Broken, Chapter 3 I wake up on the stone tile with a killer headache. Actually, it's more of a body-ache than a headache. At least the floor is cold, and is somewhat of an ice pack for my bruises. Groaning, I slowly sit up. I think dawn is just breaking so that means I must have been knocked out on the floor all night. The house is quiet and I hope that means that Howard isn't here. With any luck he is passed out or drunk in a bar somewhere. If he is asleep in our house and I wake him up then I will be in big trouble. I put my shoes on and slip out of the house. I am still in my clothes, and when I reach into my pocket I realize my phone is in my pocket. As I walk down the street, I call my friend Monica. She picks up on the first ring. "Hi. He did it again," I say. "Oh, honey," she says and I am instantly comforted by the sound of her voice. She's been my best friend ever since we were little kids. "What are you going to do?" she asks me. I reply, "I don't really know. I was hoping you could help me." She's silent, and all of the sudden I realize that it is quite early in the morning and I probably woke her up. "Monica, are you there?" I ask. "Oh, yes. Sorry, I was looking something up," she says. "Why don't you come over to my place?" "Okay." I close my phone and keep walking. When I reach the end of my street, I turn and head down Chesterfield until I reach the main road. There are hardly any cars out so I sit down and wait for a taxi. Finally, one shows up and I wave to it. "You're out early, little miss," the driver says. I nod and say, "I'm headed to Downton Avenue. Can you take me?" "Sure." I jump in and am hit with smell of cigarette smoke. It is strong and overpowering but I like it. It takes my mind off of things. As I breathe in the smoke, I stare out the window and watch the world wake up. We pass a few joggers and some old people walking along but it's mostly quiet. Some of the restaurants are just opening and their neon signs light up. The taxi driver then turns onto Downton Avenue and drops me off on the curb. "Thank you," I say. "My pleasure. It'll be 12 dollars." My heart jumps for a second because I think I have forgotten my wallet, but I then remember that I put it in my pocket before I left. Monica's house is across the street and as I make my way towards it I realize how cold it is. Winter is almost here and October is nearly over. In about a month it will be Howard's and my anniversary. I doubt he'll remember. I knock on Monica's door. "Come on in," she says, holding the door wide open. When I walk inside, her labrador, Molly, attacks me with kisses. She barks and whines until I pet her, and her tail nearly knocks me over. "Looks like someone missed you," Monica says, smiling. I walk with her to the kitchen and smell the sweet scent of her cooking. Monica owns a bakery downtown and her pastries are well-known. "So," she says, "how are you?" I laugh feebly. "Not so good." She nods, and opens her mouth as if she wants to say something. "I...I, uh, want you to tell me what happened." I jerk my head up to look at her. She's my best friend, but I can't let her know. He would kill her, I'm sure. I shake my head, causing her to sigh. "You have to tell me! I don't like seeing you like this!" Monica says. "I just want to help you." This makes me freeze. She sounds just like Eric. "It was you!" I say. Her eyes go wide, and I know I am right. "You made him hit me!" I scream. "You want him to go to jail!" I stand up abruptly and my chair crashes to the floor. "You are not my friend," I say. I start to walk to the door. She starts to follow me but stops. She's crying. "No! I didn't want him to hurt you! I just want you to get help..." she sobs. "Your relationship isn't healthy....he shouldn't hit you! If you would just tell the police, they could help you!" I turn around and snarl, "How do you know? You don't. You just think he did something, but he didn't, ok! He didn't do anything!" I stand there glaring at her, tears running down Monica's face. "You don't care. You don't care whether or not he did it. You just want him gone," I say. She stays silent, and I turn on my heel and storm out the door. d

Broken, Chapter 2 I scream as his fist hits my jaw, sending a jolt of pain through my body. He hits me, again and again. Harold punches me in the gut which knocks the wind out of me. Then he pushes me hard in the chest, tripping me, and I fall to the floor. My head smacks the tile of our kitchen and black dots cloud my vision. "All...your...FAULT!" he yells, between punches. I am sore and bruised, all of which make the pain much more excruciating. I scream and cry and sob, but he doesn't care. We are in one of the bad times. This time, it's worse than usual. I wish it was a good time. I like those because they are full of smiles, laughs, and gentle kisses. He's stopped punching me, but I stayed curled up in the fetal position. Now he slams stuff around and stomps about the kitchen. I close my eyes and wish that I hadn't come back. I wish I could never come back. But, I do. Because I love him. Because I love those good times. The good times are the things worth waiting for, and, until then, I just have to walk on egg shells and not get into trouble. Harold confronted me when I got home. He's still confronting me. "You're so STUPID!" He shouts, and I cringe beneath him. "You have to be CAREFUL!" I start to shake, and I hate myself for it. I also start to sob again, which draws even more attention. "Why can't you be quiet! You told the POLICE!" He starts kicking me again and each time his foot makes contact with my side, my vision flashes black. "It wasn't me!" I sob. "I swear! It wasn't me!" "Then who was it? Huh? Who was it!" He screams and starts punching me over and over and over. I'm a blubbery mess and my head kills. I just want to sleep. I just want to sleep and get away from this bad time. "You are WORTHLESS!" With this he picks me up with his strong, caring arms that protect me and throws me down onto the tile. As soon as my head makes contact with the floor, I black out.

Broken, Chapter 1 "We need you to tell us exactly what happened," the man says. I sigh. "It was nothing," I say, "Really, it was nothing." The man looks me in the eye and says, "Ma'am, this is very important. We need your cooperation here. I promise that we will protect you and your information." I take a deep breath and nod. "Okay," he says, "Now start from when you arrived at the party." "It was about 80 and it wasn't quite dark yet. We pulled up to my friend's house and he got my door for me. See, he's really sweet," I say. The man says nothing. I continue, "When we got inside, everyone was already there. Most of them were drunk. My friend has a big collection of wine and they had told everyone to help themselves. I told my husband before we left not to get carried away with the drinks and he said that he wouldn't. Then we all sat around their table and talked. Harold and I had a few drinks and then we went home." The man frowns at me and looks down at the papers in front of him. I wait patiently, but after a few moments I start to squirm uncomfortably. He glances up at me and then back down to the papers. The silence stretches on for what seems like hours. Then he says, "The report says that you had nothing to drink." I try to swallow but it has suddenly become incredibly hard. I settle for a cough. "And it says that your husband had more than 'a few drinks'," he says. "Why would you lie to us?" I shrug, but there is a lump in my throat. "He's a good man, I swear," I choke out, the sandpaper in my throat like fire. The man sitting across from me says, "I'm sure he is. But sometimes good people do bad things. Did he do a bad thing?" I shake my head, unable to speak. It irritates me, but also makes me want to cry that he is talking to me like I am a little kid instead of a grown woman. "Annabelle," the man says, "we need the truth." "Okay," I say. "Okay. He didn't have a few, he had a lot. But he doesn't normally do that! Please, believe me!" The tears begin to run down my cheeks and I am surprised that I am not a sobbing mess yet. "I believe you," the man says quietly, but the fact that he refuses to look me in the eyes leads me to believe otherwise. "What happened after that?" "He got a little...loud. We went home," I say. "Then he called some of his friends and they came over. They were kind of...drunk." He asks, "Was your husband drunk, too?" I don't respond. Somewhere inside me I know I should tell this man about it, but the other part of me just wants things to go back to normal. They always do. Sometimes he gets bad, but he always comes back to me, all sweet and kind. I just have to let him come back to me. I keep my mouth shut. The man sighs. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," he says, "but I really wish you would. I know that something is wrong, but you have to let me help you. Unless you tell me, I am not allowed to help." He looks at me for a long time, but my mind is made up. I will not talk. He sighs again. "Please stay here," he says. "I would like you to take some papers with you." He gets up and leaves me sitting in the chair. I begin to cry and wonder if I did the right thing. Outside, I hear him talking to someone. "...I know that he's just using her. I wish we could help..." "...has to admit it herself or we'd do no good...can't keep her here against her will, it's illegal..." "...have to let her go...just hope that she will come back..." They can't be talking about me. They don't know anything. Everything will be okay, in a couple of days Harold will be back to normal and I will think it silly that anyone ever thought that he... Yes, I know I did the right thing. I do wonder who called these people, though.... "Alright, I'm back." The man has entered the room again. I wish I knew his name. "Here are the papers," he says with a smile, handing them to me. "Thank you," I say. "I didn't catch your name before." "Eric," he says, and looks me in the eye. "If you ever need someone to talk to call the number at the bottom of the page." "Thanks," I say quickly. We both just stand there. "May I go now?" "Yes," Eric says. I feel his eyes on me as I walk out. --------------