Pierce My Heart, Not My Flesh

Fighting was normal for us. He’d get upset about something I said. I’d get upset over whatever he did that made me say it in the first place. It was inevitable, a never-ending circle. I may have been able to hold my own if arguing was all that came out of the relationship. After all, I was used to very confrontational conversations. However, the encounter of a blade to my flesh was a meeting I wish I wasn’t in attendance for. I sat in the front seat of my car, one hand covering a fresh wound to my stomach. I thought of how I wished I could be my blood: resilient and able to escape what was holding it in, yet leaving behind a trail so everyone knew where it came from and where it was headed. My mind darted endlessly to places I had only seen deep in the corners of my imagination. I forced myself to imagine my life as if I were someone else, someone who wasn’t stuck with a castigating charlatan like Liam Anderson. I would have given anything to be someone who was stronger than I had ever been in all my life.

***

He had driven hours to my college campus in downtown Philadelphia for us to sort out the newest issue between us: Why I wouldn’t sleep with him. For the last two years I was able to hold my own when it came to sexual intimacy with him. I think the problem rooted in the fact that I couldn’t trust him when he was around me in general, never mind when we were that close and vulnerable to each other. I was smarter than that, at least.

His vociferous Volkswagen whipped around the sharp corners of the parking lot and jerked into a spot far too close to the cars surrounding it. The door slammed and his short, scanty body rushed its way toward the front door of my building. I rose from my place at the window and made my way downstairs to let him in. Greeting me with a warm embrace and a reprehensible rap to my lips, I knew this wouldn’t be a long conversation.
“We should do this outside,” he said. That’s when I should have known, because outside we were surrounded by darkness and trees. I couldn’t see anyone clearly, which means they also couldn’t see me. He wanted to play a glorified game of hide and seek. Except, as usual, I wasn’t interested in playing his games any longer.

“I just don’t understand it,” is all I remember him repeating. Over and over again regardless of how often I explained how I felt on the subject. It was evident that my opinion didn’t matter to him.

“Explain it to me one more time,” he almost pleaded.

Frustrated, I responded, “Liam, it’s not that difficult to understand. I’m not ready to do it yet. You need to respect that. It’s my body. It’s my decision. And right now my answer is no.”

Apparently those words hit a nerve deep within the chasm of his soul because his reaction was quicker than immediate. All at once his face flushed. His eyes roared open wide. I prepared myself for the worst and most hurtful words I’d ever heard out of his mouth. However, nothing could have prepared me for what he said next.

“Well it’s my body too. I want it to happen. You knew getting into this relationship that these kinds of decisions weren’t your own. So just stop saying no. Just do it. Come on, baby."

I hated when he’d try to sweet talk his way into my pants. It hadn’t worked before. What made him think it’d work then?

“Liam, I said no. And that’s it."

“No, that’s not it.”

With those words I watched his hand raise in a manner I didn’t recognize. Before my eyes could grasp the tiny glint of metal reflecting the moonlight, the blade was already in the bottom left corner of my stomach. Every last ounce of air within my lungs escaped me. My brain began to panic and scramble for air. I lost my ability to make any noise, let alone scream for help. I felt the knife puncture, twist, and rip out just as quickly as it had gone in. My knees buckled. I sank to the ground. My eyes faded in and out of tunnel vision. I watched Liam’s figure grow smaller and smaller. Eventually, he either faded away so much he was too blurry to make out, or my eyes were drowning in my own tears.

I gathered myself enough emotionally to find the strength to stand up. I made my way to my silver Toyota and gently lowered myself onto the driver’s seat. I reached into the glove compartment. My fingertips rested on some napkins. I attempted to clean as much of the wound as possible with the Starbucks’ napkins I found and some water from a leftover bottle in my cup holder. Despite my efforts, blood still streamed out of the slit in my stomach. I managed to find my phone with one hand while holding a few wadded napkins to my stomach with the other. I then realized I needed both hands to message or dial anyone on my phone and chose to do so quickly so I could continue to stop the bleeding. My head began to rush. I thought of how much blood I could lose if I didn’t get help soon.

I tried to think of who I could call. I knew my parents were not an option. They’d go after Liam. Though it’s ridiculous now, at the time, I was afraid of losing him. I chose to call Alisha. I knew my best friend would understand. She knew the ins and outs of my relationship with Liam. My hands found the screen to click on her picture to make the call. My fingers left behind bloody prints.

The phone rang once, twice, almost three times. Alisha’s southern accent calmed me instantly.

“Hey, girl. It’s kinda late. You ok?”

“No. I’m not. It’s Liam.”

The shakiness in my voice must have cued her in because her tone became very serious and concerned.

“Oh, gawd. What’d he do this time?”

“We fought over the sex thing again. But this time I really made him mad. He…umm,” I paused, the harsh seconds replaying in my mind.

I was snapped back to reality by her voice, “He umm what?”

“He stabbed me,” I stated quickly, as though I could undo the events that occurred that night if I could get the words out of my mouth as fast as possible.

“Oh, shit. Did you call the police? Are you alone?”

“The police aren’t an option. They’ll take him away. No one can know. Yes, I’m alone. I’m in my car outside my dorm.”

“I’ll be right there. I’m at McDonald’s right down the street with my sister anyway. Give me two minutes.”

***

Alisha brought me to the hospital that night. The nurses stitched me up and gave me some ointment to apply to the wound three times daily until the stitches were completely absorbed. When they asked me for my health insurance, I lied and told them I didn’t have any, so my parents wouldn’t be billed. Since I was over eighteen and didn’t have insurance, I was able to pay out of pocket for the hospital visit which ended up being less than I expected. The ride back to campus was silent, neither of us knowing what to say to the other. Once we pulled into the north parking lot near my residential building. Alisha parked the car, unbuckled her seatbelt, and sat cross legged in her seat facing me.

“I can’t keep this in anymore,” she began.

I drew in a deep breath and nodded understandingly.

“I refuse to watch you continue to go through shit like this. You don’t deserve it. He’s an asshole, and you know it. You should get out while you can.”

“It’s not that simple, Leesh.”

“Why not? This is the perfect opportunity for it. You just say, look dude, you stabbed me. That’s a whole new level of uncool. I’m done. Goodbye.”

“I can’t just…” I started but was cut off by her firm rebuttal, “Oh, yes you can. You’ll just come stay by me for a while. He won’t find you. Please, just think about it.”

I knew she was serious when I noticed the tears dancing around near her eyelids.

“I’ll think about it. I promise.” I meant that promise. I knew it’d be hard. I didn’t want to lose the man I had been trying to convince myself to love for the past two years.

After a few moments of silence, me feeling her stare but not being able to return the glance, she started the car and said, “Well, you better go get some sleep. We’ve got practice tomorrow.”

I made my way to the door of my building, smiled at the security guard manning the front desk so he wouldn’t ask any questions, and climbed the stairs to my dorm room. Luckily, my roommate was gone for the weekend, so I had some time to recover and get my story straight before she could ask a million questions. I sank to my bed, closed my eyes, and let everything sink in. In that moment I was overwhelmed with all that happened that night.

I rose to my feet and wandered over to my dresser to pick out pajamas. Along the way I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: I looked like a hot mess. That’s when I realized the truth. My mirror lied to me. My reflection didn’t show who I had been, who I was then, or who I wanted to be. All I could see were tear-stained cheeks and some left over blood blotches on my sweater… my favorite sweater, despite my efforts to scrub it out in the smelly hospital bathroom. At that very moment the thing that angered me most was the blood stain on my favorite sweater. Honestly, I think that was all the pain I could handle at that point. I knew that if I thought deeply about everything that had just occurred I would go insane. So, instead, I chose to channel my anger to the small details my mind could wrap itself around. Maybe in a few days I could revisit the situation. It could be possible that I would then be able to begin chipping away at the bigger issues. That’s for another day.

*Names and exact locations have been changed for the safety of all parties involved.