I Choose You

Chapter Eighteen - A Slap In The Face

I stood in the doorway, shocked at what my eyes were showing me. this could not be happening. Ann and Fred stared at me, petrified. What happened? I walked in - well out - on Fred slapping his wife. Yes, slapping. Right across the face. Why? I wish I knew. I wish I could unsee this. I don't know if it was the first time or the last time or the never-ending hundredth time. All I knew is I wanted to help her and I wanted to make it right.

I guess this proves how things aren't always as they seem. Her dad was nice. . . he turns out to be a trans-phobic asshole; the marriage seemed perfectly happily. . . it now seems to be falling apart day by day, minute by minute. "Please don't -" Ann spoke, but I ran off before she could say more. She was holding her cheek, which must be stinging immensely from the force of the blow. Poor Ann.

I reached the cafeteria, out of breath. I sat at the table in the corner again and took out paper. Something had to be done; this wasn't okay, no matter what either of them thought. Once or multiple times, domestic abuse wasn't okay. I began to write a letter as many questions buzzed in my mind.

Did Jessie know? Was it the first time? Was it the last? Did she hit him first? What was Ann going to say? Should they be separated, but aren't for the sake of their daughter? Does he have problems; does she; do they both? And the biggest of them all: Why?

I scribbled all my thoughts on the paper with a shaking hand and folded it, returning it into my back pocket along with my pen. I took a deep breath and walked back into the waiting room.

The truth was staring me in the face.

Both Ann and Fred were waiting at the entrance, not looking at each other. Ann's hand was still on her face. "We're - I mean I," she glared at her husband, "- am so sorry, Alex. Don't worry about it." Don't worry? DON'T WORRY? Nice try, Ann.

I looked at them both, and without saying a word, pulled my note out, left it in Ann's hand and left. This shouldn't be my problem, but now it was. And now I needed to go to a source.

                                                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~

"What do you mean?" Jessie said, worry in her voice.

"Are your parents happy?"

"I think. . ." her voice trailed off.

"You're lying." She shook her head.

"I'm not."

"Then look me in the eyes and say you believe they are happy and everything is okay between them." I didn't tell her why I was interrogating her about the relationship and happiness between and of her parents, but I had a feeling she knew the answer, just didn't want to tell me. Maybe she didn't know what I had seen. She looked at me.

"My parents, I believe they are happy and that every. . .," her head dropped, ". . .thing is terrible." I knew it! Jessie brought her hands to her face and began to shake, sobbing uncontrollably like her mother did.

"What happens at home?" I grabbed her hand again.

"They yell."

"And?"

"He hits her. . .they don't think I know. I do."

"So do I."

"W-what?"

"When I left before, your father was slapping your mother. Right across the face." Her blue eyes grew wide as tears fell from her eyes.

"That's it." She began to lift herself out of bed. I pushed her back down.

"No. What's it?"

"He hits her at home, and now in public. People are afraid to come over, Alex, because of them. It's a nonstop battle between those two."

"There needs to be a divorce?"

"Sure does."

"Want me to get them?" She paused for a while. I wouldn't blame her. Her father hates her boyfriend and mother. Not cool. She eventually nods.

I got up and left the room in search of Mr. and Mrs. I found them in the waiting room. Before anything about anything was said, I took my stand. "Your daughter wants to see you both." I sneered at Fred. What an asshole. Ann got up, but Fred stayed put. I made my voice stern. "I said both." He rolled his eyes but got up, following me into the room.

"Jessica?" Ann whispered when I opened the door.

"Mom," she smiled, but it wasn't long before her face turned cold, "Father."

"Daughter."

"You both need to stop."

"What?" Fred still hasn't spoken other than his rude remark.

"Get a divorce." It wasn't a question; it was a demand.

"No. Because of you."

"I never wanted to be with this whore," Fred spoke, referring to his apparently regretted-wife.

"Dad!"

He continued, "But she said we needed to get married for the baby. I didn't even want a damn kid!" Ann and Jessie's eyes filled with tears, both of them crying.

I, on the other hand, stood there, astounded. Who the hell says that?

Oh, right, Mr. Trans-phobic-abusive-asshole-Fred.