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Brazen

“Sunday, quit banging shit around. You’re driving me nuts!”

My houseguest is uncharacteristically loud today. The racket in the other room continues.

“Get in here before I glue everything in place in that damn kitchen.”

She comes into the living room, holding a turkey sandwich with extra cheese and spicy mustard. I know the girl well enough to know her snack is covered in the dark yellow condiment. She sits, ignores me, and doesn’t move to eat.

“What’s up, Sunday?” I have a hunch that all the noise is a cry for my attention.

“We need to talk.” The plate of turkey on sourdough finds a home on the coffee table next to the couch as Sunday turns to face me, wearing a serious expression. “Things are escalating instead of getting better. You and I both know it. Matt has been showing up more often, and Stephanie is becoming increasingly unstable.” The hesitancy in her voice gives me pause.

“I’m working on it, and you’re safe now, here with me.”

She’s already shaking her head at my words. “I can’t live at your house forever.”

The fact that she is having a hard time holding eye contact with me makes me sit up as concern pinches between my brows.

“What do you want me to do? You know you’re always welcome here. I actually like having you around the house.” Always.

“Will I live here when you get married and have children? Will I be crazy Aunt Sunday, still living here ten years from now, afraid to go outside?”

I get down on my knees and position myself directly in front of her with my hands on her legs. “This won’t go on that long, Sunday.”

A tear falls from her eye and rushes down her cheek. “Are you sure? Really sure? Because I’m not.” She looks away.

I hate what this is doing to her. “What can I do to help?”

It’s apparent she has an alternative solution she’s throwing around in her head, and I don’t think I’m going to like it.

“Brazen, I want to leave.”

I’d swear someone just punched me in the gut. One really fucking hard upper cut to the stomach.

“Out of the question. It’s not safe at your house.” Not happening.

“I don’t want to go to my house. I want to find a new home.”

This is so much worse than a punch. I haven’t protected Sunday. I’ve failed so many times since she met this guy. Her parents abandoned her. The authorities have let her down. Matt continues to hurt and frighten her. So much so that her whole life is dictated by him.

And, now … Sunday wants to run.

I understand it. I wouldn’t want to live the way she has been either, but if she leaves, there will be no one to help keep her safe. As she sits on my couch with fading bruises, I’m plagued with the knowledge that I haven’t done that. Here, Matt continuously finds her.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe she should go. At least then he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on her.

“Where would you go?” I have to stay open to the idea even if I don’t want to.

“I found a lady who helps women in my situation leave. I’d have a new identity, and I could start over somewhere. I’ve been planning this for a long time.” Her voice is almost too quiet for me to hear, even with our close proximity.

“But where?” I need more specifics here.

“I don’t know where I’m going yet, but when I do, I won’t be able to tell you. I can’t tell anyone. It’ll be a whole new start.”

“Where you are going? So, you’ve already made up your mind about this, haven’t you?”

Sunday is stubborn. If her decision is made, I won’t be able to sway her.

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