Fighting to Stay

Chapter 1

I STAND BEHIND THE half closed door.  I don’t want them to know I’m there.  I just want to listen.  Really listen.  I want to hear what he’s like with her.  This is it.  After four long years, he’s back, and I’m still as broken as the day he broke me.

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess, he starts.

That’s mommy, she points out, referring to me.

She moved to a small town one day, and there she met a handsome prince.

That’s you, she says excitedly.  I hear him chuckle.

The prince was tall with dark hair and a short beard.  He rode a big motorcycle and wore a leather jacket.  The princess loved the prince’s blue eyes; they twinkled when he was happy.  The princess fell in love with the handsome prince.  She loved him so much that she had a baby.  The most beautiful baby the world has ever seen-,

That’s me! She claps, interrupting him.

I hear him chuckle again, before he continues. The princess looked down at her baby and named her Lola.  She looked just like her daddy, with her dark hair and bright blue eyes.  The prince and the princess were so happy with their new baby.  They couldn’t wait to take her home so she could meet her older brother.  The prince had a son, whose name was Jasper.  Jasper looked just like his dad as well, except he had blonde hair.  He lived in another town, but he visited often.

I hold my breath as he nears the end of the bedtime story I know by heart - I’ve read it to her every night for the past four years; every night since the night we left him.  But that’s not the only reason I know it so well, I know it because I wrote it.  The words are our story.

One day, the princess got a sore heart.  She was very sad, so she took the beautiful baby and moved them away so she would be happy again.  The princess never stopped loving the prince, though.  For every time she sees her daughter’s twinkling blue eyes, she is reminded of him and it makes her smile.  The End.

I hear him saying goodnight to her, so I tiptoe away.  He’ll come and find me when he’s ready to talk.  I know he wants to; it’s why he’s here.  Well, that and to see his daughter.  He wants answers.  He’s mad, and he’s got every right to be.  I’m not mad anymore.  I’ve forgiven him, but just because you forgive, doesn’t mean you can forget.

I pour myself a cup of milk and wait for him.  I hear his heavy boots lightly thumping as he makes his way down the floorboards of my hall.  I sense him stop when he reaches the doorway of the kitchen, where I am.  So I turn to face him.  Gone are the tender eyes he gave to our daughter.  In their place are hard, cold, livid eyes.

Roam, I whisper.  I don’t know what else to say.  I don’t know what else to do.  He’s not scaring me, as such; I know he’d never hurt me.  But, I don’t like being on the receiving end of the look he’s giving me, and I don’t like knowing that it is my actions that caused that look to appear on his face.  The silence is deafeningly uncomfortable.  I want to run again, but I know I won’t, because I made a promise to myself.  For the sake of my daughter, I would never run again.  I would face my problems head on.  I would not run.

Chapter 2

SIX YEARS EARLIER.

When things get bad, I run.  I always have.  It didn’t matter whether I was running into a field to escape my home life when I was a kid, or whether I was crossing state lines to escape a relationship gone wrong.  When things get bad, I run. 

Stability...what’s that?  I’ve never had it – ever.  It’s funny how so many people assume that if you live in a house surrounded by a white picket fence, with a mother who stays home and a father who works long hours that you have a happy, stable life.  Well, I’m here to tell you, don’t ever assume.  I grew up in that exact situation, and my life was a far cry from solid.

My mother and father were high school sweethearts.  My mom was shy, easily led and naïve.  My father was highly strung, domineering and controlling.  She followed him to college, never once stopping to even contemplate following her own dreams.  She lived her life for him.  They married right after graduation and a year later, I came along.  Mom stayed at home with me, while my father worked as a highly successful businessman.  To the outside world he was charismatic and charming, my mom was supportive and proud of her husband and I was their perfectly mannered princess. 

To the outside world. 

Behind closed doors it was the screaming opposite.

Every time my father took to her with his fists or his acid tongue, I’d run as far away as could.  I would hide until I was sure he had left, and then I would sneak home and curl up in a ball in my bed until my mom came and laid beside me.  She would pull me into her arms and make me look into her tear filled eyes.  Never stay, Lacey.  Promise me.  Promise right now, that whenever things go bad in life, you will run.  Never, ever stay. 

I promise, Momma, I would swear.  Then, I’d rub her tummy and comfort her as best I could, until we both fell asleep. 

When nights like that happened, my father never returned home until early the next morning.  He’d shower and dress, and then leave for work without so much as sparing us a glance.  As I got older, it didn’t take much to figure that he’d been out with other women.

My dad...he was smart about the way he abused my mom.  He never left marks in places that would be visible to others – he couldn’t risk the questions that would surely arise from such bruises.  He also never laid a hand on me when I was little.  Don’t worry, he wanted to.  He just couldn’t risk it.  That’s what he’d tell me when he got in a rage.  You’re lucky you’re a risk, Lacey.  If I knew for sure you would keep your trap shut, I’d knock you into next week.  I’d wring your fucking neck if I could get away with it.  He did slap me once, hard, fair between the shoulder blades, when I was around fifteen.  It left a hand print shaped bruise, which resulted in a call from the school after a teacher had noticed it when I was changing after gym class.  I don’t know how he explained it, but it was never spoken of again, and he never touched me again.

A week after my eighteenth birthday, my mother made sure he’d never hurt either of us again when she shot him three times in the chest.  Then, she turned the gun on herself and took her own life.   Later, when I had to finalize details, I realized she’d planned the whole thing well in advance.  Everything was in order – life insurance policies, their last will and testament, the house, the cars.  No end was left untied.  Along with all the papers and bank account details that she had left in my room, was her suicide note.  She ended it with the same words that she would say to me as she curled me in her arms. 

Never stay, Lacey.  Promise me.  Promise right now, that whenever things go bad in life, you will run.  Never, ever stay. 

I promise, Mom, I had whispered to thin air.  And I meant it.  No man would ever control me.  No man would ever make me feel weak or inferior.  And no man would ever hit me more than once.  I was not my mother.

AFTER LOSING MY PARENTS, I couldn’t stomach the thought of living in that house again.  I tried to, but everywhere I turned, my mind was filled with images, and my nose was filled with the pungent metallic scent of dried blood.  I hired professional cleaners to come and bleach it ceiling to floor, but I could still smell it.  I sold the house and moved an hour away, to Shelley Beach. 

They say that in the aftermath of a tragedy, you shouldn’t make any life changing decisions.  Well, I like to go against the grain. I moved four times in the first year of losing my parents.  I felt like I couldn’t get comfortable.  No matter where I went, I just couldn’t settle.  I tried big towns, small towns and different states – nothing worked to settle my soul.  So, I continued to run.

Four years after my parents died, when my boyfriend hit me and sold some of my things for drug money, I ran again.  This time, I decided to go to someone familiar.

Jenn and have been best friends since we were eight.  She’s been the only friend I’ve ever really had.  She’s the only other person who knows exactly what my home life was like, so she understands why I do the things I do. Why I am the way I am.  After my parents died, she helped me grieve, and then she helped me heal.  It doesn’t matter where I am, I know she’s only a phone call or a text away.

A couple of years ago, Jenn had moved from our home town of Fortlawn, to Salt Rock.  I had never been to Salt Rock, but she seemed happy there and I was ready to move back to Alabama.  I packed my shit and left Florida without a second thought.

I felt bad, leaving without giving my boss notice, but that was life.  I’d done it before, and no doubt I’d do it again.  That thought made me a bit sad, so after popping a sucker in my mouth, I turned up my music to drown myself out and instead, focused on Shooter Jennings singing Fourth of July.

A DAY LATER, I ARRIVED in Salt Rock.  It was already dark and Jenn said she’d be at work from five, so I drove to the address she’d given me.  Finding a parking spot was proving difficult. It was a Friday night and the place was packed, but after driving around in a loop three times, I finally managed to find a space in close proximity to the entrance.  A large illuminated sign advertised Joe’s Bar in scrawling script of neon blue and red.  Reaching over into the back, I grabbed my makeup bag and quickly applied a light cover of foundation, some mascara and a swipe of lip gloss. Then, I locked up my car and made my way to the humungous black man that was manning the door.

I pull my ever present sucker out of my mouth.  I’m here to see Jenna Mason, I tell him.

Name? He barks back.

Lacey Monroe, I reply.  He looked down, searching his clipboard, before looking back at me and telling me to go on in.  I took a few steps forward and then turn back to him.  Uh, where do I find her?

His tone was softer as he gave me directions.  Turn left. Three doors down on your right.

Thank you.  I walk inside and I’m immediately assaulted with the loud music coming from somewhere in the large establishment.  It’s so loud, I have to resist the urge to cover my ears with my hands.  I turn left and count three doors.  Just as I am about to knock on the closed door, it swings open and Jenn walks out.

Lacey! she shrieks.  Her eyes pop in excitement, her mouth splitting her cheeks into a huge grin.

Jenn, I shout, and we launch into each other’s arms.  I’ve missed you so much.

Oh! I’ve missed you too, girl.  I can’t believe you’re finally here.  Stand back and let me get a good look at you.  She holds me at arm’s length and takes in my appearance.  I’m wearing skinny leg black jeans with a burgundy halter, which I’m sure is creased from sitting in the car for so long.  My dark brown hair is hanging loosely down my back.  I look her over as well.  She’s barely changed a bit since I saw her last.  She’s still as gorgeous as I remember.  Her light brown hair is cropped to her shoulders, and she’s wearing wide leg black pants with a light red blouse that has a Joe’s Bar logo above her left boob.

You look amazing!  You certainly filled out, Miss Curvalicious, she says through a laugh.  I smile huge and agree on a nod.  When I was younger, I was skin and bones.  All gangly legs and arms.  All elbows and knees.  Now, your girl had filled out.  Nicely, I thought.  Well, I definitely preferred how I looked now compared to my teen self.  Jenn leads me back out the hallway and through a large set of glass doors.  Looking around, I can see a bar running the full length of one wall and out in front of that is a large dance floor. It’s full of people bumping and grinding.  Sliding up on a stool, Jenn calls over a young guy and asks him for ‘her usual’. 

You want? she asks me.

I’ll take a beer. 

As soon as the bartender slides our drinks across the counter, I take a long pull.

How’re things? You were vague when you said you were coming here.  Did something bad happen?

I shake my head.  Nothing a bit of distance won’t fix. 

You sure?  I worry about you, Lacey.  She looks so concerned.

Hey, I’m fine.  You don’t need to worry about me.  I raise my drink and point it in her direction.  She gets the hint, and clinks hers with mine.  Cheers.

To best friends, she adds on with a smile.

To best friends, I repeat before taking a sip of my beer.

"How’re things