Sudden Stop

Phoebe was never the partying kind of girl. She didn’t like the crowds that were looking to either fight or fuck, or the music that blasted so loud it rattled her brain as if sheer volume could make up for lack of talent. Not even the allure of free liquor could tempt her.

She was the type of drinker who sat at home by herself with a bottle of vodka for entertainment.

And nothing seemed like a better idea after another horrible day at her dead end job than getting pleasantly sloshed. It was a bad spout of luck that this had been her fourth bad day in a row, leaving her liquor cabinet as dry as an AA meeting.

So when a sometimes friend called asking for a ride to a party, both young women were surprised when Phoebe asked to tag along.

It was a quick ride from her friend’s house to the party. She could’ve walked it, but the heels she was wearing looked as if they were barely made for standing in, let alone walking.

The party was at a frat house that was just far enough from campus where no one really cared what happened.

Phoebe walked in alone, her sometimes friend having flounced off to meet up with the friends she actually wanted to see. It didn’t bother her as much as it used to.

The strangers around her made her think. They looked to be about her age only better off in life and not just financially.

Knowing that her thoughts were headed down a darker route, Phoebe headed for the first alcoholic beverages she saw.

“Jell-o shots, my favorite,” she said to no one before she downed two greens and an orange.

It took two more jell-o shots and a Pink Mafia before she could feel the alcohol kick in. Phoebe left her inhibitions at the table and hit the dance floor.

The beat of the music flowed through her even faster than the alcohol.

She moved her hips to the rhythm and raised her arms above her head. Her hair clip became dislodged in her due to the frantic movements causing her hair to spill out but she couldn’t care.

Someone passed by with a tray of something alcoholic and Phoebe grabbed three, downing them in a flash. The drinks burned her throat but she liked it.

The alcohol in her system combined with the carefree energy emitting from the people pressing around her made it easier to forget everything and concentrate on the wild music. She was so comfortable that when a pair of hands settled over her waist and pulled her into a hard body she didn’t care.

“What’s your name, sexy?” A husky voice asked in her ear.

“Phoebe,” she answered as her dance partner ground his growing erection into her rear.

“Beebe, you are one sexy bitch.”

The words that were meant to seduce would have annoyed or even angered her sober mind. But she was drunk. She found it kind of exciting that she could invoke that kind of reaction from someone.

Phoebe turned to look at the man. He was attractive; nice hair, brown eyes, some muscles, and a cute smile.

“So are you. What’s your name?” She asked.

“I’m Nick,” he said as his hands grabbed her butt cheeks. “Remember my name, you’ll be screaming it later.”

Even as messed up as she was, Phoebe knew that was a bad line. But she was determined to have fun like a normal person her age.

“Oh yeah?” She asked as she ran her hands down his chest, stopping at the top of his jeans. “Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you, Nick?” She repeated his name slowly, her lips carefully forming each letter. It was something she’d seen in a movie once and it worked flawlessly.

Nick seemed lost for a moment as he stared at her. He recovered quickly and flashed her a cocky smirk.

“How about we go some place a little quieter and you can find out for yourself?” He took one of her hands and placed it over the crotch of his jeans.

She rubbed his hardness and he moaned. She rolled her eyes.

Guys were easy.

They all wanted the same thing.

“I’m not that drunk yet,” she said laughing at the look of indignation on his face when she pulled away.

“How about I grab us a couple of drinks, then we can see how drunk you are?” Nick offered once he recovered from the blow to his pride. Phoebe nodded. More booze sounded good even if it came from this tool.

Nick pulled her by the hand away from the dance floor that now looked more like some kind of porn. “I’ve got a secret stash in my room,” he said with a wink as he pulled her up the stairs.

The room was four walls and a bed that started spinning the minute they finished passing the bottle of Jameson Whiskey. Phoebe had barely swallowed the last sip before Nick’s hands found her body. She fell back onto the bed and he was with her.

She kissed and touched him just as he did her.

Her excitement grew the more needful his lips became. On her mouth, her neck, and across her collarbone sloppy drunk kisses full of saliva and teeth that demanded compliance.

Phoebe was ready to play his game.

At least that’s what she told herself.

He pulled her shirt over her head and she unbuttoned his.

His hands found her breasts and his lips reattached themselves to her neck. But when Phoebe’s shirt was gone so was her confidence.

The hands on her were no longer the soft eager hands of some pretty little rich boy. In her mind they transformed into rough callused fingers that brought pain and shame.

His kisses stopped tasting of booze and nachos. Big Red gum filled her mouth and nose.

She whined and tried to get up but he was lying on top of her. His heaviness weighed upon her, smothering her.

She knew it wasn’t real; it wasn’t really happening again. She was trapped in a memory that was more like a nightmare.

Hands touched her most intimate area.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

“No!” Her fist caught him in the side of the head, knocking him clear off the bed. She jumped at her moment of freedom.

She wasn’t in her old bedroom and it wasn’t her father.

“What the fuck?!” Nick cried out. He held a hand to his temple and stared at her in confused anger.

Phoebe looked around the room one last time just to double check even though she knew it was an irrational fear. The monster was long gone When she was satisfied she started searching for her shirt. “I have to go,” she mumbled, her words muffled as she put her shirt back on.

“Crazy bitch,” he moaned but she didn’t care. She barely heard him over the sound of her heart hammering away in her chest.

Her feet carried her out of the room and down the stairs. She pushed her way through the throng of drunks until she reached the front door.

She stumbled to her car and collapsed in the driver’s seat. She knew she wasn’t in any shape to be driving, the alcohol and her current emotional state making her a danger behind the wheel. In the end her need for escape outweighed her better judgment and she sped off down the street as if the devil himself were after her.

Even speeding down the street at almost 100 mph she couldn’t escape her mind.

Tears filled her eyes blurring her vision and making the oncoming headlights pixilated and blend. She swerved back into her lane just before impact. The other car blazed passed her with the driver leaning on the horn. But Phoebe overcompensated her turn. She ended up slamming into the guard rail causing her body to lurch forward violently and her forehead to smack into the steering wheel.

She fumbled with the door handle as hot sick swirled in her stomach. She managed to open the door and fall to her hands and knees just in time to empty the contents of her stomach. After spitting the last taste of bile from her mouth she struggled to her feet. Clambering over the guard rail, she stumbled before falling against a chain link fence.

Light from her car and the dozen or so street lights illuminated her surroundings.

She was on a bridge.

Her fingers curled around the steel threading of the fence as she pressed her face against the hollow diamonds. She stared into the darkness below.

Would she feel herself hit the water or would she keep falling straight down to hell?

It didn’t matter.

Every touch was burned in her mind, every kiss a scar.

An all too familiar voice thick with lust whispered, “My little princess.”

She couldn’t tell if it was real or just in her head. But it had been real, once upon a time.

Phoebe screamed.

No words.

All of her rage and sadness let out in one explosive burst.

She was tired of living in her head.

She was tired of living.

Nearly fifteen years had passed and she was still broken.

Countless dollars spent on therapy where everyone repeated, “It’s not your fault,” like it was some kind of prayer or magic spell that would make everything all better.

But it would never be better.

But now she had a chance to end it all.

Forever.

Phoebe was startled out of her daze when a pair of headlights flashed over her. She watched cautiously as the car approached her. It stopped next to hers which was still rammed into the guard rail, the cheap fiber glass crumbled like paper.

Her fingers flexed and her muscles tensed, ready to climb over the fence in a heartbeat if someone tried to stop her.

The car door opened and Phoebe braced herself.

A man stepped out, tall and balding with a cigarette clutched between his lips. He stood next to his car eyeing her with indifference.

“You gonna jump?” He asked. His voice was emotionless, as if he were ordering from a fast food restaurant instead of inquiring about her impending suicide.

“Maybe,” Phoebe replied.

The man stared at Phoebe. “Can I watch?”

She was too shocked to respond. Then, after her muddled brain finally processed what he wanted, she laughed. She knew she should’ve been outraged by his request but how could she judge? She was going to kill herself.

“Sure,” she answered when her laughs subsided. Phoebe turned back to the view and stared at the water below. It was so beautiful and serene; the complete opposite of her life.

Her future was bleak, her present down right sucked, and her past would haunt her forever. Jumping into the picture perfect water below didn’t seem like such a bad alternative.

“Just do it!” The man impatiently shouted.

Phoebe looked back at the man in disgusted hatred. His eagerness to watch her die only solidified her decision.

The world was a horribly sick place and she wanted out.

She was poised to climb the fence, she even had her foot placed in a hollow slot for leverage but at the last minute she stopped.

She’d heard something; a whimper.

It was muffled and low but she could still hear the pain in it.

“What was that?” She asked the man, but he wasn’t listening to her. He stormed around his car to the trunk and opened it.

“Stupid fucking thing!” He shouted before punching something that yelped.

“What is that?” Phoebe shouted as she ran to the man’s side. In the trunk, huddled against a crate of car parts, was a dog. Bleeding and pathetic it gazed up at her through eyes that were bloodshot and almost swollen shut.

The man didn’t even look ashamed. “It’s just an animal.”

Phoebe had never considered herself a bleeding heart, but looking down at the broken animal in the trunk she felt something tug at her soul.

The dog looked up as her as if he were begging for help.

The man reached passed her and grabbed the dog by the back of his neck earning another yelp.

“Want me throw it before you jump or want me to wait till after?”

Phoebe reacted without thinking. A swift kick to the man’s family jewels and he dropped to his knees, letting go of the dog to cup himself. Phoebe hoped it hurt.

She picked up the dog, which was lighter than she thought it should be, and quickly went to her car. With the dog in the passenger seat watching her with hopeful eyes, she prayed for the car to start. The engine turned over and Phoebe sped off just as the man rose to his feet.

Once again Phoebe was driving blindly with no destination in mind.

All she knew was that the dog needed help.

She’d been beaten more than a couple times in her life, but never to the extent that this dog had been. And now, as she was trying to end her life, this dog fought to live.

She had been ready to jump while he was about to be thrown.

She had chosen death over life.

The thought made her nauseous.

Up ahead Phoebe saw a gas station with it’s lights on.

The overweight bored looking cashier let her look in the phone book for an emergency vet. The cashier gave her directions and Phoebe was out the door. It was a fifteen minute drive that took Phoebe six minutes.

The moment she walked in, they took the dog from her and brought him into the back. That’s when the questions started.

“What happened?”

“Is this your dog?”

“What happened?”

“Does he have any allergies?”

“What happened?!”

“I need to use the bathroom!” She cried out.

A pudgy middle aged man dressed in a cheap suit with mustard stains on the tie showed her to the bathroom by the office.

Phoebe looked at herself in the mirror and grimaced. Her hair was bunched up and sticking in all different directions. Her eyes were bloodshot and the make up around them had streaked with her tears. Her lip stick was smudged over her mouth from Nick’s earlier aggressive kissing. Her forehead was bleeding from when she’d crashed and it looked as if it may bruise. But the worst was her shirt. It was covered in blood. It wasn’t her blood. It was the dog’s from when she’d picked it up.

She washed her face in the sink, surprised that it made her feel a little better. She just wished she had another shirt to change into.

On the other side of the door stood the same mustard stained man who’d brought her to the restroom. He held a paper cup full of water out to her.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she accepted it and hurriedly drank it down. Water had never tasted so good before.

“Let’s talk in here,” the man said as he guided her into the office and closed the door.

“My name is Doug Riddik. What’s your name?”

“Phoebe.” She didn’t offer her last name. The man nodded in acceptance.

“Okay, Phoebe. Can you tell me what happened tonight?”

“I was on the bridge and this man had him in his car. He told me his was going to throw the dog off the bridge so I kicked him in the balls and brought the dog here. Is he going to be okay?”

Doug shook his head. “It’s too soon to tell. He’s malnourished and he’s been severely beaten and burned. If he does live it’s likely he’s going to lose his front left leg; it’s just too damaged.”

Phoebe didn’t know what to say. She hoped the dog would live.

“What were you doing on the bridge?” He asked her.

“Huh?” Phoebe asked, shaken out of her thoughts.

“What were you doing on the bridge?” Doug repeated.

Phoebe kept silent and avoided eye contact. She stared at a poster advocating adopting from a shelter instead of buying from a breeder.

“Okay,” Doug whispered softly. His voice was full of compassion and understanding. She looked at him and saw that he knew. “I’ll be right back,” he said before leaving her alone.

Everyone was much nicer to her after that. The nurses, the vets, even two police officers who came to take her report. No one asked her why she was on the bridge. They all knew.

Phoebe stayed at the vet’s waiting for any news about the dog. She had to know that the dog would survive.

It was nearly five hours later when a doctor came out to tell her that the dog would live. Phoebe asked to see him.

He was still unconscious from the drugs, but he looked a little better. She still couldn’t tell what color he was because of all the bandages, although the tag on his cage said he was a pit bull. She saw a bit of white fur before her eyes came across the stump of where his leg used to be.

She wished she’d run that man over with her car.

“He’s going to be fine,” a voice said.

Doug stood behind her. She hadn’t seen him since the night before in his office, but he was the only person who wasn’t simpering around Phoebe like she was a fragile figurine about to shatter so Phoebe decided she could forgive his absence. It crossed her mind that it was his fault for telling everyone but she ignored it. People would’ve found out anyways. Plus, she was tired of pushing everyone away.

“I’m glad.” She turned back to the dog. She poked her fingers through the cage and pet the small part of his head that wasn’t bandaged. She hoped he was having good dreams.

Dough sighed deeply before he spoke. “Now the question is what’s going to happen to him.”

Phoebe’s fingers froze mid stroke. “What do you mean?” She asked hesitantly before she casually resumed petting the dog. She was enjoying the soothing repetitive motion.

Doug came and stood next to her. He placed his finger on the dog’s information card. “He’s an adult, abused, pit bull who’s missing a leg. This poor guy’s hardships aren’t over yet.”

“Why does any of that matter?” Phoebe was defensive. She was empathetic to this animal. If people thought he was too damaged, too broken than what would they think about her? She couldn’t let anyone give up on the dog.

“There are people who think that all pits are vicious animals that should be put down. Now because of his age and his disability; most people won’t see the point. They’ll think he’s too damaged. He might have to be put down.” The way Doug spoke, she knew he wasn’t one of those people. He sounded sad but resigned.

It still made her angry.

“No!” Phoebe cried. She ripped her fingers out of the cage and shot to her feet. She was only inches away from Doug but she stood to her full height and stared him down. “You didn’t see him looking at me in the car. He’s not damaged! He’s just a dog that wants to be loved.”

He shook his head. “That’s only a last resort; if no one wants him.”

“I want him.”

Doug looked only a little surprised by Phoebe’s declaration. “Are you sure? You’ll be held responsible for the vet bills-“

Phoebe cut him off, “If it means he gets to live, I don’t care about the bills. As soon as he gets the all clear, he’s coming home with me.” Her tone was final. She had no idea where she was going to come up with the money or talk her landlord into letting her keep a dog, but she didn’t care. For the first time in a long time she felt a little bit of hope.

She kneeled on the ground and went back to petting the dog’s head. Doug squatted down next to her. For a minute Phoebe was afraid he’d fall over but he managed to steady himself before he joined her, his thick fingers rubbing the dog’s torn ear.

“What are you going to call him?” He asked.

Phoebe thought for a moment. She knew that if this dog hadn’t been on that bridge, she would’ve jumped. She would be dead right now and most likely so would he. He saved her life. They saved each other’s lives, just by being in the right place at the right time.

“He’s my Angel.”