Breathe In Page 12
An audible sigh whooshes past my lips as my fingers graze over the small pouch I taped to the underside of one of the supporting frame boards. I wrench it free and scramble out from underneath. With trembling fingers, I unzip it and pull out the SD card. I hate this vile thing.
Before I can change my mind, I rush back down the hall and set everything up so I can stream the footage to my television. Like the horror film that it is. With the remote in hand, I shuffle backward. When my calves hit the edge of the couch, I startle and sit abruptly. I don’t know if I can do this.
I have to do this. I hit the power button. The screen comes alive. Push play.
Jake peers directly into the lens, his face filling the entire scene. My vision tunnels. I hit the pause button and fling the remote to the opposite end, stand up, and pace the floor. Blood rushes from my face to my toes. I feel dizzy. I sit back down and stare at the ominous remote. I can’t do this.
Breathe in. Breathe out. They’re both dead. They can’t hurt me. I can watch this. I can.
I hit play and sit on the edge of the couch, my back straight as I wait for what’s to come. I hold my breath. Jake comes on the screen. He’s mumbling under his breath as he sets up the camera. I can’t make out what he’s saying but the low tenor of his voice sends shivers down my spine.
The screen goes black, then flickers back on. The room is empty minus the small bed next to the far right wall. I rub my wrists, recalling the way the rope burned. The film freezes, as if it’s on pause. I wait, my chest rising and falling with building anticipation. Maybe there is no film to be seen. Maybe there was a mistake. I suppress the urge to let out a laugh as I imagine an alternate scenario where Vance and Jake realize they’d tormented and then killed me only to discover their equipment wasn’t working properly and they’d missed the entire thing. A cruel joke.
The screen goes blank again. I stare at the black screen, waiting. I lean back into the couch, afraid to let out a sigh of relief. The screen comes alive. The lighting has changed. The room is darker, with only a faint strain of light streaming through the curtain-less window. Even in the dimmer condition, I clearly see the shape of a woman on the bed, her hands behind her back. Her body is limp. Unconscious.
A thick lump fills my throat, making it hard to swallow. I lean forward, watching the way she sleeps on the screen. She looks so small, so helpless. I want to scream at her, “Get up! Get out of there, you stupid girl!”
But she wouldn’t hear me.
I watch for what seems like forever as the clueless girl sleeps. When she finally wakes up and sits on the edge of the bed, she is disoriented. She slowly takes in her surroundings. Skittish eyes dance around the room until they finally look straight into the camera. Her skin pales as terror claims her soul.
With a flick of the remote, I hit pause and once again toss it to the couch. I can’t watch what she’s about to go through. What I’m about to go through. That terror. I lived it once, I don’t think I can bear to view it remotely. Anger washes over me. Shame flushes through my blood, searing my insides. I want to scream. I want to cut myself again. I can already feel the way the blade will slice through each layer of skin. The way it burns. The relief that follows.
How could I have found myself in such a predicament in the first place? I should have been able to fight them off from the very beginning.
Fight them off.
I shoot a glance toward my front door, then march to the hall closet and yank it open. The flyer for the self-defense class pokes up out of the pocket, still waiting patiently. I pull it out and scan the front. Orientation will start in fifteen minutes. I need this. I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly desperate to take this class. I’m tired of being scared. Snagging my coat, I rush out the door, taking only enough time to lock the door behind me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
In the throes of fall, full darkness has settled over the city since well before five o’clock. At ten minutes to seven, it feels more like ten at night. It disorients the senses. I sit in my car, parked half a block from the address on the flyer and consider turning around. The desperation that consumed me earlier has faded. Anxiety has crept in and once again found a home in the center of my chest, where my heart flutters faster and faster. I hate this feeling, loathe it.
Leaning forward, I close my eyes and press my forehead to the steering wheel. Where is the woman who fought for her life by killing two men with her bare hands? She’s there somewhere inside me. I know it. She busted through my shy, broken demeanor once, like an unleashed pit bull turned loose in a dog fight. She’s there. How do I find her?
Determined to find this girl, I take a quick nervous glance around and make sure it’s safe before exiting the car. The streets are busy this time of evening, people still rushing to the store after work, or to dinner, or maybe to see their lovers. Everyone lost in their own self-absorbed lives, oblivious to anyone else’s struggles or plight. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, so I slide out of the driver’s side and dart around the front of the car to the curb.
On the sidewalk, I pause long enough to look up at the clear sky. My breath plumes out in a puff of fog. The night air is unusually frigid, singeing my nose hairs. I wrap my scarf around the lower half of my face so that my nose and mouth are covered, then head toward the end of the block.
As I approach the building, it seems quiet. I pull at the silver handle but the overly large door won’t budge. It’s locked. I take a step back and recheck the address to make sure I have it correct. It’s then that I notice the yellow piece of paper taped to the unassuming sign on the side wall of the building.
‘Students: Please enter through the side door to the right of the building.’
Under the bold writing is a large red arrow pointing to the right.
I look to the right and see two women walking side by side in my direction, then turn the corner. They giggle in unison, carefree and whimsical on a cold night. They don’t know danger or fear. Heat swirls in my belly. I’m jealous of them. Resentful, even. I shouldn’t be here, but I refuse to leave. I have to at least check it out or I’m just going to go home and carve new brutal marks into my flesh while the remainder of my video awaits, eager to be watched.
With images of the video fresh in my mind, I follow the women and wait until they are inside for a moment before entering. The door is heavy. I pull it open and slip in. Bright lights and warm air embrace me. My heart races as I realize I’m in a large studio filled with random strangers. They gather in various circles, socializing and getting to know one another before the orientation begins. Everyone is dressed in workout-type clothing. I glance down at my own outfit. Under my pea coat, I’m still wearing my work clothes and one-inch heels. I stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t belong here.
I spin on my heel to make a quick exit and run smack into a tall male form. Eye level to his chest, I notice he’s broad shouldered and muscular under the long-sleeved nylon workout shirt he’s wearing. He smells good too.
I take a step back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Well, hello, Miss Benson. It’s good to see you here.”
I sputter to find the right words. “Officer MacGregor. What…what are you doing here?”
He smiles wide to flash his perfect teeth. “I’ve been asked to help with the orientation tonight. I know the family who runs it quite well. In fact, I’ve been training with them for years, and I’m excited that they’re finally able to open their own gym. I’ll be helping with some of the classes.”
“Oh, I see.” Now I know I definitely can’t do this. I need to get out of here but don’t know what to say. Should I just run out of the building? “I didn’t recognize you at first in civilian clothes.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that before. I think it’s that way for anyone who wears a uniform. It looks odd when they’re out in public wearing regular clothes. I’m glad to see you here, though. You gonna take a class?"
Laughing nervously, I’m racking my brain o
n how to get away without being rude. “No. Um, well, I thought about it, but…”
“But what?”
I shake my head and look away. More people are filing inside. It’s too crowded. The walls are closing in.
“Tessa?”
The lilt in his tone begs me to look his way. Gradually, I lift my gaze to his. His blue eyes pierce through the barriers I’m trying to keep up around me. It’s too much. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” I bolt toward the door.
“Tessa, no, wait!”
His large hand grasps me by the shoulder, and without thinking I turn and swipe it away with one brisk and fluid motion. He puts his hands up in defense. “It’s okay. Just please don’t go yet.”
Surprised by my own reaction, I’m speechless. “Why?”
He lowers his voice to almost a whisper. “Because, I think it will be good for you. You need this. You’ve been through a lot and I know you’re struggling. This could help you get your life back.”
“What life?” The words are out before I can stop them. I glance around to see if anyone is watching our exchange. Officer MacGregor watches me patiently.
“Look, stay for the orientation. Then, at the end, if you never want to come back, that’s fine. Please stay. For me.”
His eyes plead with me. I remember the time I asked him to stay with me in the hospital. And he did. Why does he care if I stay? Is it that obvious I’m such a damn mess? I can’t summon the words to deny him. “Fine. I’ll stay. But just for the orientation. That’s it.”
A beaming grin brightens his face. “Good! Now, follow me and we’ll get you a good place to hang out so you can see everything.”
Still uncomfortable, I allow him to steer me to the opposite side of the room where a large mat covers the floor. “Stand just off the mat. Feel free to sit if you want. There are chairs along the wall. We’re about to get things started, so I’ll see you around.”
“Okay.” Despite the fact that he has made a spot for me up front, I trickle through the crowd and find a chair in the back corner. I feel better here, out of the way. A short, stout African-American man walks to the center of the room and introduces himself. Conversations hush as everyone finds a seat.
He looks familiar. When he introduces his daughter, it clicks. It’s the girl who passed out the flyers. I’d forgotten she said it was a family business. I wonder how Officer MacGregor came to be involved with them.
As they start explaining their history and how they have passed along their business of training self-defense throughout multiple generations, I slowly relax. They introduce Officer MacGregor and offer a vague explanation of how they’ve known him for many years and he’s become like family. I sense there is a story here and I’m curious to learn more.
It occurs to me that I could probably sneak out the back door while they’re talking and they’d never notice. I clutch my purse, toying with the idea. Officer MacGregor and the main instructor start sparring with one another. Their moves are short and quick, precise. They move with a strength and agility that catches my breath. It’s beautiful. I’m captivated. Flashes of those brief moments when I had executed my own graceful violence blow through my mind.
They bring up volunteers and walk them through a few basic moves. A few of the volunteers catch on quick. They beam with pride. A fire has been lit inside them.
I want that. I want that fire.
A few times throughout the demonstrations, Officer MacGregor searches the room and I know he’s looking for me. When he finally spots me, the corners of his mouth turn up a fraction and he gives me a nod. I pray that he won’t call me to the front as a volunteer. I don’t think he will. He knows I’m not ready for that.
By the end of the class, I’m hooked. I need this outlet. I’m nervous that I will suck, but I want this more than anything I’ve wanted in a long time. I wait in the back corner while the crowd slowly filters out of the room. Officer MacGregor catches my eye and marches in my direction. I meet him in the middle.
He wears a smile but his brow is raised in question. “Well? What do you think?”
“Teach me.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he answers, his expression humorless. “But only if you promise to call me Tobin from now on.”
“Tobin. Fine. When can we start?”
He laughs. It’s warm, sensuous. “So eager, suddenly. I’m glad. I think it will be good for you.” He looks around the room, then guides me off to the side with a light touch to the elbow. His voice lowers. “Hey, I wanted to apologize again for dropping in on you the other day so unexpectedly. I know I upset you, and I’ve been feeling terrible ever since.”
I’m looking at his hand on my elbow rather than up into his face. I shrug. “It’s fine.”
He bends down and peers at me until I cave and look directly into his eyes. They reflect the sincerity of his apology. I offer a thin smile. “It really is okay.”
He straightens to his full height. “Good. I’m glad to hear I’m forgiven. Also, when our conversation took a turn, I forgot to ask the names of the men you’d spoken to that night. Your exes? I believe you said one of them was Tom?”
Frustrated at the fact that he has high-jacked the conversation and squelched the rare feeling of excitement I’d experienced about the self-defense class, I roll my eyes and look away. “Do we have to talk about this here? Now?”
His body language softens. “Of course not. You’re right. I’m sorry. Maybe we can talk later this week. I could come by on the way home from the station?”
Cocking my head to the side, I give him a sideways glance. I’m not sure how I feel about him coming by my house, digging at me again with more questions. Yet, I trust him, and he’s just doing his job. “Okay, sure. That would be fine. Not tomorrow, but anytime Thursday or Friday would work.”
A grin encompasses his features and washes away the little bit of frustration I’m feeling.
“Great! So you’ll be at class tomorrow then?”
“Uhhh…”
“Come on. Don’t be shy. You were totally excited a few minutes ago.”
I nod. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll come to tomorrow’s class then. I’ll even bring a friend.”
***
“Thanks for coming with me,” I say to Terin as she waits anxiously on the edge of the mat. “It’s my first official class and I’m nervous. I’m afraid I’m going to back out.”
“Are you kidding me? A room full of sweaty men? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“It’s hardly a room full of sweaty men, Terin. They’re mostly women. There might be four men total, if that. And they’re nothing special to look at. Kind of small, meek men who need to learn to defend themselves, if you know what I mean. If you’re looking for hot, sweaty men, this might not be the place for it. Try the 24 Hour Fitness down the street.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I can do this all the time anyway. I’m not exactly the workout kind of girl, ya know. I like to keep my assets soft.” She giggles hysterically, clearly amused by her own humor. She snorts and slaps my shoulder. “Holy mother of God, woman! You lied. That man right there is delicious.”
I turn in the direction she gestures with her chin, anticipating who I’ll find at the end of her comment. Sure enough. Tobin walks from across the room and onto the mat. He’s wearing sweats and a snug t-shirt that reveals his muscular build. He walks with confidence, but he’s not cocky. His hair is tousled as if he’s already been sparring before class. I swallow down a nervous giggle.
“Yeah, well he’s the instructor. And he’s a cop. The one from my case. Remember? He was at the hospital.”
Her eyebrows raise and her eyes light up. “Well, dang if it isn’t him. I didn’t recognize Officer Hotty McHotterson out of his police uniform. He looks just as good in baggy sweats, if you ask me.”
I avert my gaze because I don’t want him to catch us checking him out. “Yeah, he’s all right.”
“All right?” She slaps me again. “Come on
, woman. I know you’ve been through a lot lately but your hotness radar hasn’t died off. Don’t tell me you don’t think he’s a babe.”
I shake my head and suppress a smile. “I wish I hadn’t brought you. I can’t take you anywhere.”
We laugh in unison. I’m grateful for Terin’s off-beat humor.
“Besides, we had a deal.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I know. Don’t remind me.”
“Hey, girl. Don’t roll your eyes at me. A deal’s a deal.”
“Yeah, but a support group?”
Terin’s body language shifts as she turns to face me head on. Her tone drops so that no one will overhear our conversation but there is no doubting the gravity of her earnestness. “Yes, a support group. For women who have survived trauma.”
“But it’s for battered women.”
“Not just battered women. It’s for any woman who has survived violence. Yeah, there will be a lot of battered women there, but there will be an array of other women there who need support too. You’ll be one of many. And I’m sorry, but you need it. No matter how hard you try to act like you’re okay, I’m your best friend and I know you’re nowhere near okay. Soooo you’re going. You promised.”
I roll my eyes again for effect. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. A deal’s a deal. I’ll go. Now let’s learn to kick some butt from Officer McHotty.”
She giggles and rubs her hands together earnestly. “Oh, yeah. A deal’s a deal.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Google Maps shows that the support group meeting is only five blocks east, then two blocks south of my apartment. I weigh my options. Do I want to walk or drive? Seems ridiculous to drive that short distance, but I can’t stand the anxiety that overwhelms me whenever I have to go out in public these days.
Parking is atrocious in that area of town. Not to mention the annoyance of dealing with one-way streets. Forgoing the option of driving, I snag my keys and umbrella, lock up, and head out. The meeting starts at five thirty, so I’d better get going before I let the nagging anxiety take over and make an excuse not to go. Why did I promise Terin I’d do this?