Bleeding Hearts

4

Chapter 4  

As I lean back on the couch, spooning tasteless cereal into my mouth, Isaac walks through the bedroom door.  

"Cami, what do you say to going to the precinct today? I could really use the time to catch up on some work while you talk to Detective Palmer."   

"Okay," I say, standing up and walking towards his kitchen. His apartment is laid out like mine, but unlike his spartan place, mine is decorated with trinkets from all around the world.    

"I've got clearance to enter your apartment. Maybe we can go get you some of your things?" His question startles me, making me turn to face him. My expression causes Isaac to hurry to my side. The feel of his hand gently resting on my back soothes my nerves.   

"I didn't mean to upset you."    

"No, it's okay. I need my own clothes, I just didn't think it would be so soon," I say.   

For three days I have barricaded myself here in Isaac's apartment, lounging in his clothes and eating his food. Isaac has stayed with me the whole time, working from his bedroom and talking with his partner, Gregory Bain.  

"It's okay. Take your time," he reassures me.    

We stand in the middle of his living room, and the rapid beating of my heart reveals my panic over seeing my apartment again. After a few seconds I take a deep breath. "Let's go now and get it over with."    

"Alright, hang on," Isaac says, entering his bedroom. Seconds later, he returns with his gun belt strapped around his trim waist. His dark blue uniform is thick with the bulletproof vest underneath. He's dressed and ready for a full day of work.  

"Okay," he says, awkwardly taking the empty bowl from my hands and placing it on the counter of his kitchen. As we walk down to my end-unit apartment, the air is noticeably tense, and stale from a lack of ventilation. The carpet is worn down from the many footsteps it has born over the years.    

I insert my key and twist the knob. The door swings open and Isaac lifts the caution tape, nodding for me to enter. Taking several small sidesteps, I duck inside, tiptoeing through the mess of the attack. My nose is assaulted by the scent of blood in the air; my blood. The carpet is covered in it. I could swear I'd tumbled right into a scene out of a horror movie. There are several large gashes in the wall where Carson had stabbed at  me; my bloody handprints smeared next to them, telling the gruesome story of how I tried to get away from him.    

Carson's hands gripped my waist, bruising it from the intensity of his hold. I screamed and fought against him as much as I could, grabbing onto furniture, or anything, to help me escape. Freed from his grip, I ran into the bedroom in search of my gun. He grabbed a handful of my thick hair and yanked my head back and down, making me scream out in pain. I fell back against the wooden frame of my bed, nearly cracking my skull open. When I looked up, he was standing above me with a butcher knife pointed directly at my chest. I grabbed one of my feather pillows and threw it in his face. It didn't do anything but anger Carson, and I watched as he tore into it with the knife. 

I close my eyes and recover from the moment. Isaac follows as I walk down the hallway toward my bedroom. I take in my pillows, red stained, lying on the floor with feathers spewing out from several spots. The glass over my favorite black and white picture of the Eiffel Tower is cracked and it barely hangs by a nail to the wall above my bed. The full length mirror next to my cluttered closet is shattered. I shuffle past it, pausing to stare at my reflection.    

Facets of light bounce off the cracks in the mirror and turn my slender body into several broken pieces. My long blonde hair frames my face at odd angles and falls in front of my shoulders, which helps to conceal the bruises on my chest. I am broken into shards.