TW: Abuse<\/em><\/p>\n Everybody has a sad tale to tell, and mine is nothing special. Sure, I have a family with a couple convicted murderers, countless addicts and alcoholics, and a handful of deeply disturbed people, but who doesn\u2019t? I\u2019ve had it easy compared to many. Yes, I was a former runaway at 16, emotionally abused and sexually assaulted for years by my step-father; but never had I ever been in a physical altercation in my 36 long years. Until last month, that is. Perhaps I secretly wanted to. Of course, I would never fight without absolute provocation. Only in self defense. Only as a last resort when words failed. In the wee hours of Friday morning, I had exactly six hours to sleep before getting up and dealing with the monumental task of awakening Tiffeny, my BFF and navigator set to take me to the city the next day. My apartment isn\u2019t in the best neighborhood. Perhaps that\u2019s an understatement; most of my friends are too scared to visit on account of the reputation and curb appeal (or lack thereof). Tiffeny does so reluctantly and only if I escort her to and from her vehicle. Despite my weekly efforts to clean it up, trash is littered throughout the yard. On the weekends, the children run through the neighborhood, peeking into windows, ding-dong-ditching, and doing general kid stuff. It\u2019s definitely \u201cthe hood,\u201d but it\u2019s my hood.<\/p>\n Kim, my neighbor, has been a nutcase since I met her. I have tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she must be legitimately deranged. She\u2019s been telling me she\u2019s seven months pregnant with twins for at least three months, despite looking about 50 years old and being drunk every time I see her. Not to mention her appearance hasn\u2019t changed at all. She\u2019s always trying to get something from me with some wild tale or blameless mishap. Her clothes were stolen out of the dryer and she needs some new ones; someone gave her crystal meth and she needs me to buy it so she can have 20 dollars to spend on meds. She needs money for rides to her weekly chemo treatments. I don\u2019t know if she\u2019s a pathological liar, a conwoman, mentally unstable or just a garden variety addict, but I\u2019ve done my best to be neighborly. \u201cSure, I\u2019ve got extra food in my freezer, and here\u2019s a sundress!\u201d I don\u2019t have a lot to share but I will always give freely of what I have. My mom used to say, \u201cNo good deed goes unpunished.\u201d She was funny and sarcastic, and though she didn\u2019t live her life by this credo in any real way, there was some truth to it.<\/p>\n It\u2019s 2am in my living room. It is my safe space, with my teal couches, books and paintings galore, and strings of white fairy lights draped all around. It has an inviting and warm, if a bit eccentric vibe. It was small, and it was in a rough area, but it was all mine. Just as I was about to retire to my room, leaving my friend on the makeshift couch-bed, I saw a familiar face peeping in my window. Why the hell was the curtain even open? My jet black cat, Boo, the ever diligent neighborhood watch cat, peered guilily at me with her green eyes. Coiled along the back of the sofa, she meowed apologetically. As usual, she had wedged herself into the window frame, peeling back the curtain in the process. To my dismay, in the window was Kim, and as quickly as I could think, \u201cGod, please let her go away,\u201d she was frantically ringing my doorbell. What was I to do? Ignore her? Hide on the other side of a 400 sq ft apartment? Open my door and invite all this chaos into my life? We always have choices, but sometimes there are no good ones.<\/p>\n \u201cCchhhackie, you gotta help me!\u201d she slurred, looking more annoyed than in danger, though it was hard to judge.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s up Kim, I was just headed to bed, I\u2019ve got my doctor\u2019s appointment in Chicago tomorrow and we\u2019ve gotta be on the road in less than 8 hours.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut you gotttta help! Butchas cannot call the cops. Please don\u2019t call those motherfuckin\u2019 cops, cuz you know Pooh got a outstandin\u2019 warrant and if he goes to chjail than ima loose my place!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOk\u2026 well what do you want me to do?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust tell him to leave, you know I ain\u2019t got no cell phone an\u2019 he\u2019s tryna beat on me and you know I\u2019m pregnant! He\u2019ll listen if you tell him you\u2019re gonna call the cops, please just come over and ask him to leave.\u201d<\/p>\n I sighed. I closed my eyes. I had choices. None of them were good. But I knew she truly didn\u2019t have a phone, and I can\u2019t stand a helpless victim. Barefoot and armed solely with my cell phone in hand, I quickly padded down the short sidewalk to her apartment. When I got to the opened door of her unit, \u201cPooh,\u201d potential \u201cbaby-daddy\u201d or drug-dealer, was stumbling around half dressed, angrily flinging blankets and clothes across the room.<\/p>\n \u201cI need my phone battery! She got my damn phone battery, look, look, it ain\u2019t in the phone and it ain\u2019t in here.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook, she said you were going to hit her. Whether she stole your phone battery or not, that\u2019s not cool, please just get out of here so I don\u2019t have to call the cops. Please don\u2019t make me call them. But if there\u2019s still arguing happening in 5 minutes, I\u2019m calling the cops!\u201d<\/p>\n I hoped that I sounded authoritative enough as I spun on my heels on the cool cement and marched resolutely back to my place. Once inside, I locked the door, turned off all the lights, and sat quietly in the dark with my friend. She has PTSD as well, and was obviously shook. I\u2019d set the timer on my watch for 6 minutes. We sat together in silence, waiting for the sounds of him leaving and hearing only continued cursing and threats. When my wrist buzzed, letting me know that time was up, I again prayed for peace. Calling 911, I described the situation as quickly and quietly as possible. They assured me that they would send officers and that my identity would be kept in confidence.<\/p>\n 5 minutes later, my world exploded. Laying in bed after I hung up with 911, I prayed I would fall asleep quickly. Then the frantic screaming and pounding on my door began. \u201cHelp! He\u2019s after me! He hit me and I don\u2019t have a phone, help!\u201d I made a decision without consciously making a decision, and before I knew what was happening, I ran to the front door. By the time I got outside they\u2019d run past me to our tiny driveway. As I closed my door behind me, I heard him hit her. Hard. I called 911 again, this time with a frantic haste. As I spoke to dispatch, Kim cowered behind me, begging me to keep her safe. I backed her into my home, to presumed safety, and Pooh tried to make his way in. When I used my arm as a shield, standing my ground, her aggressor became my attacker. He tried to grab my phone, presumably to disconnect from 911. I remember pushing him away as he smacked the side of my head. I was more shocked than hurt, initially. I\u2019m by no means a small woman, but this 6\u20192, 250 pound man surely didn\u2019t need to hit me to control me. We grappled. He somehow got behind me, arms around me, and I used my full body weight to slam him into the railing, attempting to break free. That\u2019s when the blows started coming from both sides. Because he was behind me, I can only imagine that he looked like an angry King-Kong. Except, instead of beating on his chest, he was beating on my face. By then, Tiffeny had reluctantly opened the door, screaming at him to release me.<\/p>\n After the 7th or 8th blow, I saw bright light where there had only been blackness behind my closed eyelids, and fell, landing on an already bad wrist. Sensing the situation had gone from bad to worse, and assuming (incorrectly, it turned out) that SURELY the cops would be arriving soon, Pooh took off into the darkness, away from the nowhere-near-approaching police. Shoeless, pantsless, phone-less, and wearing nothing but boxers and a ripped wife beater T-shirt (no pun intended), he should have been easy enough to catch on the empty streets. That is, if anyone were looking. But no one was. As I tried to catch both my breath and composure, failing at both, Kim retreated to her apartment, yelling to the operator on the other side of the phone, \u201cTony (Pooh) has crack on \u2018em!\u201d I didn\u2019t want to think about where that might be hidden.<\/p>\n Dispatch again said police were coming, and I returned home. Locking my door, wanting to turn off the lights and hide in my bed, instead I sat with my friend and waited. Like two combat struck prisoners of war, we stared at each other and shook. Nearly an hour after my nightmare began, the police finally<\/em> arrived. They seemed dubious when I insisted that I wanted to press charges, informing me that Kim had denied any kind of physical altercation. So much for rescuing the helpless victim.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s a he-said, she-said kind of thing, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I don\u2019t know. My friend right here saw the whole thing, I\u2019ve been punched repeatedly in the face, my wrist feels broken, and I was ON THE PHONE WITH 911 WHEN IT HAPPENED!\u201d<\/p>\n Sighing as though it were a great inconvenience for him, he wrote down a case number on a small blue notecard, \u201cCall this number Monday. Maybe they\u2019ll have more info for ya.\u201d \u201cYou know your neighbor is crazy, right? She hates the cops, and that guy going through her back yard a few weeks ago is wanted for murder. I just wouldn\u2019t answer the door if I were you.\u201d He shrugged, as if to say, \u201cWhat are you gonna do? Boys will be boys. Next time, don\u2019t make it so easy to be a victim.\u201d<\/p>\n The bruises quickly ripened over the next 24 hours, leaving me 2 black eyes and a broken wrist. For the last month, I\u2019ve felt just like I did 20 years ago. A helpless, angry, unspoken for, victim, full of false bravado. A pathetic attempt at being a hero had led me to disappointment in our justice system once again. At the age of 16, it was my stepfather\u2019s word against mine. I did everything right. I went to the police. I cooperated with DCFS. I retold my gross story to old men over and over. And yet, it\u2019s my fault, because why didn\u2019t I tell someone sooner? So he walks around today a free man. Unprovoked, I was attacked by my neighbor\u2019s boyfriend, but I\u2019m not technically a victim of domestic violence. My wrist is<\/em> broken, but not by a domestic partner. But it\u2019s my fault; I made the choice; I opened the door. He\u2019s still free on the streets. But THIS time, I\u2019m not a victim. He might have made me a crime statistic, but he won\u2019t make me a prisoner in my own home. I won\u2019t even be relegated to the title of survivor. I\u2019m a goddamn thriver.<\/p>\n I don\u2019t lock my doors unless I\u2019m leaving my house or going to bed. I still prop my door open, feeling the cool breeze and smelling musty autumn leaves, allowing my troublemaking feline the freedom to come and go. The kids still stop by to wave or ask for a snack. I still love my home and walk alone at night. Because it\u2019s not the strangers you need to worry about. It\u2019s the ones you let in; the Devil You Know. \u201cStranger danger\u201d is largely a myth, though I do keep mace on my keychain now. According to FBI data, in 2011, 54% of people were killed by someone they knew (acquaintance, boyfriend, etc.) and 25% percent of victims were slain by family members. It\u2019s not the stranger in the streets you need to worry about, it\u2019s the one next to you under the sheets.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Jacqueline Lauder TW: Abuse Everybody has a sad tale to tell, and mine is nothing special. Sure, I have a family with a couple convicted murderers, countless addicts and alcoholics, and a handful of deeply disturbed people, but who doesn\u2019t? I\u2019ve had it easy compared to many. Yes, I was a former runaway at 16,… <\/p>\n