He cares about you, too.” I put my helmet on the ground as well as hers before taking her hands in mine. “You know what Sam showed you? That you’re strong enough to take care of yourself in the worst of the worst situations. And you know what you’ve already shown me? That you can take care of yourself, even if I don’t want you to have to.”
The tiniest smile blooms on her face, and then she hugs me tightly. She mumbles into my chest, “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
I shrug and kiss the top of her head. “You bring the right words out of me.” I wrap an arm around her shoulder and grab our helmets to head back inside. I ask how the class went, and she tells me how good and bad it was and that she’s going to be so sore tomorrow.
I offer to make her even more sore, and she smacks me on the arm.
But she doesn't say no.
We’re meeting in my mom’s office today instead of a conference room. I’m not sure why. She rarely has meetings in her office. She’s always said she much prefers conference rooms to keep her office as drama-free as possible. Maybe all the rooms were taken today.
Abby knocks on the open door when we approach to let her know we’re here before entering. Mom sits behind her desk, scanning a few documents.
She stands up and motions for us to sit. “Abby, Dallas, hope you two are doing well.”
She can kill the formality though I’m sure it’s part of the job. Abby closes the door behind us, and we each take a seat in the two chairs on the other side of her desk. They’re not very comfortable. The backs are too far back from where the seat stops, and Abby’s legs don’t touch the ground when she pushes herself to the back. She opts to sit forward instead. Abby passes the packet she got from the officer to my mom.
She looks it over and compares it to whatever notes she has on her side. “Okay. I wanted to meet here since there aren’t any windows for passersby to look in, just in case. Today might get a little emotional. I wanted you to feel comfortable if you needed to cry or get angry or whatever you feel. I promise whatever you need to express, it’s valid. No one is going to fault you for that.”
Abby looks over at me, though I’m not sure why. Reassurance maybe? I offer my hand, and she takes it, so I give it a little squeeze to let her know I’m with her in this. She looks back at my mom and nods.
My mom smiles and places both hands on the packet. “So, the first question is do you understand what you were given? Do you know what a subpoena is? You understand that this requires you to testify in court?” Abby nods with each question, and my mom continues. “Do you have any questions about it?”
Abby shakes her head and then holds up a finger. “Actually, uh, I have one question.” She takes a deep breath. “I think I already know the answer, but this doesn’t mean I have to talk to Sam, right? He won’t be the one asking questions?”
My mom shakes her head before Abby finishes her question. “Absolutely not. You will only be answering questions from me or his attorney. He will only be permitted to speak when spoken to.” Abby seems to relax at that. “How are you doing right now? I know this is the worst question I could ask, but I need a gauge to know how to help you through this best.”
I’m almost positive I catch Abby rolling her eyes when she tips her head up. But she collects herself and says, “I’m as good as I can be. I think I had decided that I didn’t want to be a part of the final court date, but here we are. And I realize there’s nothing I can do to change that, so I have no choice but to power through.”
“I mean, legally you do have to be there now, but I don’t like the idea that you’re going to ‘power through’ this. It’ll get easier as we find evidence.”
Abby shrugs. “I don’t know how else to get through it right now, so that’s what we’re going with.”
“Okay.” My mom cocks her head and thinks.
One thing I’ve learned about Abby is that she can be stubborn. Sometimes, in the moment, there’s no changing her mind. It’s both a good and bad trait to have through this. But I know Abby, and she’s far easier to talk to about factual things than the feelings side of things, especially with people she doesn’t know very well.
“How about for now, we focus on the details rather than the emotions,” I suggest.
Abby squeezes my hand as a thank you and my mom smiles before turning her attention to the paperwork on her desk. “All right. I think that’s a fair request.”
The next thirty minutes are spent running through what is expected to happen at the hearing. My mom provides a few tips and asks Abby to take some time to herself to recall as much information about her relationship with Sam as she can. She suggested writing it down since the mind sometimes remembers things better that way. Abby takes it all in stride, nodding along as we go. My mom does most of the talking, only pausing to get yes or no answers from Abby or to answer the occasional question.
“Okay, well that’s all I have for you today,” my mom finally says. “We will meet again closer to the hearing to start prep work. We can schedule that later.”
Abby’s hand finally relaxes in my grip, and the feeling in my pinky slowly returns. I didn’t dare move my hand from hers. I’d lose the finger if it meant she was even that much less stressed.
“I need a burger,” Abby says, walking down the steps of the county courthouse, “and maybe some fries.”
I laugh and say, “Coming right up.” I’ve gathered over the past few months that a burger and fries are her comfort food.
Once we’ve sat down at a local burger place, Abby digs into her fries, dipping them in the chocolate shake she ordered in place of a drink.
“Today was a lot,” I say, testing the waters to see how she’s doing after the meeting.
“Just another routine day in the life of Abby,” she says with so much sarcasm it almost hurts. “I’ll be all right. Always am.”
I cock my head, ready with a rebuttal at her attempt to blow off my concern, when the bell above the front door chimes. I swallow hard when I see who walks in. Abby doesn’t turn around as she takes a bite of her burger. I will every ounce of calm into my face to not scare Abby even though every vein in my body has lit up in white-hot flames.
We can’t catch a fucking break.
Sam strolls forward, alone, thank God, to the counter to order. I’d really rather not have to take out more than one person today. He hasn’t seen us. I look behind me. The women’s bathroom is on the back wall, only one more booth behind us. I keep Sam in view out of the corner of my eye while I try to keep calm. My voice is as low as I can get without whispering. “I need you to go into the bathroom and call 911.”
Abby doesn’t match the pitch in my voice. She’s still loud enough for everyone to hear. “What? Why?”
Sam does a double take as he turns. He drops his head back, eyes closed for a moment after he recognizes us. “Fucking Christ,” he hisses. The words are followed by a vile laugh.
The kid behind the counter looks between us, utterly confused, and completely unaware of how badly this could go. Abby’s frozen in place, fingers gripping her burger so hard she might poke holes through it.
“You need to leave,” I say with every bit of grit I can manage, and slowly stand, positioning myself in front of Abby. I slip my phone from my pocket and punch in 911 but don’t hit call. I won’t be able to talk to them right now. Instead, I start a text thread and slide the phone behind me. I feel Abby’s hand wrap around it, and then her hand takes hold of mine, securing me in place. At least she’s not frozen solid right now. All I can do is hope she’ll start messaging them.
“I can’t go anywhere in this fucking town anymore.” The annoyance is clear in Sam’s voice, and I can see how much he’s seething. He leans both hands on the counter and hangs his head.
And then he dares take a step toward us.
I shift my right foot forward and tense every muscle in my body. "Take another step toward her and I swear to God, I will fucking end you."
The fucker smirks. "Is that a threat?"
“Out,” I snap. I would move closer, hoping both the threat of my words and my body would be enough to make him leave, but I can’t pull myself away from Abby or the grip she has on my hand.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He holds both hands up, head shaking back and forth. Every visual form of annoyance emanates from Sam at the same time. The eye rolls, the huffing and sighing, the short laughs, it’s all there. And yet, that sly fucking smile he always wears is still there, never wavering. He enjoys making Abby uncomfortable more than he cares about all the charges being brought against him. He’ll get what’s coming to him.
The poor kid behind the counter still doesn’t understand what’s happening though he’s picked up on the tension based on how many steps backward he’s taken, his back almost pressed against the subway tile behind him.
I don’t breathe until the front door is closed. I look back over my shoulder, thankful to see a text thread with a 911 dispatcher.
I take the chance to move to the front door. His car pulls out of the small parking lot onto the main road and disappears. A minute later, two cop cars pull into the lot and the officers make their way into the building. I rejoin Abby, who’s still tightly gripping my phone in both hands. I almost have to pry it from her fingers.
“He’s gone,” I say as softly as I can, squatting next to the booth, working the phone out of her hands. “And the cops are here.” She doesn’t move but searches for one of my hands to hold in replacement of the phone.
Two male officers make their way to the counter and the kid behind it, still stunned, simply points to us, a shaky hand hanging in the air. I stand as the shorter of the two, though just barely, addresses Abby. “Hi, are you the one who requested services?” She nods. “Can you explain what happened?” Both officers pull out their notepads and click their pens into place like it's the most normal thing in the world. Like Abby's life didn't just flash past her eyes a moment ago.
“Um,” Abby starts but her voice is so shaky that that single word barely comes out.
“Do you mind if I explain? I saw everything,” I say. The shorter cop agrees and lets me continue. Once I’m done, they take our names, get a description of Sam, and do a brief search of the area even though I told them I watched him leave. I’m not complaining. I’d rather they be diligent about it.
Abby barely moves the entire time the cops are there. I think she still gets uneasy around them. That’s been one of the hardest parts of all of this: the fact that she struggles with letting the authorities help her. Even now, after they’ve proven that they will, she still shuts down around them. They’ve given her good reason to, but I hope she comes around to the idea more even if just a little.
I haven’t asked her how she feels about the case, whether she thinks she’ll win, or even if she trusts the system enough to begin to think that far ahead. I don’t think that’s a necessary conversation or one that will benefit her for any reason.
Before the cops leave, I need to ask one more thing, one I know Abby is curious about, too. “What’s protocol in situations like this? Does he get fined, arrested, or just let go?”
The taller cop replies to us this time. I never bother to remember their names. I feel like I’ve met so many at this point, it doesn’t seem to matter until I start seeing the same ones. “There’s not much we can do. He followed the instructions on the protective order and left. So, as much as I’m sure you’d like something to happen, we can’t do anything. We checked the area. He did leave.” The other cop gets in his vehicle to leave. “This incident will be noted in his file. Give us a call if he comes back.” He pulls the handle of his car door open. “Anything else we can help you with?”
Abby and I both shake our heads. He gets in the driver’s seat, and both cars pull away, leaving us to sort through our abundance of emotions.