“I need help,” Chenise said, touching her swollen face gingerly. “I’m ready.” Those two words carried the weight of 3 years of conversations. Jasmine had been telling Chenise for months that she needed to leave. Desan, had offered to help her file for divorce, had even offered to let Chenise and Amara stay at her place.
But Chenise had always made excuses, always found reasons to stay. “Not anymore.” “Where are you?” Jasmine asked, and Chenise could hear her moving around, probably getting dressed outside my house. They locked me out. “They?” Who’s they? Deshan and Candace. They Chenise’s voice broke as the reality of what had happened started to sink in.
They beat me up, Jess, in front of my baby’s room. The silence on the other end of the phone stretched for several seconds. When Jasmine spoke again, her voice was different. Harder. This was lawyer Jasmine now, not just friend Jasmine. Did you call the police? Not yet. I called you first. Good. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.
Then we’re going to the hospital, then the police station. Do not go back in that house alone. You hear me? Chenise looked around the quiet neighborhood. Most of the houses were dark, their occupants safe in their beds. She envied them. Their peace, their normal Friday nights. What about Amara? I can’t leave her in there with them. We’ll figure it out.
But right now, you need medical attention and we need to document everything. Is she safe tonight? Chenise thought about it. For all his faults, Deshawn had never laid a hand on Amara. He loved his stepdaughter in his own way, had adopted her when she was four, and he and Chenise got married. It was one of the things that had made Chenise fall for him in the first place, seeing how gentle he could be with her little girl. Yeah, she’s safe.
He won’t hurt her. Okay, I’m in my car now. Stay on the phone with me. As Jasmine drove through the empty streets, Chenise found herself really looking at her neighborhood for the first time in months. The small houses lined up in neat rows, each with their little front yards and American flags. This was supposed to be the American dream, the life she had worked for.
But dreams could turn into nightmares so slowly you didn’t notice until you were trapped in them. Chenise talked to me. How bad are you hurt? Chenise took inventory of her injuries. Her left eye was swollen. Her lip was cut. Her scalp was tender where hair had been pulled out. Her ribs achd where she had hit the counter.
I think I’m okay. Nothing broken. That’s not okay, honey. None of this is okay. A police car drove slowly down the street and Chenise instinctively stepped behind a tree. She wasn’t ready to talk to police yet. Wasn’t ready to make this official. Once she reported it, there would be no going back. I see you, Jasmine said.
and Chenise looked up to see her friend Silver Honda pulling up to the curb. “Come on.” Chenise hung up the phone and walked to the car, suddenly feeling self-conscious about her appearance. Jasmine took one look at her face and her expression hardened even more. “Oh, hell no,” Jasmine said, reaching over to unlock the passenger door. “Get in.
We’re ending this tonight.” As they drove to the hospital, Chenise caught glimpses of herself in the side mirror. Her face was a mess, her hair wild where it hadn’t been pulled out. She looked like a victim and the sight made her stomach turn. “I should have left sooner,” she said quietly. “Don’t do that,” Jasmine replied firmly.
