Finding Love

Bridget didn’t know. She had no clue that while watching 16 Candles, a favorite childhood movie would she hear the door open with a crash.

Stumbling off of her worn out coach, she took the remote control in her hand, the only defense she could find, and tip toed to the front door.

Bridget had no clue. She had no idea he would be out of jail. She didn’t know. Bridget was hiding in the small linen closet filled with spiders that she barely ever used, though she kept replaying the memory that happened not even two minutes ago, shivering as she thought of the next part.

Once she saw those beady blue eyes, the same one that she had, though his scary and glazed over, his thinning grey hair, the tall stance, and the beer gut, Bridget knew he had somehow gotten out.

His posture was hard and cruel, though slightly confused. Of course, he had been drinking. In the small entryway, Bridget could smell the usual smoke and alcohol radiating off of his body.

“D-Daddy?” Bridget whispered, her blue eyes looking up at him.

“Why didn’t you get me out of jail you bitch!” her father screamed, rushing into the house, making Bridget back away. Her father wasn’t supposed to be out of jail for a long, long time. He was crazy.

“You don’t belong in this world,” Bridget seethed, gaining confidence.

“I fucking brought you here, fuck you,” her father screamed, pushing her to the ground. Bridget screamed in pain, tears immediately rolling from her eyes, her right leg hitting the old cement floor that her apartment was made up of.

She tried getting up, realizing that she couldn’t, her father had broken her leg.

“I hate you!” her father screamed, banging her again on the table, the rough edge hitting her stomach, making her slowly start to bleed, seeping through her pajamas.

Bridget needed to get out of here, get him out of here.

“Dad, listen, I’m sorry, theirs some really nice vodka in my kitchen, second cabinet,” Bridget spoke as in control as she could, her voice catching with each breath.

Her father lightened up, finding his way through her grimy apartment while Bridget began to drag herself to the closet. Locking the door from the inside.

That was when she called Sidney, and now she was waiting. Her leg was throbbing, and she felt like it was going through her whole body.

Sidney banged open the door, after driving as fast as he could through the horrible storm, he stomped up the stairs, snow from his shoes going onto the concrete.

While he walked up to what he thought was the main door, though he wasn’t sure because he had never been there, he didn’t knock. Instead, he opened the door, panting.

The first thing he noticed was the smell. Mold, mildew and something else, something wet. The apartment was small, with brick walls and the same floor as outside. Sidney could tell that Bridget had tried to make it nice, with flowers on the desk, and a painting on the wall.

Walking further in, he saw a small living room with a worn out coach with a blanket and a book. An old TV was playing some movie. Sidney realized that Bridget was supposed to be watching it.

He heard a noise. A crash. Trying to find his way through the place, he found a kitchen, and a man standing in it.

The kitchen was cute room; if someone could even call it that it was so small. Bridget loved to cook, and pots and pans were everywhere. The appliances were old but probably still worked.

“Who are you?” Sidney demanded, making the man slowly turn himself away from the fridge and look and the tall hockey player.

“Bridget’s dad. Who the hell are you? Where’s my booze?” his words were slurred, and Sidney’s mouth gaped open.

“Mr. Jennings?” Sidney cocked his head, “Where’s your daughter?”

“She went somewhere, I’m going to beat her when she comes back. She told me she had hard liquor in here, I don’t see no vodka,” the grey haired man stomped his foot.

Sidney just nodded his head, he had feared that much. Leaving the man back to his business, he slowly went into the main part of the apartment again, where the desk and painting was.

Whipping out his cell phone, he called the police. Having a brief conversation on where to come, he hung up. It took all of his power not to go back and punch the man out of his body, but he could tell that wherever Bridget was, she was hurt.

Walking through the small hallway and looking through the rooms, he finally heard whimpering.

Opening the closet door, he saw his angel, half passed out, crying.

“S-S-Sidney, you came,” Bridget stuttered, her teeth chattering.

“Where does it hurt baby?” Sidney asked, kneeling down. He hoped that her father wouldn’t hear them. He saw the blood soaking through her shirt, and saw that it was rapid. Something was really wrong.

“My leg and my stomach, I’m so sorry Sidney. He was suppose to be in jail for so long, now I have to go back to court, and you’re here seeing this horrible house and I cant take it,” Bridget cried harder.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. We can deal with that later. An ambulance is on their way,” Sidney told her. He wanted so badly to touch her, hold her, but he couldn’t. Sidney was on a hockey team; he dealt with injuries all the time. He wasn’t a doctor, and he knew not to touch someone who was hurt.

Sidney didn’t like the color of her skin, much to pale for his liking. All color was draining from her face, and she kept moaning.

For several more minutes, Sidney tried keeping Bridget as quiet as she could, so that her dad wouldn’t hear.

He heard the door open, and he got up slowly, promising to be right back, and went to go greet the police.

“Arrest him, he assaulted his own daughter, my girlfriend,” Sidney whispered as soon as he saw the uniformed men.

“Sir, please calm down. Where is he? Where is the girl?” the man asked, peering into the house.

“She’s over here. She told me that her leg hurts and I can see blood through her shirt because he beat her to the ground, should I pick her up and bring her to an ambulance or what?” Sidney asked, trying to stay calm while his adrenaline was rushed.

“If she wants you to, you can go with her. I’m going to deal with that man, he’s under influence correct?” the police man asked, his partner taking notes.

“Yes, intoxicated by alcohol. I’m going to get Bridget. Her name is Bridget Jennings,” Sidney told the police before half running towards the closet.

“I’m picking you up now, okay?” Sidney told Bridget gently as she looked up at him with her blue eyes.

“Yeah,” she whispered, spreading her arms for Sidney to pick her up, gently as possible.

“It hurts Sid,” Bridget whispered.

“I know but it’s okay. You can go to sleep now, your going to be fine,” Sidney told her as he left, not wanting her to hear the screams her father was portraying.

He ran down the stairs, careful not to touch where the red was, and not touching the leg either.

“Sir, is this the girl?” the EMT was waiting with an ambulance as soon as they arrived outside in the snow still falling on the ground.

“Yes, please help her, she’s bleeding,” Sidney cried, not realizing until now the tears almost spilling out of his eyes.

“All right, put her on the stretcher, get in the back. We have to go to the hospital immediately. How much blood has she lost do you think?” The EMT ushered Sidney and Bridget back where Sidney carefully laid Bridget in the stretcher, before climbing into the vehicle himself.

“I’m not sure, a lot. I think her leg is broken too,” Sidney shook his head. He more than anything wanted to kill that man that hurt her.

“Okay, don’t worry. She should be fine, just calm down Sir,” another EMT looked at him before putting a tube into Bridget’s arm and under her nose.

Sidney could hear the sirens flashing the annoying noise, and the hard medical walls were making him feel claustrophobic with the two men dressed in heavy fabrics with bald scalps.

Sidney took Bridget’s cold hand, and tried to bring some of his strength into Bridget.