My sister saved my life.
She got to the hotel and showed the front desk our text
messages. She politely, sternly and I would dare to guess very intimidatingly
and passionately told them that they could either let her into the room where
her sister was being held against her will, or she would knock the door off its
hinges to get to me. The employee chose smartly and escorted her to room 710 of
the Ambassador Hotel.
She made her way inside and into the third room where I laid
lifelessly still under the weight of my wife. My sister encouraged me that it
was safe to move now, she was there – no one was going to hurt me without going
through her first. I started to slide out from under Danielle, my body
trembling as the images flashed through my mind of her waking and throwing me
back down, the beating starting again. Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake
up. For a moment both my sister and I thought she did. Stefani screamed, “don’t
you fucking touch her!” To this day I do not know if we imagined it, but my gut
says that we did not. I know Danielle well…as she realized I was conscious and
moving, she simultaneously realized we were no longer the only two in the room.
She laid still, appearing to be asleep. I imagine the reality coming to her
mind that there was now a witness to her crime, her body frozen by the fact
that she may get caught. Roles reversed; she was now the one pretending to be
lifeless.
It felt like years of time had passed between sliding my
phone back under my back, knowing my sister was coming to save me – to when my
feet hit the floor of the hotel room. Safely out from under the restraint of my
abuser, not yet safely away from her presence, running into my sister’s arms.
She took my hand and we gathered my things from the room as quickly as we
could, not taking a look back or caring if anything was left. We moved swiftly
and quietly. My survival mode kicked in after that, I lost pieces of time. I do
not remember walking down the hallway, getting into the elevator or even getting
off of it… what I do remember is the chilling realization that I was pretty
sure this was planned. As we reached the lobby, it hit me in those endlessly
haunting moments exactly why Danielle had been so adamant about paying for
valet parking that night. The truth twisted through my foggy mind like a
perfectly formed tornado… Danielle didn’t want me to have a way to leave.
I remember blankly staring at my sister as I kept repeating,
she valeted the car, she valeted the car. Stefani not fully understanding the
deepest darkest truths lingering behind these words. We asked the front desk
for my keys. They were unable to give them to me because the one fucking thing
I did not take from that hotel room was the valet ticket. With that said, I don’t
even know where it was. Probably hidden somewhere by my wife, ensuring there
was no way for me to escape. She had quite literally taken me away from the safety
of my home, took away my means of transportation and trapped me in a corner
suite hotel bedroom where she was undoubtedly more confident that no
one would hear me scream.
Accepting this realization and the fact that we were not
going to get my car that night, we left and headed to the parking garage. On
the way to the car, I recall seeing the manager that had served Danielle and me
earlier that night at dinner. He stood motionless, his face pale, his eyes filled
with empathy and sadness, a stark contrast to the laughter he shared with
Danielle just hours before. Our gaze locking in silence, the unspoken words of “I’m
sorry” hanging heavy in the parking garage as I crawled into my sister’s car
and closed the door. My head was pounding, but my body beginning to relax – I was
safe, I was going to be okay.
The next hour or two was a blur. The concussion of my brain settling in, the confusion of reality attempting too as well. We called my mom on the way home, the words of this conversation faintly present themselves as a dreamlike memory. I don’t remember the full car ride or pulling into my driveway, but I do remember being home. Walking through the threshold of my door and finally feeling a sense of safety behind the four walls of my house, like this nightmare was coming to an end. I remember talking to my sister, utterly bewildered as my mind struggled to make sense of what the fuck had just happened. Had we been at my house for an hour? I think so. But, time blurred together, the concept of it clouded by what I had experienced.
Within those moments of naively thinking I had gotten away, my sense of safety was shattered….there was a sound, a very familiar sound. My garage door was opening. Stefani and I both looked at each other and without a word sprinted into action, frantically attempting to ensure that all the doors were indeed locked. We knew what that sound meant…Danielle was not done, my wife had driven to my home, she was there to finish what she started.
My wife was there to kill me.
End of Part 4