Chapter 30 – I'm Movin' On

Little Rock, Arkansas – October 16, 2014

“You're on the breakfast shift tomorrow, Weston,” George told Melissa as she carried a stack of dishes into the back as they closed up.

“George, you're trying to kill me,” Melissa groaned, knowing she requested the double shift tomorrow. In her mind, she wouldn't be there. However, she said nothing to her friends. It was rude in a way not to tell them, but at the same time, it made it easier. That way Derek couldn't glean any information from them. The less they knew, the more protected they were.

Melissa restocked the napkins in all of the holders, refilled the salt and pepper shakers, the sugar packets and everything else after wiping down tables as Gina stacked chairs and mopped the floor.

“So...tomorrow's Chris's birthday,” Gina said amid the silence, popping her gum.

“Yeah,” Melissa replied, sucking in a breath to try and not get emotional. She couldn't get her hopes up. Nothing was ever certain, and knowing Derek the way she did there was a good chance even having the thought of leaving was dashed.

“How old's he gonna be?” she asked, wringing the mop out.

“Forty-three,” she told her after a moment's pause, glad when it was silent again.

Her mind was definitely on Chris when she got in the truck to go home. The radio was playing a Taylor Swift song and her mind wandered for a moment, a smile on her face.

“Midnight, you come and pick me up no head lights...You got that James Dean daydream look in your eyes...”

“Technically, it's too cold for this, Weston,” Chris told her, zipping up his leather jacket and handing Melissa her helmet. How she talked him into a night ride on the motorcycle he'd never know. They'd be stuck on the tour bus for months and he'd relented, knowing she loved it. After a day of rehearsals, he should be taking pain pills and going to bed. “How do you talk me into these sort of things? Do I have 'sucker' written across my forehead?”

“Have I mentioned you look hot?” Melissa smirked, looking him up and down. Leather jacket, leather chaps, boots...Chris looked like a bad ass. The faux hawk and beard horns made it even more so, blushing when she remembered her look of surprise when he walked in the door that evening. “And I love you...like a lot.”

“I'm sold,” Chris said, leaning in and kissing her softly “Come on. Your old man turns into a pumpkin around ten-thirty.”

“I thought it was midnight?” she asked, climbing onto the motorcycle behind him as he started it up.

“That was ten years ago. You missed that window of opportunity.”

“In other words, it went bye bye bye.”

Chris groaned and turned his head. “Only you, Mel. Let's ride.”

The stench that met Melissa's nose when she got home made her gag. Derek's drinking had gotten worse and in turn, cleaning up after him had gotten to be more of a chore. Food was now spilled as well as alcohol. He was drunk, asleep in the chair, snoring with the television on some re-run. She put out the lit cigarette that was sitting in the ashtray, giving a half-second though to letting the ashes flick onto the carpet.

She no longer drug Derek to bed, letting him wake up in his chair in the same place he passed out at. It pissed him off, but she no longer cared. Melissa cleaned because it was disgusting. Not bothering to change out of her work clothes, she picked up the food and empty beer bottles before going to take a shower.

Stripping off her clothes, she looked at the bruises. The last ones had hurt the most, her ribs looking like a match between her and Floyd Mayweather. Derek had caught her by surprise, being sober enough for a fight. Melissa had fought back, but with the amount of alcohol in him, it had only angered him more. He'd run out of cigarettes and since she'd been at work, he'd been without. So naturally, that called for a beating and a barrage of name-calling. That and her check being short earlier that week had made it a bad week for her.

However, the thought of Chris's birthday kept her going. For her and Eric's plan not to fall through.

Melissa had spent the time working and praying. She was terrified of Derek finding out she was even thinking of leaving. That if she even thought it, that somehow he would find out in his alcoholic haze and do so many times what he threatened to do.

To kill her. Because no one would miss her.

Wrapping the towel around herself, Melissa looked at herself in the mirror and heard one of Derek's louder snores. A glance at the clock made her smile...1:17 AM.

“Happy birthday, Kirkpatrick,” she said softly.

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The knock that came to the door startled Eric out of his sleep. He jumped up in bed, throwing the covers off his legs. Years of cop instincts made him reach over to the bedside table for his service pistol without even thinking about it, and he took a glance at the clock.

Who could be at his door at 2:20 in the morning?

He blinked the sleep daze out of his eyes and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Once his feet were firmly planted on the floor, he grasped the gun at his side. He walked through the hallway and to his living room just as he had learned in the Academy – swift and careful movements with the weapon at his side out of harm's way, but at the ready in case what stood behind the door was danger.

When he looked out the peephole and saw her standing there, cowering, he loosened his grasp on the gun – making sure his finger was still on the trigger in case she wasn't alone.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with a whisper as he opened the door.

She stood shrunk back against his brick porch entrance, the position she took the minute the outside light had turned on.

“I...” Melissa said, unable to get the words out.

He watched her lips tremble, as she licked them nervously every few moments. Her breathing was ragged, her shoulders slumped; she couldn't speak, and she was trying to hold the tears back, but it really was no use.

“Come on,” he whispered, motioning for her to slip inside the house. He grabbed her arm as she did, and stepped a foot outside his door. He looked to his left and to his right cautiously, paying extra attention to Mel's house next door. When he didn't see any stirring that might alert him to Derek's presence, he relaxed his finger and went back inside, closing the door.

“What happened?” he asked her.

He watched her pace around the room, her body not able to cope with everything going through her mind at the moment. He saw the bruises that showed through her bed clothes, both new and old. She was littered with them. She tried the best she could to hide them under clothes, so some he had never seen. Some of them were old, some new, in various stages of healing. He also noticed the fresh ones, that looked like she had just gotten them that night.

She chewed at her broken lips as she let tears slip from her eyes.

“What do you want to do, Melissa?” he finally asked her.

“What can I do?” she asked.

“Anything you want,” he said, finally setting his gun down on a table. “You can stay here tonight. I can get you to a hotel if you'd rather do that. If you want, we can go to the station and I can file a report, go to the hospital and get pictures of the evidence...”

She shook her head, and he stopped.

“Look, it's whatever you want, Mel,” he said. “This is your call. All you gotta do is say the word.”

She stopped pacing and paused a moment, chewing over the words he'd just said. This is your call. All you gotta do is say the word.

For the past several months, all her choices had been taken away. She was told what to do and when to do it; she wasn't given an option to say when, or have any control over her life.

“Take me home,” she said.

Eric paused. “Home to...?”

“To Chris,” she said. “To my friends. Eric, please, take me home.”