Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 174(@250wpm)___ 145(@300wpm)
I backed out much too fast, my car pinwheeling crookedly onto the road as I sped away. He had told me to go. I had left. That was the smart thing to do. I called in at the office and reported that my visit had been unsuccessful, that I was not admitted to the home, and the client refused support services. We’d find out in a few weeks if he were in compliance with court order or not. Judging by his hostility and the alcohol on his breath, it didn’t seem likely.
I was still shaking when I drove through a fast food place and got a cup of coffee. I dumped lots of sugar in it. I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker, but I remembered giving hot chocolate to some kids who were brought in after a house fire, remembered being told they needed the sugar after the shock. I parked and drank the coffee with shaking hands.
I knew I had to file paperwork about the client telling me not to return without his child, or he would beat my ass. It wasn’t my first threat, but it was the first time I’d been truly afraid. It had run through my mind that when I didn’t turn up at the two o’clock staff meeting, my supervisor would try to reach my phone. She’d leave a voicemail. Eventually, I’d be reported missing, and someone would go out to the trailer and find me dead in the driveway, eyes staring blankly at the horizon, my head twisted at an unnatural angle. I felt clammy and horrified at the image, but it had been a possibility — a real one.
I wasn’t going to live in fear, and I wasn’t going to let some jerk keep me from doing my job. I helped people and reunited families. He needed anger management sessions or something like that. But in the meantime, I had to look after myself.
I wished, for a hot second, that I had a boyfriend. Someone I could tell about this who’d hold me protectively and talk about the damage he was going to do if anyone tried to hurt me ever again. Never once had I regretted being independent or pursuing my dream to be a social worker and help fractured families. I just needed a way to protect myself, so I could feel safe in a situation where a client was belligerent.
I made sure there was a note in Mr. Watts’s file about his behavior—it wasn’t the first complaint. There wasn’t much recourse. I talked to Janet, my supervisor, about it. She offered to get me into counseling if I felt traumatized, but the office was underfunded and short-staffed already. There wasn’t another worker available to reassign to the case. I accepted that I’d have to continue working with Mr. Watts, and I promised myself I’d call Caitlyn, my coworker who was out on maternity leave, and ask her how she found best to deal with this kind of issue. She had a reputation for doing well with difficult cases, and she might have some tips.
After going through the motions at work, never really shaking the sick feeling of fear I’d had that morning, I decided to take action. I ran down to the hardware store and bought a deadbolt. With the help of a screwdriver and some YouTube videos, I managed to install it. My apartment door was secure, and I felt accomplished, having put it in myself. Then I drove to the gym a few blocks from my apartment. Their web site said they offered a self-defense class on Wednesday nights, and I was about to join. I’d never felt comfortable with violence, but I wasn’t exactly comfortable waiting around to be a crime victim either.
I paid my seven bucks and slipped into the room where the class was being held. It was probably an aerobics studio by day because there was a mirror along one wall and the scuffed up old floor was wood. I looked first at the reflection, seeing his back and looking past his face. The instructor was male, broad shoulders, dark hair that curled up at the edges damply. He stood slightly crouched, a fighter’s stance, in a gray t-shirt and black athletic shorts. The sleeves had been cut off the shirt showcasing his big, muscular arms. Every visible inch of him was shredded, but he moved with grace and power. I stopped just inside the door and stayed in the back. He was just beginning the class, and he looked up and saw me. With a nod, he acknowledged my presence, but he didn’t stop an make me introduce myself or anything.
“For those of you just joining us, my name is Rafe Sullivan. I’m a licensed personal trainer here as well as a certified self-defense instructor. Tonight we’ll work on your stance, balance, and posture. A lot of self-defense is mental. You have to train to respond with practicality, not fear. If you find yourself in a situation where conflict is getting physical, you have to keep your head.”