E. Blair - Falling

It’s been a few days since Gina was here last, but tonight she stopped by unannounced, saying she had a stressful day at work and just wanted to vent. She spent the whole time bitching about some chick she works with that’s friends with some other chick Gina used to be friends with. Shallow shit. Shit I couldn’t care less about. But the fact that she thinks coming over here and talking to me about this crap is okay is all I need to know. She’s getting attached, and it’s time to cut it off. The calls, the texting—it has to stop.

I grab my keys and decide to head up to the bar to get some work done and to get my mind off of the situation I’ve created with Gina. When I walk in, it’s packed. A good thing for a Monday night. Today was the first day of classes at UW, so business will pick up as it usually does after the summer. I look over to Mel, but she’s too tied up with customers to notice me. I make my way through the crowd to the back stairs.

I stop in Michael’s office to pick up some paperwork from him. When I go into my office, I look at the schedule he set up and start working on inventory orders. Time passes, and I’m deep into paperwork. We’re closed, and I can hear the bar girls downstairs, laughing loudly as they clean up.

“Bad news, man,” Max says as he walks into my office.

Looking up from my desk, I lean back in my chair, tired, and ask, “What is it?”

“The band that was scheduled for this Saturday night cancelled.”

Throwing my pen across the desk, irritated, I gripe, “What do you mean they cancelled? They’ve been on the books for weeks.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t take the call, but we’ve gotta fill that slot in the next couple of days. Classes at U-Dub started today, so this weekend is gonna be busy as hell.”

“Shit!” I pause for a second, frustrated as fuck. “It’s too late to do anything about it tonight. I’ll make some calls tomorrow and try to get another band booked. Oh, hey, if those fuckers call back, tell them to find another bar to play.”

“Right, boss. You heading out soon? It’s past midnight already.”

“Yeah, in a little bit. I need to finish this paperwork and I’ll be gone. Go ahead and go.”

“See you tomorrow, man.”

“See ya.”

Time passes as I try working on the inventory supply sheet that I need to get in to our liquor distributor, but my mind is elsewhere. I really need to call Gina and tell her it’s over.

A clatter outside snaps me out of my thoughts. I look down at my watch to see it’s nearing one in the morning. Shit. When I start packing my things up to head home, I hear more commotion from outside. I shake my head, knowing it’s probably just some drunk guys heading back home from a party. People are always cutting through the back alley.

I start locking everything up and make my way downstairs to the back door. “Crap,” I mutter to myself, realizing I left my cell in my office. Walking back up the stairs to my office, I grab my phone off my desk.

I hear screaming.

A girl screaming.

“Fuck!”

Bolting out of my office, I haul ass downstairs to the back door and out to the small employee parking lot in the alley.

“God, please! Stop!” a girl shrieks.

Before my mind can process what I’m seeing—naked girl, guy’s hand between her legs, girl thrashing, screaming—the bastard smashes his fist into her face.

Adrenaline fires through my body, and I run. Yanking the guy off her, I start slamming my fist into his face over and over. I completely lose control of myself and relentlessly whale on him. I’m gone. My knuckles start to burn as the flesh begins to split open. He manages to get a few swift hits to my jaw and ribs, which allows him a quick moment to work out of my grip and flee.

Before I can charge after the guy, I catch a glimpse of the girl. It doesn’t take but a second for me to refocus. She lies there, unconscious, bare, with her clothes ripped off of her. My stomach convulses at the image before me. I slowly approach her—scared—and kneel down next to her. Terrified to touch her, I take off my shirt and cover her naked, battered body. Her face is covered in blood and dirt, skin scraped off on one side and the other is already swelling from where the fucker’s fist landed. Her knees are ripped open and covered in gravel. The blood between her thighs tells me exactly what that piece of shit did to her. My heart thuds hard in my chest, and my gut is in knots.

I pat my pockets for my cell, but it’s not on me. I must have dropped it as I ran out here. Not wanting to leave her, I look around and spot her purse. I lean over and grab it in search of her phone. When I find it, I swipe the screen and dial 911.

My voice is shaky as I try to talk to the dispatcher. My thoughts are all over the place, and I stumble as I try to answer all of her questions. When she tells me that the police and EMTs are on their way, we disconnect. I slip the phone back into her gold purse and slowly zip it up as I stare at her. I don’t want to look, but I can’t stop.

As I sit next to her, she lies there, breathing peacefully. Whatever is running through her head right now has to be a million times better than the hell she’s going to wake up to.

What the fuck just happened? I watch her. I don’t know what else to do. She is so small, and when I look at her tiny hands, her nails are shredded. Shit. She fought. She had to have fought hard. The thought nearly makes me vomit, and when I shift my eyes away from her hands, I notice a little tattoo. An outline of a heart—simple black ink—on her lower hip that’s still exposed. Sliding the shirt over a little to cover it, I finally hear the sirens in the distance.

“Thank God,” I whisper.

The sound grows louder the closer they get, and when the red and blue lights strobe across the parking lot, I reluctantly stand to my feet, but don’t move away from her until the EMTs approach.

“Sir, can you step over here?” an officer asks.

We walk over to the rear of his vehicle. He pulls out a clipboard from the car and opens the top of it, retrieving a few forms.

“I need to get your statement,” he says while he organizes the papers under the clip. “You’re the one that called 911, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” I answer before turning my head to see them sliding the girl onto a backboard, strapping her down. She’s now covered in a large blanket, and it’s at this moment that I feel. Pain. Sadness. Anguish. It wells up and floods my eyes. I don’t even know this girl, but I hurt for her.

“Where are they taking her?” I ask the officer.

“You know her?”

“No.” I turn back and watch as they slide her into the back of the ambulance. Another EMT is collecting the scraps of her clothes that remain on the ground.

“Can you tell me what happened?” the officer asks.

“I don’t know,” I mumble. I can’t seem to get my head straight. What just happened?

“Take your time. It’s important that we get a detailed account of everything that occurred. Everything you saw.”

“Is she gonna be okay?” I ask as the ambulance drives off.

“Do you need to sit down, sir?” I faintly hear the officer as he speaks. Pressure on my arm shifts my focus when I realize he has his hand on me, guiding me to sit in the front passenger seat of his vehicle. The door shuts, and I lean my head back against the seat. I watch him walk in slow motion around the front of the car. He sits in the driver’s seat next to me.

“Start from the beginning.”

“He raped her,” I choke out.

“My God.”

“He beat the shit out of her, Mom. I can’t close my eyes without seeing it,” I tell her. “I couldn’t sleep at all last night. I just laid in my bed, replaying it over and over.”

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know. They wouldn’t tell me anything. It feels weird . . . to see that and not know.”

“Are you okay?”

“How am I supposed to answer that? What do I say?”

“Say how you feel,” she tells me with worry and concern.

“I feel sick. What he did to her . . . what I saw . . .”

“I hate that I’m not there.”

“It’s okay, Mom. I don’t really wanna talk anymore; I just needed to tell you. I needed to tell someone.”

“I’m so sorry that you had to see something like that,” she says.

I’ve seen so much shit in my life. Too much to ever forget. You can’t rid your mind of images that burn themselves into who you are. I’ve had to watch my mother getting the life knocked out of her at the hands of my father more times than I ever want to remember. But I also have her sounds etched in me. Her painful, pleading screams.

And now . . . now I have this girl. This unknown. A Jane Doe. Blanks that will never be filled.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you better,” I confess.

Guilt.

“Ryan, don’t.”

The knot in my throat makes my words painful to say, but I force them out. My confession. “I was right there. I heard the noise out back. If only I would have gone out there. Fuck, why didn’t I go out there sooner?”

“How could you have known?”

“I could have stopped it. Prevented it. But instead, I ignored it.” The whole time I knew there was someone back there, and I ignored it. I sat in my office while that girl fought so hard she had no nails left. “What have I done?” I breathe out, suddenly feeling the weight of the responsibility I now hold.

“You didn’t do anything,” she tries assuring me.

She’s right. I didn’t do anything. Nothing. I close my eyes, and I see it. The blood between her legs. The image I know will forever be with me. I toss the phone aside and rush to the bathroom, vomiting. Expelling the toxins, but not the images. Those remain.