Transcending Nirvana (Dark Evoke #3) (29 page)

Hold on, darlin’. We’re nearly there…

“I am untouchable. But you, Kady baby, you tried to destroy me. That is something I won’t allow to happen again…”

As his voice disappeared, the buildup of drums and guitar of my favorite Nickelback song halted. The determined tone in which the words, “I’m sorry,” were spoken down the speaker, sent a shiver down my spine…

Kady

I wouldn’t live the remainder of my days in fear, constantly looking over my shoulder. That wouldn’t be living, just another person in this world simply existing.

I held onto those images in my mind, the flashes of abuse he inflicted over the years and the resolve I felt as I came to accept that I would sooner end my life, than have to live dreading each day of it because of the unknown.

I tore that steering wheel down with so much determination and haste, sending us swerving from the narrow, dark road, through the barrier and down into the abyss below.

“
FUCK, YOU STUPID BITCH
!” Liam called out, his foot pressing repeatedly on the break as we ripped down the grassy embankment, the unevenness sending us bouncing in the seat. “
SHIT
!” he roared, striving to end the imminent collision, or at least slow it down.

I, on the other hand, accepted my fate. Sucking in a deep, purifying breath, I watched my life flash before my eyes, before colliding with the obstruction at full speed.

The music ceased.

Weakened, I pressed the release of my seatbelt, kicked the door open as the tinkling of glass shards dropped from around me, and fell to my knees on the grassy mound for a brief moment, my palms and fingertips sinking into the sludge. I didn’t think I’d feel the ground beneath me again. Warm blood trickled down my forehead as I finally found my legs and reared up.

“Kady,” Liam wheezed, his voice clinging to my name.

On shaky legs I inched closer to see his body thrown from the car upon impact, his debilitated state hanging through where the windshield resided only moments before.

“Kady,” he croaked again, “Kady baby, please help me.”

Blood trickled from my forehead as I watched on, deadpan, witnessing a man I once loved begging and in so my pain. It was sickly poetic. Head held high, I said, “No.”

Through the blood, gashes and missing teeth, he frowned. “No?”

I closed my eyes, my blink protracted. When I opened them, I could feel them darken. “
NO
!”

My answer provoked the demon that I was used to seeing, as with his remaining strength, he hissed, “You bitch…this is all your fault. Everything was your fault.”

Standing with my shoulders back, my head held high, I shook my head slowly…calmly, because regardless of the accident and the events of the night––thanks to my new found strength––that was how I felt. Utterly calm.

“No, Liam. Everything that happened, everything you did to me, the pain, the fear…I didn’t deserve it. It
wasn’t
my fault.” The tears came as for the first time I accepted the truth and the fact that I wasn’t to blame for his actions––every action that I justified and told myself I was to blame for, wasn’t my fault. And that reality was a wall harder hitting than the impact we had just experienced. “My conscience is clear, Liam.” I committed that moment to memory, the moment of revelation, the moment of complete acceptance, and as sickening as it sounds, I reveled in the sight before me. “I wasn’t to blame. You made me believe that I was.”

His eyes widened as a raspy gargle was heard in his throat. Blood passed his lips and although the body of the man I had once loved turned limp before my very eyes, I didn’t feel sadness or grief. I didn’t feel guilt or remorse. I felt at peace with the knowledge that I would at least know where he would always be.

I was standing at the bay window watching the droplets of rain as they fell from the sky and collided with Walker’s window, leaving distorted streaks in their wake.

It rained continuously for the three days after that horrific night, as though Mother Nature herself was trying to wash the sight I saw before me, each time I closed my eyes. The bloodied body, the gashes…the way he laid, contorted and lifeless…

Hugging the button down, wooly sweater around my body tightly, I sniffled while the words of Detective Johnson echoed around the room. “The autopsy concluded that Mr. DeLaney was intoxicated. A large amount of amphetamine was also present.”

“I knew that anyway,” I muttered into oblivion. I turned to face the people of the room: the detective, Laurie and Walker. The gash on my forehead was once again held with sticky strips of tape, my jaw and left eye both swollen and black, my cheekbone still throbbing. “His wounds…”

“Were fatal, Miss Jenson. Regardless of if the emergency services were with you on site at the time of the crash, he wouldn’t have made it. You were very lucky.”

Lifting my gaze to Laurie, she smiled a knowing smile.

They had caught up to us after we’d crashed. Their frantic calling of my name and Walker’s blood-churning bellowing of the word ‘no’ still echoed in my ears. Regardless of the dangers the embankment held, they still scrambled their way to my side. For hours, I wept. Not for the loss, but because I finally made peace with myself. I finally made peace with the voice in the back of my head, the one which told me everything I knew, but was too wrapped up in justifying his actions with the belief that Liam loved me, to accept.

I was not the cause.

I was not to blame.

Each bruise, each cut, each time control was taken from me…it wasn’t my fault…

The bruises and the tape I was wearing on my face showed my strength. It showed I was willing to end everything, than be victimized once again and have him push me back into the steel box and relive the vicious cycle of abuse which would never change, regardless of how many chances given.

Those bruises and tape marked the final chapter…the chapter where Kady Jenson was the victim. They also reminded me that I had the power to fight, and that night, I fought to be a survivor that I am today.

Now, I have my life back.

I have my friends.

I have Walker.

I have my freedom.

Three years later…

“I’m going to grab a coffee; can I get you anything, Kady?” Jessica asked from behind the welcome desk. She had a welcoming air about her that made people just relax. I know how daunting places like this can appear, so having a warming, friendly face on entry was essential.

“No thank you, darlin’, I’m good,” I answered, sifting through the box of pamphlets and scattering them around the office.

After Liam died, I wanted nothing more to do with him or anything he represented. I made a vow that from that point, I would begin a new chapter of my life, and that was what I did when I handed my half of Ent-Icing over to Laurie. She offered to buy me out, but I wouldn’t accept her offer for my own personal reasons.

Instead I founded a safe-haven for other women who were or found themselves in abusive relationships, offering advice, group therapy and even counseling for those who want to break free. There’s nothing more painful than sitting with a woman who has been totally stripped down by the abuse of her partner, a woman who you don’t even have to know personally, to see that they’re a shell of the person they once were.

In saying that, there is nothing more rewarding than seeing that same person making progress and fighting to regain her life and see the bleak, lifeless shadow in her eyes filled with optimism and self-confidence.

The buzzer sounded behind the reception desk. That’s something I had installed when I built this place up: the buzzer system, shot proof glass and a strict no men policy was put in place.

Pressing the release button behind the desk, the door unlocked and a woman stepped in with her head down.

“Hi there, how can I help you?” Jessica asked before fetching her fourth cup of caffeine.

“Is there um…is there someone I can talk to, please? I need some advice.”

I set the pamphlets on the low wooden table just ahead of the corner couch in the brightly colored seating area, and made my way to the desk. “Hi. I’m Kady. Do you want to come through?” I asked, gesturing to one of the spare rooms.

Her head was low, her shoulders hunched while her long dark hair concealed most of her face. She nodded and followed me inside.

“I’m sorry about the toys, bear with me a second, let’s just pop them over here,” I picked up the train and play phone from the center table and placed them into the box in the corner. It’s heartbreaking seeing mothers having to bring their children into a place like this. But it happens. As long as they’re in a safe environment with toys to keep them occupied, the mother can speak freely. “Right, how can I help you?”

She lifted her head, and for the first time since walking in, a pale face marred with a black eye watched me from the opposite side of the table. Each woman that had the strength to walk through my door and ask for help brought a tear to my eye, because even though they may not see it, it was an act that showed a form of acceptance in the sense of, that they knew the way they were being treated was wrong. Each woman who walked through the door with physical evidence of abuse was another lump in the throat.

But this woman––no––this girl, who couldn’t be any older than seventeen sitting opposite me with a black eye, made those tears fall.

“Oh, darlin’,” I whispered when her lips trembled and her own tears slipped from her lifeless eyes. She was burying her face in her hands as I rose from the tube seat and kneeled in front of her, my arms instinctively wrapping around her shoulders as she wept.

Sometimes all it takes is a good cry before opening up.

Releasing her from my arms, I reached back for the tissues on the table, and we both pulled one free, before I sat myself in the tube chair again. “You take your time, darlin’. There’s no rush.”

After releasing a few sobs, she caught her breath. “I’m Anna. I’ve been with my boyfriend now since I was a freshman at high school. Everything started out amazing, he was my first. But after a while, he started to get real jealous and having problems with the people I hung out with. That’s how it started, then checking my phone and my social networking account. He um…he…” bringing the tissue to her eyes, she sobbed more.

“Take your time, Anna. You’re doing amazing.”

“He started getting physical a few months ago but this…”––she pointed to her black eye–– “was the first time he’d hit me in a place I can’t cover. I’m scared of what he’ll do next.”

“Has he ever been sexually abusive towards you, Anna? Because there are counselors I have here that I can connect you with if you feel that’s something that can benefit you.”

She welled up again and the look of defeat that she was lost to was killing me. She nodded faintly.

“Okay.” I reached over the side of the chair and lifted a purple binder. “If it’s okay with you, Anna, I need to do what we call a risk assessment. All it is, is a few questions which I’ll ask and if you could answer. It’s kind of like those Cosmopolitan tests. Would you be okay with that?”

We went through each question, and with each question her tears became less and less. She was slowly unburdening herself of the weighted secrecy which that kind of relationship brings. Speaking openly to a sympathetic ear and having a shoulder to cry on is therapeutic in itself. Especially when you find you’re confiding in someone who has experienced the exact same thing.

“I’m going to ask you something that I ask all my ladies.” I shifted to the edge of the seat and cocked my head. “What was the last straw? What has made you want this change?”

Rummaging through her pocket she handed me a sonogram photo. The most powerful connection. A mother’s instinct.

We were walking back into the waiting area when she asked, “Can I ask you something, Kady?”

“Of course you can.”

She scanned the area.

“It’s okay; in here I’m an open book.”

Nodding, she finally asked, “What was your last straw?”

I reflected on the last eight years of my life with a smile…something I never thought possible. “He was abusive for three years. He isolated me; he took control of my life. He hit me, made me think I was crazy, but I still justified his actions. He poured medication down my throat which led me to have a car accident. I lost the memories of those three years, and even with his chance to have a clean slate, he didn’t change. They never do.”

“What was your strength though?”

A familiar white pickup with G.W. Constructions painted on the side pulled up outside, and I watched as Gerry dropped from the driver’s seat. He was leaning against the door in his workman’s pants, heavy boots and plaid shirt, speaking on the phone, when I tipped my head to the large front window.

“He was my strength. He was my rock. He made me two promises, one was to help me remember, the other,”––I spun my wedding band around my finger, a silent indication of his second promise––“He gave me my freedom and he gave me a future,” I said, softly caressing my very large, swelling pregnant belly.

He caught me eyeing him up again, and I blushed when he winked at me. The effect he still had on me was crazy.

How someone who lived in their own darkness for so long could be the light in someone else’s darkness, I don’t know. But that’s what he was for me. Gerald Walker was my light.

He didn’t only guide me through the darkest years of my life, he helped me transcend them, and together, with our own little family, we finally know the true meaning of Nirvana.

The End