That night I finally cry. Joe lost his job today and he hit me real bad. I was no longer a woman, I had quickly become his punching bag; no part of me was left untouched by his anger. After he passed out from 15 beers, I go into the bathroom, lock the door and sit in the tub. I pull out the note George had given me, still keeping it in safe hiding. Looking at his handwriting, thinking about what just happened, I suddenly break down.
After two years of no crying, I cry for hours. I am sure to keep silent as not to wake Joe, even though I know I wouldn't. He's too drunk and is snoring far too loudly. When I finally stop crying, I go out and grab the phone before retreating quickly back to the bathroom. I dial the number and hold my thumb over the 'Talk' button. I press the button and listen to it ring.
"Hello?" Shouts the voice on the other end, his voice.
"Hello?!" His voice comes again. Tears roll down my face.
"George?" I say meekly, my voice is quiet and shaky.
"Yes? Yes who is this?!" A steady stream of tears fall as I hang up. I put the phone down, unable to continue. I curl into a small ball and rock back and forth, crying myself into the wee hours of the next day.
***
A few more weeks pass. I have no appetite, and lose weight rapidly, pound after pound. I'm too sick to my stomach, sickened by my life. There is not an inch of me that isn't covered with bruises. Make-up could only do so much that eventually I just stopped leaving the apartment. I'd rather deal with drunken Joe than society and all it's cruel judgements. The shades are always drawn.
One day, Joe finally sobers up enough to go out and look for another job. I had just gotten out of the shower and put on clothes that used to fit but are now big and saggy around my bony structure. There's a slight knock at the door. I open it and George gasps.
"Oh my god." He whispers as he takes me in. His eyes travel from my sunken in, black and blue, cut up face down my skinny body all the way to my feet, bruised as well. The lines on my feet are those of the bottoms of Joe's shoes. He had stepped on me when I had tried to scurry out of his way but hadn't moved fast enough.
"You're coming with me." George says. He pushes past me, yelling through the rooms.
"He's not here." I say quietly, one hand still on the door. George goes into my bedroom for a few minutes. I still can't move, worried that Joe would be back. George comes back out with my suitcase.
"I just grabbed everything I could see." He said. He paused right in front of me. He's quiet for a moment.
"That was you who called me a few weeks back, wasn't it." He more stated rather than asked. I look to the floor, ashamed.
"Hey, hey." He says softly, crossing the space to wrap me up in his arms as I cry.
"What the hell?!" My heart stops as I register the angry voice behind me. "Ah. The boyfriend." Says George.
