The Other Woman

Three police cars surround the vicinity, and an ambulance is parked right next to the lobby entrance. But the scene that really rips my heart into two jagged pieces is Jennifer. My best friend is leaning on the edge of the ambulance, her hands covering her tear stricken face. Pressured sobs heaving from her body as a policeman wraps an old gray blanket around her fragile frame.

Without letting another hesitating second tick by, I fly out of the cab, running breathlessly towards her. "Hey lady! Your bags!" the cab driver yells. I completely ignore him, my mind concerned with more important things, such as what the hell had just happened in my home.

"Excuse me miss, you can't be over here right now," an officer stops me, pulling his hands out in a stern gesture.
"That's my roommate, and I live here you idiot," I spit, shoving into his shoulder as I fly past him hastily nearing the ambulance.

"Jennifer!" I yell only meters away from her. She hears the familiar echo of my voice and her hands immediately drop from her face, seeing if it truly was me. And when her fallacy is revealed true, we both start sprinting towards each other, the blanket recently placed on her sagging shoulders shedding to the floor. Questions galore are raining through my mind, but I put them each on hold as I give my friend a much-needed hug. She sobs into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, her weak knees just barely standing as we hold each other.

"They... him... " she sobs incoherently.
Obviously not having any sort of idea what she has just said, I just nod my head in agreement, hugging her as my eyes scan the scene that lay before me. Yellow police tape is strung about the metal railings; one man lies miserably and furiously inside the backseat of a police car. And then my eyes lock onto Jack, and sheer grief grabs my heart. There he lay, in the ambulance on a bed of white. Two doctors surround him pumping various syringes and tubes through his arm and nose. His left eye is considerably swelled and I notice a few dismal splashes of blood on his t-shirt.

"What happened?" I jerk away from Jennifer, tugging on her sleeves for answers.
She catches her breath for a second, using the already wet hem of her shirt to dry her flowing tears.

"These guys, they... they just came out of no where and beat him," she mumbles between breaths.

"He got jumped?"
She nods her head slowly, the small amount of energy draining her. I never liked Jack, hell, I could barely stand being around him for too long. But this was too harsh a punishment.
"They caught one of the guys who participated, out of about six," she mumbles distantly, her head gesturing towards the green and white vehicle and its angry occupant.

"Why was the guy after him in the first place?"
She shrugs her shoulders, "He's not saying a word"
"I'm so sorry Jennifer," I remark somberly while pulling her in for another warm hug. I feel a pang of guilt swelling inside my soul for not being here for her when she needed me most. And it seems she feels my inward dilemma.

"Its not your fault," she sighs after pulling away. "And his injuries aren't life threatening anyway. I'm just crying because I saw the whole thing happen."

A faulty gasp spills from my lips. I couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have felt like to watch the person you loved getting beaten to a pulp. The horrific event would surely scar her mind, or at least put a dent into it.
"How did—"

"Sorry to interrupt Miss, but we're gonna head down to the hospital now, you can ride along in the back if you want," interjects an ambulance technician.

Clad in a blue and white jacket and fitted blue work pants, a stethoscope wrapped loosely around his neck, he stares at Jen sympathetically, waiting for her reply.
"Sure," she nods. And with that being said, the sandy haired technician gives us both weak smiles before heading back to the ambulance, leaving the heavy steel doors open for Jennifer.

"We'll talk later, you have to go," I mumble
"Ok, I'll call and let you know what's up," she murmurs tiredly before pacing towards the large white vehicle.

As the afternoon hours slowly churn, I find myself bored, worried, and annoyingly unsettled. Jennifer had called the apartment twice, informing me on Jack's more than stable condition, what exactly occurred that evening, and how she would be staying with her boyfriend for a week or two and help him recuperate.
And so, the obtrusive yellow 'POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS' tapes were shed from the complex, all of the police cars had vanished, and each and every crime investigator had left the scene, leaving a more comfortable vibe around the building complex.

The time was now 10 o clock, and oh joy I had to go to work tomorrow. So after preparing a small dinner for one, I was just settling down to watch a late night film when the door knocks. Nervous at first and more than hesitant, I dart into the kitchen and grab a large silver steak knife as a source of protection. Tiptoeing back into the living room, I stop at the door as another knock resounds, sending uninvited shivers up my spine. I pop my eye into the small peephole, and belt out a massive sigh as I see Mark on the other end of the door.

"What took you so long," he frowns as I open the door. And when he sees the large horror film like knife in my hand he slowly retreats out into the night, a nervous gaze in his eyes.
"Get inside you moron," I roll my eyes, placing a hand on my hip as I hold the door open.

"What's with the knife?" he utters suspiciously and quickly slithers into my abode, making sure to place at least 10 feet of distance between us.
"After this evening, I didn't know if when I went to answer the door, someone would just knock it down. So I brought a little insurance," I reply briskly, placing the silver dagger on the oak coffee table.

"Yea, that's why I came over. What the hell was that all about?"
I shrug my shoulders pathetically, not having the answer to his question. "No one knows. Jennifer called a couple of hours ago and the man that was charged in the battery has yet to speak up/."

Seating myself on the sofa, the remote conveniently on the couch handle, I wrap myself up in the warm gray blanket that I had left out hours earlier, snuggling up into its cottony goodness.
"So Jack doesn't even know why some random guys would just show up and sock the living shit out of him?" quirks Mark, now seating himself on the opposite end of the sofa.
"I guess not," I yawn.

"Pfftt. Give me a break," he scorns, earning a cocked eyebrow from me.
"I know you don't like the guy Mark, but damn. Have some sympathy," I mutter with agitation.
"Why should I Seny? There has to be a reason why they were after him. He must've pissed the wrong person off, or I don't know. It just seems a little fishy to me that all of a sudden, a random group of guys would just show up and pummel him."

"That sort of stuff happens everyday Mark," I reply blandly, flipping through channels as my current movie takes a commercial break. "Everyday on the news someone's car gets hijacked and they get hit in the process. Or some woman's purse gets snatched, or even house break-ins. I honestly don't think Jack is in the wrong here."

"I didn't say he was in the wrong, no way," Mark insists, holding up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "It just looks shifty, that's all. But there's no excuse for beating the poor guy so that he has to go to the hospital"

Nodding, I lift my head from the armrest to look at my friend of many years. His pitch-black hair, stubble on his jaw, the kindness of his heart, the street-smart brilliance of his eyes, he was quite the charmer. And I find myself suddenly laughing as I see him dig into his pockets, pulling out a fresh wad of folded twenty-dollar bills.

"I didn't realize money was that funny," he remarks sarcastically with unimpressed eyes.

"Sorry," I snort, "I'm just amazed how you've managed to stay out of prison."
"I got skills, plain and simple," he mumbles arrogantly, flicking his money back and forth like a pimp.

"Please," I roll my eyes, flipping the channel back to the movie I was watching.
"Want to go out and eat tonight? Its not too late," He inquires
"I already ate, its past 10 and I have work tomorrow, but rain check though," I smile.

He nods his head in agreement.
"Oh yea, Tre told me about your little arrangement," I grin.
"Uh huh. That band is like my #1 customer. I'm so happy you're dating one of them. Can you marry him please?" begs Mark, who moves closer to me on the couch, cupping his hands for begging emphasis.

"You just want the paid mini-vacations," I snort.
"And the money, they even give me tips Seny. I NEVER get tips!" he squeals in enthusiastic joy.

"You're all going to rot in jail," I mumble passively.

He coughs, his eyebrows knitted in a skeptical knot. "If I'm not mistaken, don't you participate in a few smoke sessions yourself?"

"Keyword; a few," I reply looking straight at him.
"No such thing. Its either you do it or you don't. So my dear Serenity, if we go down, that means we ALL go down, including you," he laughs.

I try my best not to laugh at his humor, but can't help the giggles that are popping like pop rocks in my mouth. Mark himself heaves over in laughter, and we both laugh at nothing. His words of wisdom weren't that funny, but we continue to laugh nonetheless, just as we always do.

"Speaking of going down, how are you and Tre doin'?"
"You're disgusting," I mumble at his more than inappropriate question, quickly sobering up from the minutes of laughter. He grins from next to me, snatching the remote control from my hands, bothered by my channel surfing.

"We're good. As you can see, I spent all of last week with him."
"Yea, Jennifer told me when I strolled through here."
"I'm surprised you bothered to come back after your little debacle with Jack. Are you sure you didn't order those guys on him?" I tease.

With a roll of his eyes, Mark ignores my comment and instead begins watching late night music videos. "I'm going to ignore that and continue to watch this horrible video," he mutters coolly, his eyes in mild interest as Madonna and a parade of men flash about the screen, dancing like nymphs to no end. A stifling yawn emerges from the corners of my mouth and suddenly, my eyelids are becoming exceedingly heavier as if a hippo were sitting on each one.

"I'm going to bed Mark, but your welcome to stay if you want," I remark through exhaustion.
And with a small thud, my feet hit the ground and using every watt of energy that still lingers in my arms, I heave myself off the Velcro like sofa, stretching ungracefully as I fumble towards my bedroom.

"I'll be in the guest room!" he calls out as I click open the door.
The sounds of Keane's 'Everybody's Changing reverberate off the blue walls of my bedroom as I enter. And with a quick stride I make my way over to my cellular phone, and smile when I see the words Tre Calling... etched in the display screen.

"Vanka's House of Pain, how may I pleasure you this evening?" I greet in a burlesque Russian accent.
"That would've been more convincing if it weren't for the fact that its night, which is even raunchier if you think about it."
"And since when have you been this technical," I snort while flipping on the light switch.

"Since December 16," he sneers.
"What?"
"I know about my surprise party!" he chants repeatedly as if he was a 7-year-old boy who has just discovered the surprise puppy his parents got him for Christmas.

"And who told you that?" I ask skeptically, trying desperately to make it seem as if he has the wrong date stowed in his memory.
"No one, this time it was Mike who was talking too loud."

"I hate you," I mutter in defeat.
"I know snookems," He coos, "What have you been up to today, well, besides missing me?"

I laugh, slipping into a worn out wife beater and a pair of polka dotted boxers for bed. I'm already missing his company, kisses, and humor.
"It's been pretty shitty actually. For starts, when I got home there were police and an ambulance surrounding the complex."

"Oh shit, what happened?!" he asks with excitement and concern in his voice.
"Jack, Jen's boyfriend, got jumped. To the point where he needed hospital attention."
"Aww, I'm sorry Seny."
"Thanks, but its not a HUGE deal or anything," I yawn.

"You have to work tomorrow?" he asks with a stifled laugh.
"Unfortunately," I mutter miserably, slinking into bed and pulling the covers around my shoulders.
"I have to work tomorrow too," he faux yawns, and I can even hear the rustling of his nails scratching his toned stomach.

"Woe is you for banging on a set of drums in front of thousands of screaming fans," I grumble in response.

He chuckles and foggy images hurdle through my mind of us laughing together, kissing and cuddling. The way his bright laugh lit up a room.
"Tell your friend I hope her boyfriend gets better," he responds in a more heartfelt tone, sobering up from his previous laughing spell.
"I will," I nod.

Muttering profanities under my throat, I finally punch my fist down on the steering wheel, honking at the car in front of me, which was driving slower than a rock. My scheduled shift is at 9 a.m, and lucky me, it's 9a.m right now. Rolling my eyes, I take careful glances at the two side view mirrors of my car, sighing when I see the all clear and pass the snail like car in front of me.

"Ken, I am so sorry. There was a lot of traffic on the road," I plead with concerned eyes at my boss as I quickly dash on a ratty apron.
"Its ok," the senior citizen smiles. "Just don't make it a habit," he adds bitterly, stuffing a notepad and black tray in my hands. I chortle to myself, kind of enjoying his grumpy disposition.

A couple hours later while on my break, I slip into a seat a nearby café, trying to decipher what exactly a Pepsi Cappuccino would taste like as I read it on the menu. My waiter quickly appears at my side, a green apron draped loosely around his slim waist. And with a tired smile, I order a medium sized cup of Cinnamon Swirl Cappuccino along with a peg sized ounce of a yummy cheese Danish.

Conveniently sipping on my drink through its straw, I hear the flutter of my phone ring from inside the realms of my purse. So I rest my delicious drink down on the glass table before digging into the black purse for the ringing device. An unpleasant groan escapes my lips as I read the name on the device, and my eyes automatically roll as the annoying name flashes through the screen.

"Hello?" I greet through a perplexed grumble.
"Serenity?" my mother greets in a hopeful pitch.
"Hi mom."
"Are you at work right now?" she asks.
"Yes," I mumble, once again rolling my eyes.
"Then how come you're on your phone?"
"Because I'm on my break mother," I reply with a tinge of attitude.
"Oh. So are you having dinner with us this Thanksgiving?" she asks eagerly. "Kieffer and Ayla are coming," she adds.

Oh great. Tre and I hadn't even properly discussed our Thanksgiving agendas, and by the sound of her annoying voice she wanted to me to attend. My brother and sister would be their, and I haven't seen them in a while.

"Yeah, I guess I'll spend the weekend," I finally cave in after a short and awkward silence, an innocent smile on display through my lips.
"Ok, good. Are you gonna bring anything?"
"I'll make some sort of dessert or something," I mutter between bites of my Danish.

"Seny, I need to know what you'll be bringing. What if I cook the same thing. Just bake some brownies or a cheesecake," she mumbles like the pestering parent she is.

"Ok mom. I have to go back to work now," I lie.
"Ok, remember cheesecake or brownies."
"Alright," I bark.
"Alright," she says objectively. And with that, we hang up, not even formally saying 'Bye' to each other as normal parents and children do.

As I unlock the door to my apartment after a hard day of work, I grumble when I trip over Jennifer's shoe and nearly fall flat on my ass.
'Just leave everything on the damn floor' I mutter while kicking the shoe under the couch, hoping she would spend restless days and nights searching for the pair of navy flats. Walking towards the kitchen, I frown when Jen twirls past me, thrusting the fridge open and quickly chucking out a container of strawberry yogurt.

"What's the big rush?" I question snootily, my eyes not acknowledging her as I read threw a bushel of unpaid bills and other mail.
"I promised Jack I'd come over and help him today," she mumbles while walking towards the white oak drawers for a silver spoon.

My eyes mechanically roll at her impractical reply, and at the mere mention of her hubby's name. "What are you? His slave?" I snort, "Its been almost two weeks Jennifer, and the guy only has a broken arm and a few bruises."

"Don't gimme that shit, ok?" she rattles. "If this happened to Tre you would be doing the same thing, if not more!"

"Of course!" I reply sarcastically. "Of course I'd stop paying the bills I'm supposed to fucking pay, of course I'd leave the kitchen a mess, of course I'd tend to his every lousy whim!" I nearly yell.

She rolls her eyes before ignoring my heated pleas and storms into the living room, looking for none other than her shoes. "Have you seen my shoes?" she asks bitterly after looking under the coffee table and by the doorway.
"No."

Huffing, she mutters 'PMSing ass' before stomping off into her bedroom. Seconds later she comes back out with a pair of grimy tennis shoes and her jingling car keys. "I'll be back in the morning," she mutters before slamming the front door shut behind.

Groaning miserably, I walk tiredly into the bathroom, quickly opening the medicine cabinet to retrieve a red and white bottle of 'Extra Strength Tylenol'. Suffering from a nauseating spell of menstrual cramps, I feel like I might vomit my intestines up at any given moment. I stumble back into the kitchen, reopening the refrigerator and opening up a new bottle of Ginger Ale, soaking it down straight from the two liter bottle. I swallow the pills plus a tablet of Midol for my nausea before chucking off my coat and slithering towards my bedroom.

Tiny tears begin trickling down my cheeks as the pain continues to swirl about, not that I expected it to immediately vanish. The radio begins humming a few alternative tunes when I click it on, and my mind begins shifting towards the music rather than my bodily discomfort. And when my cell rings, and I already know who's calling a weak smile managing to stretch through my lips through the faint tears.

"Hello?" I greet miserably.
"Seny? What's wrong?" asks a concerned Tre.

"I have cramps," I mumble glumly, turning down the volume of the radio to hear his voice better.
"Aww, are you ok? Take some Midol or Advil."
"I already did, it should be kicking in soon," I groan when another violent pang settles below my stomach. And now coughing sobs seep through my mouth.

"Don't cry Seny," he whimpers from the other end of the phone. "You can't cry, I'm not use to you crying, I can't handle the crying," He desperately begs "How about I tell you a joke, ok?"
"Ok," I shudder, after the pain begins subsiding, slowly.

"Ok, so yesterday right? Vanessa was teaching me how to do this card trick, and after about fifty attempts, I got it. And then I farted!" he concludes.

I laugh at my boyfriends' stupidity, and when he hears my chuckling he sighs. "Thank God I made you laugh, it didn't hurt did it?"
"No," I smile. "I hate mother nature," I add bitingly.
"Me too, remind me to kick her ass later."

"Oh yea, it's a good thing you called," I say exasperatedly, my mind suddenly retracing to the conversation with my mother earlier in the day.
"Why's that?"
"It seems I'll be spending Thanksgiving with my annoying family. My mom called this morning and informed me that my siblings would be there and stuff. Um, you don't mind do you?" I ask shyly.

"No, of course not. And at least you'll be seeing me the week after that."
"Yeah, I can't wait. I miss you," I mumble while slipping into bed.
"I miss you too sweet pea," he gushes.

"I don't like that name," I laugh, "choose another pet name."
"How about snookems?"
"Overused."
"Pudding?" he suggests.
"Eww, I don't even eat pudding Tre."
"Hot pants?"
"Nope," I shake my head.

"Lum lums."
"What the hell?" I giggle.
"Cutie Patootie?"
"Don't think so."
"Ok, this is my last try, how about Seny?"

"I like that one the best," I mumble, snuggling up into my fluffy black pillows, imagining him being next to me.
"You can call me Big Daddy, Spank Master, or A.I.B?"
"And what may I ask is A.I.B?"
"What else? Amazing In Bed," he reply's in a know it all tone.

"I'll think about Spank Master, but for now I'll stick with Tre," I chortle.