The Birth (The Black Wing Book 1) (9 page)

On days that I didn’t check into a hotels. I spent my nights inside my truck on the vacant areas of the city. On the first few days I had nothing but back pains, and when Ms. Clarisse noticed my constant back rub, I told her I slept on the wrong side of the bed. The last thing I wanted to do was worry her, she shouldn’t suffer over my decisions. I will not burden her like her children.

One night, I bought some groceries, and parked my truck on the corner of an abandoned lot. A few pedestrians passed by every now and then, but none of them took notice of me. My plans for tomorrow is to check into a cheap motel, the day after I will spend the night in my truck. So far, this cycle has saved me money, especially when there are deals in certain hotels.

I nestled my face under my cotton blanket, and tried to pretend I was comfortable. I listened to the passing vehicles and watched my newly caught kitten snooze in the passenger seat. Right when I began to recognize my brave efforts, I snapped out of my rest, a hand slammed on my windshield.

There he stood, with his breath fogging up the glass. At first glance, I thought it was a stranger, until I heard a familiar command.

“Open the door.”

It’s my husband, I reached for the door, but then I stopped. I left my hand stretching for the handle, without my permission, my body listened to him. He never tried approaching me at the parking lot at Gilia. This whole time, he wanted to confront me when I’m alone. But I no longer have no reason to listen to him, I have a choice!

He noticed my trembling hands, and he laughed.

“Open the door.” he repeated.

When I looked around, I found his vehicle parked behind me. It seems that my husband is not alone, three men huddled around my truck—standing frozen like.

“L-leave.” I stammered.

“Open the door Lola.” he repeated. “It’s time to stop playing games and come back home—where you belong.”

“I don’t belong there.” I said, unable to look at him.

“So is this how you’ve been avoiding me? Sleeping in your truck like all of the other failures of the city? You must feel really brave.” he tormented. “Did you forget? I offered you a home when your own mother kicked you out!”

“I haven’t forgotten.” I said gazing at Kinoki who woke up from her sleep.

Her tiny body examined the scary beast—my husband.

“Just look at you squeezing on to that steering wheel. Clinging and leeching on to it like it can save you. No one would take a bullet for someone like you. I’m the only person in this world who will ever give a damn about you. Now…open the door.”

My palms feel like they’re baking in an oven, my grip on the steering wheel began to slide. My heart tightening in my chest.

“If you really care about that brat in your belly, you would do the smart thing and go home.”

The men crept closer, this is just like last time. Just what makes me think I can leave my husband? How can I endanger on my own child, without a house to live in, without food to provide? I can’t! I’m just a dreaming fool.

My hands released the steering wheel and fell on my thighs.

“I’m going to walk to the passenger side, you will unlock the door, and we will drive home. Does your little mind understand that much?”

“Yes.” I reply.

I watched him slowly walk around my truck. His partners nodded to him and went inside their vehicle behind me.

The worse is yet to come, at home, he will drink and shout at me. It will be back just like it was, tears, fights, cheap women, and the smell of booze. I guess I can cope with it, I have for 6 years. I don’t even know why I made such a commotion, what made me want to do something that I’m clearly not.

My husband’s voice muffled when he couldn’t open the passenger door. I’m so out of it, all I can hear is my own thoughts.

What hurts is that my baby has yet to experience what it’s like to live with my husband. How sickly ironic, I was once in the same situation. In her belly, my unstable mother argued with my father. My mother hated the fact that my father begged her to hand me over when I was born. Listening to his persistence left me baffled, I couldn’t see why he wanted to take me away. Did he somehow care about me? Did he really wanted protect me? My heart skipped a beat.

Perhaps my father knew, he knew I would suffer—he knew how my life would be with my mother. My husband started slamming on the window and tears began to drip off my face.

My husband, he’s just like my mother—cold-hearted—unsympathetic—a pain! 

I rubbed my belly knowingly. If I stay with my husband, I’m just as guilty of hurting my own child. My father couldn’t accomplish his desire to protect me, but this time, I’m in control!

“Lola! Open the door!” he shouted violently.

I looked straight into his eyes. For too long I have remained under his domination. If I allow my baby to grow up with a man like him, then I am no better. I turned my keys in the ignition and woke up the engine. The roaring engine feels like a gunshot for a marathon. A marathon of my freedom.

A boiling anger is burning inside my husband. In a flash, my window crack by the force of his fist, another punch went through, and the passenger window shattered. His movements are agile, he grunted, and hollered he was going to kill me. Kinoki jumped under my feet when his bleeding fist reached for the door lock and click!

The door swung open.

I hit on the gas, screaming from his violent approach. He held on to the passenger seat for life, the rest of his body scraped against the asphalt. I turned the truck left, and drove in circles hoping it will swing him away but he successfully crawled into the passenger seat. His bleeding hand gripped my shirt and yanked me down. I can smell the alcohol coming out of him, the smell churned my stomach. I instantly hit on the breaks, his body slammed against the dashboard. I didn’t look at him to see if he’s okay, I’m determined to escape. He groaned, slowly getting up.

When one of his friends tried to get in, I slammed on the gas to speed up once again. The other two followed me closely in the vehicle. I tried to push him off but it’s too late. My Husband regained his consciousness, and launched his fist at me. His drunk aim missed, I begged him to leave.

Driving around the parking lot is useless, the only exit of this abandoned parking lot is blocked by my husband’s friends.

“You’re not going anywhere!” he snarled.

His elbows moved in closer—before I knew it, he tugged me down to his face. Unable to see, I lowered my speed. His eyes gleamed at me with fury, the alcohol on his breath, stung my eyes.

“Ever since you got pregnant, you’ve changed.” he exhaled.

I watched his other hand struggle to pull something out of his back pocket.

“I’m going cut your stomach open and pull that baby right out of you!”

Gripping the steering wheel tight, I slammed on the gas. My husband looked ahead, and saw the congested intersection. I drove out of the parking lot, the truck jumped from the rugged field of grass. With his hand stuck in his pocket, his grip on the seat soften. I veered through the traffic, and took a sharp left, my husband’s body tumbled into the pavement. He slammed his fist on the ground and howled a vulgar roar. I returned to the right side of the road, and drove out of the city.

On the highway, the passenger window shook fragments of glass into the road. I didn’t stop driving that night.

Tonight, I have won.

I never missed a day of work at Gilia. Since that night, I didn’t return for 2 weeks. Ms. Clarisse did what she could to make sure Bradley didn’t reprimand me and as usual, she got her way. As soon as I returned I was flat broke, hungry, tired, dirty, and emotionally drained.

When Ms. Clarisse saw me, she demanded I shower while she ordered some food. She called me an idiot every time she glanced at me, and reminded me that she had money to pay for my hotel expenses. I rest my head on her bed and she combed my hair with her frail hands. That day, I was called stupid thousands of times, but I didn’t care—I missed Ms. Clarisse.

“What did I say?” she scolded. “You will not make it in the world without asking for help!”

“Ms. Clarisse.” I moaned with a headache throbbing.

“You just go about sleeping in parking lots—with a cat you shouldn’t be keeping!”

“Ms. Clarisse.” I muffled.

“Then you go about almost killing your husband! Which you should have trampled over, I don’t know why you didn’t. I would have—repeatedly!”

“Ms. Clarisse, can I speak now?” I said lifting my exhausted head.

Ms. Clarisse swallowed the list of words she wanted to say.

“You’re right, and I’m wrong.” I said. “I do need help. So—what I’m trying to say is…if your offer is still open, then I’ll move to Washington and rent your cherished cabin.”

I didn’t realize how much it meant to her until I saw the glow in her eyes. The familiar smile she only shared in family portraits returned—bright, pure, and completely hers. I still don’t know why renting her cabin made her so happy, she indirectly hinted she couldn’t entrust the cabin to her irresponsible daughter.

When I reached five months, Ms. Clarisse started calling me beer belly, that nickname continued, even when she started to get very sick. Her health didn’t get better, within a few weeks, Ms. Clarisse passed away. The doctors said it was her age, I believe it was something else, and the idea makes me feel guilty. Ms. Clarisse said her pain kept her alive, and until she did something good—she won’t think about leaving this world. I almost thought it was because I accepted to care for her prized cabin, but I was wrong. I eventually found out.

After her death, I spent most of my time in the hotel she prepared for me to stay. I felt safe because it’s so deep in the city, and in one of the tallest floors. She promised I wouldn’t have to worry about my husband any longer

One morning, I got a visit from her much talked about lawyer, Mr. Müller. For a man in his late 50’s, his pepper gray hair makes him look very handsome. I offered him a drink, but he kindly refused. Mr. Müller assured me that he was a close friend of Ms. Clarisse. Of course, I already know that. He worked for her shortly after he graduated from law school. He originally represented Ms. Clarisse’s husband, and through all of these years, they remained closed.

“Ms. Clarisse was very fond of you” he said.

I can’t look at him to thank him, lately, I can’t do anything. How do you respond to the compliments of someone you recently lost?

Finally I nodded, wondering why he was interested in talking to me. He admitted that before she died, Ms. Clarisse made him promise to stop by, and check on me.

“This is different visit.” he confessed. “I’m here to inform you that you are called to attend the presentation of her will.”

I looked up at Mr. Müller confused. I told him about the cabin I was to rent from her and the realtor who wouldn’t returned my phone calls.

Mr. Müller grew a smile.

“You won’t need a realtor, Ms. Clarisse is giving you her Cabin.”

I froze.

“There must be a mistake, her daughter is heir of her cabin, I’m just renting it—that was our deal, it’s their tradition to pass it on to their daughters and I’m—”

“Ms. Clarisse loved you Lola.”

Tears immediately rolled down my cheek.

“She saw you as her own daughter, and in her heart, she completed her family tradition.”

“I told her to stop worrying about me.” I chocked.

“Now—now” said. Mr. Müller. “We mustn’t upset your baby. Ms. Clarisse was worried about the effect it would have on you if she passed away. As much I like to talk about our dear friend, there are obligations and preparations to make. In order to receive the cabin, you must be present during the presentation of her will. However, because you are not a family member, you are required to stay silent at all times, and keep your thoughts to yourself.”

Mr. Müller quickly apologized for his words. He said he didn’t want to make me think I had nothing to say, but stated that Ms. Clarisse’s own children will attend. Just hearing him say that brought me to stand from my chair.

“You reaction tells me you know enough about them.” he added. “I know how you must feel.”