Cold wind in her hair. The midnight sky. The night frozen, but turning warmer. Odd. Snowflakes falling briskly from hidden clouds in a dark yet clear atmosphere, turning into a light drizzle. Jude's cheeks damp with rain and tears. She never wiped the tears off her face. She let them run, let them slowly wind down her chilled skin as she passed people on the streets, wondering why a girl like her was out so late, alone, and clearly upset. And lost. Very lost.
But she had seen that street sign before. She had been here before. Her mind was just too messy-she laughed at herself. "Messy" had always been her way of describing her mental state when she was overwhelmed when she was younger. And that's how she felt now. Overwhelmed.
And heartbroken.
And betrayed.
And hurt. Oh, God, she hurt. Her stomach, ribs, arms. Heart.
Of course, this was the street the cafe sat on. The street she had been down countless times before in the past few weeks. This street had been her salvation. She had left the apartment, where only bad memories had been formed, and come here to let everything go. The cafe, this street, provided her safety. It was where she wrote poetry, where she watched the bartenders and the drunks smoke their cigarettes in the winter air. It was where, only days ago, she had stood in front of the cafe, catching snowflakes with her tongue.
How was she the same person as she was that day? She had been so happy. She hadn't had a care in the world. Even in the midst of her treacherous relationship with Thom, she had been happy. And she let it show.
Now, she was hurting, heartsick, and heavy. And she let that show, too.
There was a payphone outside of the bar. The first time Jude had seen it, she thought it was a horrible idea. It was destined for countless drunk phone calls to exes and current lovers.
But now, the payphone was her safe haven.
The minute she had stepped out of the apartment with her few things crammed into her bag, she had shut off her phone. Jude was never a paranoid person, but then again, she had never been in a situation which could induce paranoia.
After everything that had just happened at the apartment, Jude glanced over her shoulder every few seconds. She walked swiftly, and kept her head down. She made sure to stay in the shadows.
And she kept her phone shut off. Just in case-because Jude didn't seem to know anything anymore-he could find her through it. Could track her. And follow her.
There were only two people in the entire world that she wanted to talk to at that moment. Not the few friends she had in Kenora, that she had mainly kept close because they were company while Thom was busy.
"Mom?"
A breath. Shaking. "Jude, honey, what's wrong? Why are you calling from this number?"
Jude could hear her father asking a question in the background. They sounded worried. And they should be, Jude thought.
There was a moment of silence, in which a child decides whether or not to lie to their parents, telling them that they're fine when they're not.
And then Jude broke the ice. "I'm-Mom, I'm not okay."
Suddenly she was sobbing into the phone, cradling it in both hands, holding it close to her lips. She looked over her shoulder briefly, ensuring she was alone. The bar was a few feet away. There was no one outside-no one smoking, no one shouting. No one staring at the girl crying on the phone to her mother.
"What's wrong?" Her mother repeated the question over and over, and then the phone was passed to her father, and he asked the question several times until Jude felt that she couldn't hold it in any longer. She was holding onto a secret that she needed to reveal.
She filled them in. Jude had always been honest with her parents. She told them everything. For the most part.
The sudden cold atmosphere, the haunting of Thom. The fact that he suddenly became a different person when they moved to the city. That was how it began; that was the exposition.
And then the rising action: the first hit.
The climax: the second, third, fourth, the Jude-lost-count hits.
The falling action: grabbing her things, deciding her fate with Thom.
The denouement: leaving.
Her parents were silent throughout the entire story, but she could hear their gasps. Their uneven breathing. Jude could practically see their eyes widening, looking at each other, sharing that frightened glance.
And then it was over. The story. They were filled in on everything that had happened since she uprooted her life and moved to Toronto with Thom. It had been suffused with danger, torment. Suffering.
Jude waited. And waited. And waited. She understood. It was a difficult story to comprehend.
But she never expected it to be a difficult story to believe.
"Jude, honey," came her mother's distant voice-the two must be holding the phone between them on speaker phone-and there was only slight worry laced within it, "don't you think you're overreacting?"
"Thom would never do that. He's a good man," her father chimed in.
"I think it's the stress. The change. It's getting to you. And you've been working hard, haven't you?"
Jude's mouth fell open. Like the shock you see on an actor's face in a movie. Cliche, but real. The shock was so real.
"You think I'm making it up? Imagining it?"
"You've been working hard," her father said. "Like your mother said. And like I said, Thom is a good man. He's never done anything like this before, to anyone. He would never hurt you. I'd never have let you move in with him if I thought he would."
Jude, thirty feet deep in disbelief, remained silent. Other than the sobs that were escaping her cold lips faster than she could control, she was mute.
"Jude? Honey, where are you?"
"It's late, Jude. Go home. Thom will be up waiting for you."
Her father's words sunk in the bottom of her stomach, heavy. They ingrained themselves in her skin, and she knew that she would carry these words around her entire life.
Thom will be up waiting for you.
With the phone still cradled in both of her hands, and her parents distant voices-now static in her ears-babbling away on the other line, Jude imagined Thom in their apartment, asleep. Content that she was now gone.
Or furious that he had lost his punching bag?
With that thought, she seemed to have stabbed herself. Punching bag. She was more than that to Thom-more than that to herself. And it didn't matter what Thom thought anymore.
Jude hung up the payphone without another word to her parents.
Jude stood, apparently frozen, for what seemed like hours. She watched the full moon dance along the sky in a ballet, watched the night grow warmer and the drizzle turn to rain. Still leaning against the payphone, Jude watched men and women stumble out of the bar; she laughed at their awe of the sudden change in weather.
Her laugh sounded disconnected from her entire body. Like it was someone else inside of her. It was not her voice, not her regular laugh. It was a distant sound that freed her mouth in an attempt to convince her mind that she was happier than she truly was.
It didn't work.
Jude was warm. Under her heavy winter coat, clutching her heavy bag containing some of her belongings, she felt herself beginning to sweat. The uncomfort turned into aggression, and suddenly, she wasn't laughing at the drunks coming out of the bar.
She wanted to escape it. Escape reality. There was only one place she felt safest, and that was the cafe across the street. Of course, it was long past midnight, and it was closed-the lights were out, the large 'OPEN' sign was turned off. There was no one inside.
And yet, like Jude's mind had tried to trick her into believing she was happy, she had a sudden, strong belief that the cafe was open. It would open for her. She would be welcomed inside its warm arms, overcome with the smell of fresh coffee, and be reassured by the smiling faces of the friendly customers and staff who, like her, had been pulled inside the cordial shop.
But it was closed. The doors were locked. Jude banged, and banged, and banged. At one point, she was afraid she may shatter the glass. But she continued pounding on the front doors, the side doors, the glass windows. And there came that voice again, like the laugh. It came from her mouth, from her throat, but it was not hers.
She was screaming. No, she wasn't, she told herself. Jude wasn't screaming. Something inside of Jude was attacking the cafe, shouting and punching and kicking and wailing and causing a scene that made everyone believe she was a hysterical drunk who had just got her heart broken.
Maybe not a drunk, but certainly hysterical. And broken hearted.
And she had every reason to be.
But after a moment, when Jude realized that there was no one inside her body controlling her, that these were her thoughts and actions and yes, her screams, she stopped.
Because she was attacking the coffee shop-amiable, safe, and most of all, innocent-just like Thom had attacked her.
She heaved a deep breath, chest rising as her lungs filled with damp air, and falling slowly, returning to a calm state.
And all Jude could think was, I'm just like Thom.