The Art of Life (40 page)

               
“Do it for me,” Jeremy pleads,
leaning over on the back of the couch.
 
“I need to know you are okay.”

               
With a heavy sigh, I say,
“Okay.”

               
“Why don’t you get dressed and
then we will go to the police station,” Jeremy urges.

               
My heart feels heavy in my
chest, but I get up.
 
Cassandra stands
with me.
 
“I brought you a tooth brush
and clothes.
 
Here you go.”
 
She hands me the bag.

               
“Thank you,” I mutter
softly.
 
Taking the bag, I head into the
bathroom.
 
When I get in there, I just
look in the mirror.
 
I gasp as I look at
my neck.
 
There is a large bruise across
the middle of my throat.
 
You can actually
see where his fingers were.
 
The darkest
bruising is there.
 
It makes me cry.
 
I fall to the floor and cry.
 
It’s too much.
 
It’s too much to take.
 
I put my head between my knees and sob.
 

               
What am I going to do?
 
How am I going to hide that?
 
I can’t go to school with that mark on my
neck.
 
Everyone will see it.
 
People will ask questions that I don’t want to
answer.
 
I can’t go back.

               
 
There is a knock on the door.
 
“Isabelle,” Jeremy articulates softly through
the door.
 
“Are you okay?
 
I hear you crying.”

               
“Yeah, I just, I saw the
bruising.
 
It’s so bad.”

               
“I know sweetie.
 
We need you to get dressed, so we can go to
the police station.
 
They will need to
take pictures.”
 
That makes me cry
harder.
 
“Do you want Cassandra to come
help you?”

               
Shaking my head, I yell,
“No!
 
I am fine.”

               
“Okay,” Jeremy replies.

               
I get up off the floor and try
to not look in the mirror.
 
Cassandra
brought me a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved t-shirt.
 
It must be cool outside, because there is a
thick hoodie, too.
 
Slowly, I get
dressed.
 
When I am done, I reluctantly
look in the mirror.
 
I grimace.
 
My hair is a disaster area, even with Jeremy
combing it.
 
I realize that my hair is
not something that should even be on my radar, but I do look a little
crazy.
 
I feel bad enough already.

               
When I open the door, I ask
Jeremy, “Do you have a hat I could wear?”

               
“No, not really,” he
replies.
 
“I hate hats, but wait, I do
have a bandana.
 
You can put that on your
head.”
 
Jeremy walks into the bedroom and
comes back out with a black one.
 
He
folds it in half.

               
“I can do it,” I say, gently
taking it from him.
 
I wrap it around my
head and knot it.

               
Jeremy smirks.
 
“You actually look cute.”

               
“Thanks,” I mumble
sarcastically.
 
“We should probably go.”

               
He takes my hand and says,
“Okay, we are ready.”

               
The ride down to the police
station is a quiet one.
 
I don’t think
anyone has any words to actually say.
 
The station is really busy.
 
We
have to wait a while for someone to
come
talk to
us.
 
Finally, a lady comes up.
 
“Isabelle?”

               
“Yeah,” I reply, standing
up.
 
“That’s me.”

               
“You can come back now,” she
says, gesturing to the doorway.

               
Quickly, I look at Jeremy.
 
He asks, “Do you want me to come with?”
 
I nod vigorously.
 
He looks at the police officer.
 
“Is that alright?”

               
“Sure,” she answers.
 
“Whatever makes Miss
Nimon
more
comfortable.
”

               
Jeremy takes my hand and
squeezes it.
 
With that we walk back with
the police officer.
 
She ushers us into a
room.
 
It looks like an interrogation
room, very cold.
 
“You guys can take a
seat there.
 
My name is Officer
Detrick.
 
Now, I need you to tell me what
happened exactly.”

               
With a little hesitation, I tell
her the whole story.
 
“He held me down
here,” I finally say, showing my throat.

               
Officer Detrick looks at
it.
 
“My word child, I am so sorry.
 
So, you have no idea what this gentleman’s
last name is?”

               
“No,” I whisper, choking back
tears.
 
“My mom may know.”

               
“You haven’t asked her?
 
Have you not been home?”

               
I look at Jeremy.
 
He takes the initiative and answers, “Her
mother is an alcoholic and is mentally abusive to Isabelle.
 
When her mom came in and stopped Howard, she
actually blamed Isabelle for it.
 
I may
be overstepping my bounds, but I refuse to let her go back there.”

               
“She is 18 and that is her
choice,” Office Detrick replies.
 
“We
will have to talk to your mom though.”

               
“I don’t even know if she will
remember anything.
 
Is that going to be a
problem?” I ask.

               
The officer points to my
neck.
 
“You have the bruising to back up
your story.
 
We just need to find out if
your mom will cooperate and help us find this Howard character.”

               
“Good luck on that,” I mumble.

               
“Well, we will need to take a picture
of your neck.
 
Do you have any other
bruising?”

               
Shaking my head, I reply, “No.”

               
“If we can’t get any information
from your mother, we may have you come back in and do a sketching of the
gentleman,” the officer states.

               
“Oh,” I exclaim.
 
“I can do that.”
 
The officer raises her eyebrow.
 
“I can draw people very accurately.
 
It will be easier for me to do it than
describe it to someone.”

               
Humming herself, Officer Detrick
says, “Well, it’s a little unorthodox, but if you can do that, it may help.”

               
“I will,” I retort, nodding
dramatically.

               
“Let’s go take some pictures
then.
 
Did you go get checked out by a
doctor?” She asks, as we walk.

               
I stutter, “Not yet, but we are
going today.”

               
“Well, if you can get something
from him, too, that will help.”

               
While they take the pictures, I
feel totally exposed.
 
Even though I have
all my clothes on, I feel naked.
 
Thankfully, Jeremy is there the whole time.
 
I don’t know what I would do if he wasn’t
here with me.
 
I don’t know what I would
do without him, period.

               
Cassandra stands up when we come
back to the waiting room.
 
“How did it
go?”

               
“Fine,” Jeremy sighs.
 
“We should get her to the doctor though.”

               
“I have it all set up,” she
replies, tilting her phone.
 
“My uncle is
waiting for us.”

               
Her uncle, Dr. Phillips, won’t
let Jeremy come back with me.
 
He wants
to give me a full exam.
 
It is awkward
and uncomfortable.
 
Thankfully he is just
looking at my skin.
 
He sits me up and
exams my throat.
 
“Where does it hurt?”

               
“Just here,” I reply quietly,
pointing to where Howard’s finger tips were.

               
“Well, I don’t think there is
any permanent damage,” Dr. Phillips says, sitting down on his little
stool.
 
“There is just a lot of
bruising.
 
It is going to hurt for a
while.”

               
Twiddling my fingers, I
mutter ,
“I figured.”

               
“I think you should see someone
else,” the nice doctor says.
 
He pulls
out a card.
 
“Her name is Ivy
Collins.
 
She is a therapist.”

               
With a shocked look, I stutter,
“No, I don’t need to see a therapist.”

               
“From what you have said about
your past, I think it would be good for you.”

               
“I don’t deal well with talking
to people,” I articulate.
 
“I don’t talk
to anyone.”

               
Dr. Phillips extends his
hand.
 
“Take the card and hold onto
it.
 
You may want to see her in the
future.”

               
I grab it and mumble, “Thanks.”

               
“You can get dressed now.
 
Don’t
worry,
I am
not going to charge you.”

               
“I have no money as it is,” I
whisper softly.
 
The realization that I
have nothing and no one just rips my heart open again.
 
I am alone, so utterly alone.
 
I place my face in my hands and start to cry.

               
The doctor just stands
there.
 
I can feel him looking at
me.
 
“Do you want me to get
Cassandra?”
 
I shake my head.
 
“The gentleman with you?”
 
Wiping my tears, I shrug my shoulders.
 
“I will go get him,” the doctor says, patting
my knee.

               
For a few minutes, I just sit
and cry.
 
I have nowhere to go.
 
I can’t go home.
 
What would I do?
 
What would I say?

               
There is a knock on the door and
then it opens.
 
Jeremy looks around the
corner and asks, “Are you okay?”

               
Choking on my words, I sob, “No,
not at all.”

               
“Are you hurt? Is there
something seriously wrong?” Jeremy exclaims, closing the door.

               
I shake my head.
 
“No, I just realized I have nothing.
 
How am I supposed to go home?
 
How will I ever feel safe in my own house?
 
My own bed?
 
I have no clue what I am going to do!”

               
Jeremy comes over and takes my
hand.
 
“I have already thought of
that.
 
You are going to move in with me.”

               
Hold on, what?
 
“Are you nuts?” I snap.

               
“You can’t go home.
 
I won’t let you go home.
 
You need a place to stay.
 
I have a spare bedroom and a bed, if we can
unbury it.”