Navigating Abuse…

Navigating Abuse: A Tale of Survival and Deception

It was May, and the temperature was 65 degrees outside. Soft rays peeked through Dylan’s office blinds. He removed his glasses, stood, and walked across his office. He scratched the back of his neck and tugged at his dark tie over his white dress shirt. He had buried his brother two months ago, and he was trying to save people from the demon of alcoholism. Dylan knew of one person who needed saving. Purple and pink flowers bloomed alongside dandelions while workers pushed mowers through the tall grass. He shoved his hands into his pockets, jingling change. He noticed Mount Rainier still had a blanket of snow stretching its length. The disembodied clouds etched a tapestry behind the thick stacks of evergreen trees. The memory of taking Isabella hiking there last summer danced at the corners of his lips. Dylan and Isabella had a friendship—nothing more.

Isabella was married, but he wasn’t.

She had no children, and neither did Dylan.

Dylan narrowed his eyes. Isabella’s Escape wafted through his office. He twisted around. “Isabella?”

“Um… yeah.” Steam lifted from Isabella’s espresso. “Is everything okay?” She took a sip. “I haven’t seen you around much.” She took another sip. “It’s not like you.”

“I didn’t want to see what I see now,” he said, wiping his face with his hand.

“Wow,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. ‘

“You know what I mean,” Dylan said, motioning. “Did you fall again?” He rested his hands on his hips.

Isabella looked down and away. “Damnit,” Isabella said, stomping her foot. “I thought the makeup covered it up.” She blew out her lips and swung her bangs behind her ear.

“Why don’t you just—”

“We talked about this,” Isabella said. “My mom told me marriage was for life.”

“You want to wait until he ends you?” Dylan said. “That’s your vision for life?”

She exhaled. “You know it isn’t.”

“He’s cheating,” Dylan said. “He’s using his hands wrong on you.” Dylan sat in his chair. “Something’s got to give.”

“What do you suggest?” Isabella said.

Dylan gave her an engaging glance.

Isabella shook her head. “No.”

“You’re thinking it,” he said, “not me.”

Isabella pulled up a chair. “It’s not like I haven’t thought about it.”

“Have you thought about calling the cops?”

“His father is the sheriff.” Isabella gave him a tight-lipped stare. “I’ve thought about everything.”

“You went to your mother’s last time, right?”

Isabella laughed. “About that, my mom said I got myself into this mess, and I needed to get myself out.”

“And your dad?” Dylan said. “Didn’t he want to kick your husband’s behind?”

“Behind?” Isabella arched a brow.

“I’m trying to cut swearing out of my dialogue.”

“I’ll send some curse words your way.” Isabella crossed her legs in her black skirt, exposing her pale, sleek knees.

Dylan peeked, hoping she didn’t notice.

“Smooth,” Isabella said, moving her hand up and down her leg.

“What?” Dylan blushed.

“My legs,” she said, “my legs are smooth.”

“That’s good to hear.” He swallowed hard.

“Why don’t you stay with me?” Dylan said. “I have a spare bedroom, and I’d keep my hands to myself.”

“Really?” Isabella said. “I don’t know; I’d hate to put you out.”

“Nonsense.” He batted away her worry. “We’ve worked together for five years.”

“He does have a large life insurance payout,” she said.

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Don’t go that route.”

“What’s gotten into you?” she said.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re not this eger to help me.”

“I try to stay out of people’s business, but I’m making this my business,” he said. “I’m sick of seeing you with bruises, covering a black eye with coverup, and wearing a sling for a sprained arm after he bounced you off a wall.”

“I’ll do it,” Isabella said. “I’ll come with you.”

Dylan and Isabella finished working and headed to her home. She’d load a few things in his ‘97 Ford truck.

Shadows replaced the day’s weak rays, and the moon reflected as a silver lining over the rippling lake in her backyard.

“Wait here,” she said. “If I see him hit you, I’m coming in,” Dylan said.

“Stay put.” Isabella exited the truck and followed the long red rock driveway, with small lanterns lighting the path to the steps. She entered, and after two minutes, a gunshot punctuated the calm.

Dylan grabbed his brass knuckles and headed to the door. He jogged to the steps. “Isabella?” he said, huffing.

“In here!” she said.

Dylan slipped through the door. “Where are you?”

“The kitchen,” she said, groaning.

Dylan rushed into the kitchen and looked around. “Is he?” His eyes bugged. “Is he dead?”

“He attacked me, and…” Isabella collected herself. “I had no choice.”

Isabella wiped her face.

Dylan realized her bruises weren’t bruises; she used makeup to pull at his heartstrings. Moments later, cherry and berry police lights cycled through, accompanied by sirens.

“What’s going on?” he said. “Life insurance, right?”

Isabella shot him a devious wink.

“Help!” she said. “Dylan killed my husband and now he’s trying to kill me!”

“She set me up,” Dylan said.

Three cops had their guns trained on Dylan, telling him to get on the ground and to put his hands behind his back. Dylan had a feeling, so he called her husband earlier and told him to wear a bulletproof vest.

After the cops heard Dylan’s recordings, they released him and took Isabella to jail.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Website: https://writeovercoffee.blog/