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Before: A History of Violence


Nick

I was fucking terrified.

I had no idea what to expect. I mean she'd been fine not even two hours before, at least I thought she'd been fine. I thought of how jumpy and nervous she was. Was that some sort of symptom that I'd just overlooked and ignored? Should I have noticed something and been driving her to the doctor's instead of just casually sitting across from her chatting and laughing and dropping her off a block from the apartment building? Had the walk back to the apartments been too much for her? Had it been too much for the baby?

Why hadn't she removed me from her emergency contact and replaced me with Chris, like she'd replaced me with Chris on every other level?

I literally ran from my car into the emergency room, my sneakers pounding the pavement as hard as my heart was pounding in my chest. I came to a skidding stop against the receptionist's desk. "ImHereForAshleyJackson?" I gasped the words out all in one long string of air.

She calmly clicked the computer screen and scrolled through patients.

She coudln't scroll any faster than that? Jesus.

She turned to the other receptionist beind her, "Grace... where'd they move that domestics case to?"

Domestics?

"Oh they admitted her..." the other receptionist rolled over, clicked onto a second computer and took her time scrolling through. "They called the emergency contact..."

"That's me," I chimed in, in case they'd forgotten me.

The one called Grace nodded, and snapped some gum in her teeth and kept scrolling through the computer. Finally she waved at the screen. The first one read whatever it said, got up, smiled sweetly, sadly at me, and said, "Let me show you to Dr. Edwards' office."

"Can I see Ashley first?"

"Dr. Edwards specifically requested to speak to you first."

"Um okay."

She led the way to the elevator, which we rode to the fifth floor, walked down a long corridor, through a set of important looking doors, down another long corridor and came to a stop outside of an office door. There was a little placard on it that read Dr. S. Edwards with a bunch of those letter credentials after it that I have no clue what they meant other than this guy was really smart.

The door opened and a guy that looked like Monk stood before us. He once-overed me, then smiled at the receptionist. "Thank you, Ashton."

She nodded and walked away.

"Come in, Nick," Dr. Edwards said, stepping back into the office and waving me forward.

I stepped inside. It was a somewhat tiny office, considering all the letters on his credential. His desk was covered with Pez dispensers and paperwork in large coloful stacks of multishaded papers. He lowered himself down into the desk chair, waving for me to sit across from him in a leather chair. I sat. And he took a deep breath.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked.

I had no idea what he was talking about. "...what, exactly?" I asked. "Ashley being sick or whatever? She was fine two hours ago. We were at the cafe and she was fine then."

Dr. Edwards steepled his fingers together. "Ashley tells us that she fell down in her apartment," he said.

"Is she okay?"

"Well, yes and no."

I waited for him to continue. He didn't. I said, "And by that you mean..."

"A neighbor called 911 and reported that there was some pretty intense fighting going on in the apartment that the EMTs found Ashley in. She was alone, claiming she'd been just yelling to get someone to come help her, but..." he paused.

"....but...?"

His eyes met mine. "Does her husband have any history of violence?"

I swear to Christ, my heart stopped.

"What?" I choked, my voice struggling to leave my throat.

"The patterns of her injuries are not consistent with her claim that she fell down. And she has several healing bruises and a fairly large welt on her lower back that are also inconsistent with her story... but consistent with a domestic violence case."

If I ever... ever... see that fucking bastard again I will fucking kill him.

Dr. Edwards leaned forward, "Ashley refuses to tell us anything other than the story that she fell down and caused the injuries that way and unfortunately unless she requests to press charges, there isn't a whole lot we can do to help." He took a deep breath. "But I will say this, she's damn lucky she didn't lose that baby tonight. There was a lot of fetal distress caused by this incident and we only just saved the baby." He shook his head. "I wanted to speak to you before you went to see her to tell you this so that you could possibly convince her that coming clean on the matter would be what is best, not only for her, but also for the baby."

I nodded.

He stood up. "Let me show you to her room."

I got up and followed him back through the maze of hospital corridors feeling numb and stunned and confused and sick.

I had seen symptoms after all. Lots of them.

And I'd just driven away.

Dr. Edwards showed me to the hospital room, peeked inside, and nodded. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. My extension is 332." He struck out his hand and I shook it. Just as he was about to let go he said, "She seems like a good girl. Take care of her."

My tongue felt like sand paper, "I'm trying to," I answered.

When he'd walked away, I stepped inside the room.

She was aslee, an oxygen mask over her mouth and nose. I was reminded of when we were filming the video for Show Me the Meaning of Being Lonely and Brian was taping his part and it scared me because it looked so real and I remembered when he was sick and in the hospital with his heart condition and I didn't go. But this was real.

I walked over to her bed, pulled over a plastic chair, and sat down. I looked at her hand. I thought about taking it, holding it, but I hesitated, wondering if she'd mind that. Finally, I decided that she wouldn't, and I gently picked it up, holding it in my own. Her skin was cold, and I cupped my hands around hers, trying to warm it up. Her fingers curled instinctively around my hand.

She groaned and her eyes fluttered open. "Nick?" she mumbled.

"Hey," I said quietly.

"What happened?" she asked, blinking around the room.

"You tell me," I replied.




Ashley

It was like looking at a guardian angel, like a knight on a white horse had ridden to my bedside. I clutched his hand, tears filled my eyes as I stared up at him. I was so fucking thankful to see him.

I'd truly feared for my life when I started screaming for help back at the apartment. I'd thought for sure I wouldn't get out of there, that Chris would kill me. When the EMTs burst through the door, he'd stormed out and left me laying there on the floor, coughing and choking, the impressions of his hands on my neck still burning on my skin.

I don't know why I lied for him.

"I... fell."

"That's a lie." Nick's face was sad, not angry. I looked down at my hand clutched in his. My throat ached. "Ashley," he said, his voice almost pleading.

I looked into his eyes. Those deep, beautiful blue eyes. "Please," I begged, "I don't want him to go to jail. They'll send him to jail and he doesn't... he couldn't... he just..." I couldn't wrap my mouth around words. "He'll go to jail like my father and my baby... my baby needs..." I couldn't finish my sentences, I choked and started crying.

Nick stood up and climbed onto the sliver of bed beside me, he pulled me into his chest and I pressed my face against him, sobbing. My tears wetting his shirt and making it cling to his skin. He rubbed my arm and squeezed me tight to him his chin resting on my head as he held me. "Why didn't you tell me, Ashley?" Nick asked, "Why didn't you ask me for help?"

"I was afraid," I gasped.

"Of me?"

"Of admitting I made a mistake," I said.

Nick pressed his cheek to my head and held me all the tighter. "How long has this been happening?"

"Since just after my birthday."

We were quiet for a long moment. Then:

"It was because I called you, wasn't it?"

I didn't answer.