Fictional Nonfiction Pt. II

Fictional Nonfiction Pt. I
"Go get my cigarettes, bitch."
He leaned back on the couch and lit the last out of the pack of Newport shorts.
"I'm not leaving you here with my kids alone," I said with defiance in my tone and hate-filled eyes.
"Oh, you'll go get them alright." He pulled a long drag from the tobacco filter as I sat on the floor, trying to remain as least threatening as possible while trying to gather the courage to stand up to him again. It never worked out in my favor, but I had to try. He couldn't be trusted alone with three year old Bobby and ten month old Tyriq. I couldn't possibly leave them with him after what he did to me.

I could still feel the impressions of his hands on my neck. There would be bruises. I shamefully dropped my head. This would be bad if I finally landed a job interview. I just lost my job with La Perla two weeks ago, the funnest and best paying job any 21 year old ever had in my opinion. There was a stupid technicality with my application at the temp agency that brought up some bullshit from my past. It seemed like I was always trying to move on from some sort of tragedy. Just fucking pitiful.

"Katrina, come to my office for a sec," my manager Mike said.
"Sure, Mike! I'm on my way."
I picked up a notepad and pen, looked at Emily, the temp who was training me, and headed to the North American corporate finance manager's office ready to see what his tasks for me would be. I had only been in training five days, so I was pretty sure it would be something mundane and boring because what kind of responsibilities could I possibly be given after such a short time?
"Have a seat, please."
"Thanks." I readied my pen and pad, and looked at him ready for his daily commands.
"Relax," he laughed, and I sat up even straighter in shock. I felt like my hand was caught in the cookie jar. 
"H-huh?" I stammered. 
"It's ok, Katrina. Emily told me you're doing amazingly well, and that makes me happy. I never expected to get a temp as great as you honestly--with these college kids with their rich parents and trust funds. Who cares about actually working these days?"
"Oh," was all I could manage to say. So eloquent I was.
"I mean, Emily is great, but at least she's honest with me. She's just ready to run off and get married to her boyfriend or fiancé or whatever he is, and well, she wants to go back to Columbia to get her master's. She's not worried about being a 'customer service manager' for a fashion company, and I respect that, but where does that leave me?" 
"Umm..." I was really contributing quite intelligibly to this conversation.
"It leaves me thankful for you," he said, eyeing me. "She told me your first week was quite productive."
"Oh. Yeah," I managed to laugh, finally starting to relax a bit. "She's been pretty much taking the back seat since day two of my being here," I admitted. Not wanting to rat on her too much I added, "But she's been very helpful with all of my questions. I just don't mind taking the reins from her since I'm a lot more comfortable with the systems and communications now."
Mike laughed, too. "Yeah, she told me. And that's what brings us to this conversation we're having now. I want to offer you a permanent position with the company, if you'd like it."

I thought my jaw was going to fall all the way through to the first floor. The temp agency originally offered me this job as a place holder until their district manager returned to interview me to work for the agency itself--they were so impressed with my scores on the placement tests, but La Perla had been perfect since I stepped through the door on the first day. Downtown between Madison Avenue and Park Avenue just six blocks from the Empire State Building, I was living Sex and the City every day of my life. Every terror I had ever experienced in my life up until that moment was worth it to be as proud as I was of myself at the time. I mean, who packs up their kids, moves to New York City basically on a whim, gets thrown into the homeless shelter system, then six months later moves into an apartment of their own, and lands a gorgeous, glamorous job like this only nine days after signing their lease? I was on a high like no other I ever experienced before. Starbucks-catered breakfasts, glass walls, golden bathrooms, European supermodels in the lobby on any given workday, I loved going there each and every day.

"I'd love to," I almost shouted. "What do I need to do?"
Mike was chuckling, "Well, there is a process to it, actually. As you know, home office is based in Italy, so we're going to have to send you there for two weeks for official training." He let the words sink in.
I just knew I was going to fall through all eight floors now. "I'm going to Italy?" I whispered.
"Do you have a passport?" he asked.
"Well, actually, no," I started.
"Oh it doesn't matter," he followed with a dismissive wave of his hand before I could finish. "We'll take care of it all."
"Oh."
"I really just wanted to see how you are feeling about the position before I extend a formal offer to you. I'm going to have to let the agency know I want to hire you permanently, and there's a whole process with that. But honestly, that's all a time thing. Just keep doing what you're doing and everything will play out the way we all want it to."
I felt like my head was swimming. Is this really happening? I thought.
"I'll be so happy when this process is over to be honest," he continued. "I've had so many temps and replacements for temps since the last permanent rep left me on my ass struggling to cover for her absence, then the rep before Emily came in, trained her and left. I'm ready to get back to our usual brand of calamitous normalcy."
"I understand," I said.
Mike laughed again. "Katrina, I like you. I can't wait til you're permanently on the team." He stood up and reached out his hand.
"Thanks, Mike. I appreciate that." I smiled, stood, and grabbed his hand to return his shake. 

A slap across my face brought me back to reality.
"Did you hear me, bitch?"
My hands were still gingerly touching my throat. I looked up in shock, and the knife in his hand made me jump back.
"Oh, so now you hear me? Huh, bitch?"
Tears were stinging my eyes. "What, Curtis? What do you want?"
"I SAID GO GET MY CIGARETTES, BITCH! WHY DO YOU KEEP PLAYING THESE GAMES WITH ME?" he bellowed.
He examined the blade closely. "You know what? I know what will get your attention, you fucking whore. Go get my cigarettes, or I'll cut your son's throat out."
"No! Don't!" I screamed trying to get up off the floor but halfway up, I slipped in the puddle of my urine and fell face first, my belly laying on top of it. Weak, I just laid there sobbing.
He walked into the living room with Tyriq in his right arm, the kitchen knife in his left.
"This little shit is gonna sit right here with me with this knife to his throat until you get back with my cigarettes, you cocky slut."

My face still to the floor, I acquiesced. "Ok, Curtis. I'll go get them. I have to change my clothes first, though. Ok? Just don't hurt him, please. I'm begging you. Please don't hurt my babies."
"I guess you'll have to just go get the cigarettes and see if your shitty ass kids are still in one piece when you get back, won't you?"
He laughed, "And I'm keeping your cell. If you ask someone for help, I'll slice them both. I promise you that much. If you contact the cops, they'll both die. You're not smarter than me, bitch."

My face still red and puffy, I cried the entire way down the block to the corner store to grab those goddamned cigarettes. It felt like everyone who passed me on the street knew something was wrong, but was either too afraid to ask or just didn't give a shit, and I was too afraid to say anything or ask for help anyway. I kept silently praying that no harm would come to my boys so long as I did what he told me to. I tried not to attract any extra attention to myself while I completed the task. I just wanted to be inside my four walls, protected again, but he was still there. I just wanted him to leave. Why won't he just LEAVE?

I purchased the cigarettes and started the trek back to my apartment. The Bronx seemed so small, like a tiny box closing in on top of me, but it was huge, too. It was giant because I was so lost in it. Everything was going to hell so quickly. My life was out of control so fast.

I beat myself up for falling into a trap of loneliness. He was supposed to be temporary. He was just someone to come over and hang out for a little while so I didn't have to be alone when I moved. I deserved that much, right? I had been sleeping alone for six months in a homeless shelter. The desire for companionship was natural, right? He wasn't supposed to stay. He had a job, but he wouldn't go. He made up these stupid excuses. He had kids of his own--had even been living with their mother up until he came to my house--I found out when she randomly called my house one day, but he said he wanted to be with me forever, even told her over the phone he didn't want her anymore. I didn't think he was serious. I laughed when I heard him say it the first time and said he couldn't possibly be serious. That's just not how life works. I didn't even believe he'd stick around even for a little bit when we first started hanging out. He'd stood me up before. He was consistently inconsistent. There was no way he would think that we'd just move in with each other when I was still legally married. I wasn't even sure I didn't want my husband back. I mean, I was having fun in New York. That's what the city is for, but it wasn't fun anymore.