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Gradually slipping into consciousness I moaned, feeling dizzy. My limbs were heavy, as though weighed down by a slab of concrete, a disturbingly odd and unfamiliar sensation. I had never experienced anything that was within miles of this feeling, the occasional cuts and bruises shrinking away in comparison to the anguish that currently held me in a chokehold.
I took rapid, shallow breaths, determining that I was lying on some kind of hard floor. What happened? When I tried to remember why I was lying here my head pounded in protest, perfectly sinchronized with my quick heartbeat, sending waves of pain down my neck. I couldn't imagine how much worse that feeling would get if I opened my eyes. Parting my lips slightly I drew air deep into my lungs, attempting to verify whether there was any part of me that didn’t hurt.
The dull, and occasionally sharp, throbbing sensation seemed to originate from multiple places along my legs and back. Mainly, at least. It felt as though none of me was left completely intact. I swallowed with some difficulty, my mouth dry, and moved my fingers.
Wham!
Pain flashed up my arm. I gasped, clenching my teeth together.
Oh my god.
As I lay perfectly still, recovering from the sudden wall of pain I'd ran into, a warm tear tickled down my cheek, sliding slowly past my ear into my neck. I had never felt anything like this before. The pain was so real, so inescapable, that it scared me. My previous injuries had never been beyond superficial, varying from bruises to scratches and bumps, but this was something far, far more serious. And it was too much for me to handle.
What happened? Why does everything hurt? The memory rushed back into my mind, and I couldn't help but flinch, opening my eyes wide. The dim light stepping the agony up a notch, and I blinked. I moaned, fearful of seeing him anywhere, scanning my surroundings as well as I could while refraining from turning my head.
My neck… I couldn’t figure out whether or not I was able to move, dreading the anticipation of another wave of white-hot anguish. I wanted to try, but somehow lacked the willpower to move the muscles that would commit that action.
The window, his strong hands on my shoulders, pushing me backwards with tremendous force; it all came back to me now, and I stared up at the darkening, cloudy sky. My gaze traveled down the tall building, searching.
There it was: the broken fifth floor window, its soft blue curtains flapping wildly in the wind, for the first time free from their glass barrier. It was the apartment of Mischa’s nineteen-year-old boyfriend, Jordy. Where is she? Did he hurt her too?
Pain of mind-numbing proportions hit me, and I whimpered. Closing my eyes I focused on the pain, determining that it originated from someplace on the right side of my forehead, where a sticky, warm sensation lingered. Blood was trickling down the side of my face, tickling as it made its way down my neck.. Something dawned on me, and I returned my gaze to the clouds above. The light was dimming, it was nearly nightfall. What had happened to the past hours?
As the broken window caught my gaze I could barely believe I was alive. Who would have deemed it possible that one could live to tell the tale of plummeting down five stories and crashing into the pavement below? No wonder I had been out cold for what occurred to be many hours.
God, I thought, I wonder how many bones I haven't broken.
What time was it? How long had I been out here?
I moaned in pain as I tried to lift my arm again, then, having made it to a mere several centimeters above the pavement, I settled it back down. I wished for it to go away, for it to end, and shut my eyes, hoping to drift back into unconsciousness. Judging by the warm flow of blood from my head wound it wouldn’t take too long to faint due to excessive loss of blood, anyway.
Think positively, Cath, you're alive, someone will come help you. Jordi tried to kill me... I need to find a way to get Mischa out of harm's way. What the hell has he done to her if I'm worthy of tossing out a window?
“Cathy?”
I didn't reply, wondering whether the voice was real.
"Cath?" I was certain I'd heard it this time, and looked up at a scared and wide-eyed face that hung above mine. I blinked several times, trying to adjust the blurry image.
“M-Mischa…” I whimpered, failing to continue my sentence, unable to verbalize the many questions tumbling around in my mind.
“Oh my god, Cathy! You’re alive!” She covered her mouth with her hands, crying, then brushed a strand of hair off my face. "I thought I’d lost you." She sobbed, her tears dripping down, mixing with my own on my damp cheek. I was relieved to see that she was okay; I wouldn’t put it past Jordy to have a go at taking her life.
“A-Ambu… Ambulance…” My throat was raw, and I could barely even understand my own croaking. Mischa nodded, exasperated, then turned away. The sound of jingling keys and the dull thudding of plastic hitting plastic reached my brain sluggishly, as though the signals were slowed on the way. I assumed she was rummaging through her bag. I could easily imagine her pushing aside the many lip-gloss tubes and eye shadow containers that always filled her bag during a frantic search for her phone.
Mischa’s familiar face appeared in my line of sight again, and I winced as she touched my cheek. "Don’t move, sweetie… Stay down." I almost had to smile at her comment, wondering if I looked as though I could move.
I breathed rapidly, feeling my chest heave, and then tried to shift my right foot. The feeling wasn’t all too bad, though it sent pain waves through my lower back. At least that leg appeared to be somewhat undamaged.
As I listened to Mischa’s panicked chattering over the phone, telling the 911 dispatcher to send an ambulance as soon as possible, my distraught mind noted something. She didn’t mention that I had been pushed. She didn't tell them that it was attempted murder rather than an accident.
“Mischa… Tell them… Jordy…” I tried, surprised at how weak I sounded. She closed her phone, sliding it into the pocket of her jeans, then glanced down at me fleetingly and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Cathy, I… I can’t. I’ll tell them it was an accident, he doesn’t… he’s… he’s not a bad person.”
She was under his thumb. I felt my frustration rise, even more so because I was in no position to argue. Not only could I not physically speak properly or move, the words of protest failed to even form in my head, drifting around like incoherent sentence fragments.
I looked up at her, the normally perfect beach blond hair that encircled her face a knotted mess. It was only then that I noticed the beginning of a new bruise around her left eye, and the swelling of her lower lip.
“He… hit… he hit you?” I managed. With an increasingly pitiful feeling I watched her expression twist. She frowned deeply, more tears running down her cheeks, and gave a short nod. “I can’t tell the cops, Cathy, he’ll kill me.”
“Wh-Why?” I whispered, not sure of what I was asking her, nearing the end of my ability to communicate. Nausea rushed through my body, and I whined sickly.
Mischa lifted her eyes, then froze, her frightened gaze on something that was positioned on the other side of me. I didn’t have the willpower, nor energy, to once again turn my head, and whispered with the last of my powers. “What… Misha? What…?”
She didn’t reply.
Footsteps echoed through the narrow alley between the two tall buildings, and I felt the pavement vibrate slightly. Judging by the look on my friends’ face it was her boyfriend who came to admire his handiwork. I couldn't help but wonder whether he was proud of himself.
“She alive, Mish?” His low voice sounded calm and free of guilt, as though he was asking her to pass the salt across the dinner table. I shut my eyes, hoping she’d not tell him that I was conscious. If he knew I was awake he'd most likely get rid of the evidence of his crime. Dead people, after all, don't tell tales. I slowed my breathing, hoping it would go unnoticed. I would literally die of pain if he even so much as touched me.
I peeked through near-closed eyelids, and to my relief saw that Mischa began to shake her head, tears flowing freely. "You killed her, Jordy!" She sobbed. "She was one of my best friends! And you killed her!"
A shoe made contact with my side. Though it was not quite a kick I only just suppressed a moan.
Ignore the pain, don’t stir, don’t scream.
Please let him believe her.
Please, God.
“Be thankful you’re still alive, bitch, now get over here and listen closely to what I tell you.”
I felt her leave my side with a soft, caring touch to my forehead, and then heard two pairs of footsteps walk away.
“She fell through the window; it was an accident. The clumsy bitch tripped over the fucking coffee table and we couldn’t save her anymore. Got it?” Even from a distance the venom in his words and the hatred in his tone were omnipresent. I imagined his contorted expression, and his blue eyes that could switch between kind and cruel. It was almost as though he was able to change the color at will, making it lighter or darker as he pleased.
Their voices were audible, but drifted slowly to the background of my mind while memories played in the foreground.
They used to be so adorable as a couple, Mischa being one of those near-perfect girls, with extremely good looks that gained her popularity among the older boys. Jordy was the kind, gorgeous, funny and caring prince charming every girl dreamed of. If I could I would have grinned at my unintentional cliché, but my strength was draining quickly, not to mention the fact that Jordy was only meters away. Grinning wasn't what I was to spend my energy on. I needed it to survive.
Exactly a month ago today Mischa had arrived at my doorstep, hysterical, bruises covering her body and face. He’d turned on her, and neither of us could figure out what had brought about the 180 degree personality change. It only took Jordy an hour to track her down, and he came knocking on my family’s front door, acting worried and loving. My parents bought his every word, and let him in, leaving him with us in my room.
They still had no idea of the threats he hissed in my ear, the rough way in which he’d pulled Misha to her feet, nor the foul, angered words that had left his beautifully-shaped lips. After all, he said he’d kill her if I were to tell anyone. As he left my room he changed once again, becoming the man everyone thought he was, helping his battered girlfriend down the stairs, swearing he’d make the attacker pay for what he did.
A stinging smack echoed between the buildings, and Mischa wailed, interrupting my thoughts violently. I clenched my teeth together, hearing her pain.
She mumbled something I couldn’t understand, but despite being out of earshot I knew she was agreeing with him. No one in their right mind argues with a man after witnessing him throw someone out of a fifth story window. I had pointed out that he needed to stop abusing her, triggering his enraged attack. Sirens approached, and relief flooded my entire system. The horrid situation would come to an end soon.
I heard him raise his voice, and the sound of another sharp slap filled my ears. I closed my eyes even more tightly, not able to stand the fact that she was being abused while I lay here, incapable of helping her. Incapable of helping anyone, including myself.
“Go inside, now!” He hollered, and once again she let out a sound of fear and pain. What was he doing now? Grabbing her arm roughly enough to leave a mark?
The sirens came closer and closer, and I prayed they'd get here before he hurt her bad. They would be able to see the bruises, wouldn’t they? They'd notice, they'd help her, and they'd stop him, I was sure of it.
“She better be dead, bitch.” Were the last of a series of menacing words I heard before the door of the apartment block was slammed shut. I breathed deeply, glancing at the door from the corner of my eye, the image unclear.
I gasped when the emergency exit was tossed open, flinching, then felt my muscles stiffen up as pain surged through my entire body. Damn it Cathy! Don't move!
For a moment I couldn’t see anything, black dots filling my vision. I wasn't able to outrun them, as they followed when I set my gaze on another blurry object. When the feeling passed I noted the enraged shouting and ear-piercing thuds. I took a fleeting look. It was Jordy, his back towards me, his white knuckled fist pounding the iron door. Thank God he wasn't beating her like that, for I doubted her frail body would withstand an attack that was so filled with rage that it left an iron door dented.
He moved to the right, dropping his fists, and towered over Mischa. She was sitting on the concrete stairs, cowering, her cheeks glistening with tears. He was leaning against the wall now, one arm above his head, panting.
"Jordy…" Her tone was pleading, and frightened. Jordy straitened up, stepping towards her and blocking my view, then snapped. "What? I know the fucking cops are coming, I can hear them! Who the fuck called it in anyway?" The door began to swing shut, and I watched it go, powerless, until the soft click separated me from Mischa for the second time.
Please let them get here in time to save her, don’t let him hurt her, please.
Flashing blue lights filled the alley, and I allowed myself to smile, using up my last bit of strength. Jordy wouldn’t be around to see the paramedics determine that I wasn’t gone, and by then there would be nothing more he could do to me. When I wake up, I thought, slipping into a comforting darkness. I’ll tell then what you did, Jordy, I’ll tell them everything; I swear. You will never touch either one of us again.
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