𝐒 𝐂 𝐀 𝐑 𝐒

Crying out.

Our house
Agoura hills California
June 6th 1991
About 3 the next morning

IN OUR BEDROOM
A heavy weight crashes down on the bed, jolting me awake. My eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the curtains. There's a groan, and then a familiar scent – Dre's cologne, mixed with something sharp, like alcohol.

My heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I try to orient myself. A warm, heavy body is draped across me. My vision is blurry, but I can make out the dark outline of Dre's form.

Then, a sharp pain explodes behind my eye. My head snaps back against the pillow. I let out a gasp, my hand flying to my face.

"Dre!" I manage to croak, my voice hoarse with sleep. "What the hell?"

"Huh?" Dre mumbles, his voice thick and slurred. He shifts, but doesn't move off me.

I try to push him off, but he's dead weight. The pain in my eye is intensifying, a hot, throbbing ache. I can feel tears welling up.

"Get off me, Dre," I say, my voice rising in panic. "You hit me."

He doesn't respond. Just continues to mumble something incoherent.

I try to wiggle free again, but he's pinning me down. Fear starts to creep in. What if he...

Suddenly, his voice clears, and it's laced with a cruel amusement. "You think you're so damn high and mighty, huh?" His breath is hot and stale against my face.

My heart sinks. This is a different kind of terror.

"What are you talking about?" I manage to whisper, my voice trembling.

"You think you can boss me around, huh? You think you're better than me?" His grip tightens.

I try to pull away, but it's useless. Panic is starting to consume me. "Let go of me," I plead.

He laughs, a harsh, ugly sound. "Make me," he sneers before punching me again this time harder and more intense as if he was trying to knock my eye out of the socket.

The pain was immediate, a sharp, blinding explosion behind my eye. It was as if someone had driven a hot poker into my skull. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the pain would subside, but it only intensified. Tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision. My hand flew to my eye, and when I pulled it away, my fingers came back covered in a sticky warmth.

Fear clawed at me as I realized what had happened. Dre had hit me, I knew that, but the damage was done. As the initial shock wore off, a dull ache replaced the sharp pain. I gingerly touched the area around my eye, and winced at the tenderness.

THE NEXT MORNING

the full extent of the damage was clear. A large, purplish bruise was blooming around my eye, transforming me into a grotesque caricature of myself. It felt hot and swollen, and every movement made it throb. I looked in the mirror and felt a wave of despair wash over me. How was I going to explain this to my friends? To my coworkers?

I dabbed at the concealer, hoping to mask the angry purple bruise blooming beneath my eye. I studied my reflection, my heart pounding in my chest. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. I couldn't afford for Romelle to see me like this.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the bathroom. And there he was, Dre, standing in the hallway, a look of tentative apology on his face. I froze, my mind racing. Should I confront him? Ignore him? The fear that had gripped me last night was still a heavy weight on my chest.

"I... I'm sorry, Charmaine," he started, his voice soft.

My mouth went dry. I could barely form words. All I could manage was a weak, "Okay," my head bowed.