Baby Come Back(30)

My thoughts returned to the weeks after that very special Valentine’s Day spent with Nick in Atlantic City. Things had continued to go well between us. We hadn’t made love since Valentine’s Day; Nick had simply resumed his rough f*cking once again. I had figured Nick was possibly out of his comfort zone when showing tenderness. I had attributed it to being some macho, Italian thing.



There had been one exception to the norm; my period was late. I had missed a couple of my birth control pills, which wasn’t necessarily unusual for me. I had sometimes forgotten to take them for a day or two so I simply made up for them whenever I remembered. The following March I had discovered that I was pregnant.

I had visited the Planned Parenthood clinic for confirmation. I had been nervous about telling Nick. It had to be done, though. He had seemed to take it in stride. He had actually seemed tickled about the prospect of being a father. He had made it clear though that he wanted us to be wed. We had decided not to tell our respective parents until after we were married. That had actually been Nick’s decision.

The baby was due in November; I had told Nick that I had always wanted to be a June bride, so we planned to get married at one of the numerous wedding chapels on the strip after I wrapped up my classes for the quarter. Nick had booked the bridal suite at the hotel where he worked for our honeymoon.

Several of my friends from school had hosted a bridal shower for me. I had felt guilty about not letting my mom know, but it really was better this way. I was nearly four months pregnant; there was no point in walking down the aisle at St. Vincent’s in a white wedding dress.

A couple of days before our marriage was scheduled to take place, several of Nick’s buddies were taking him out for his bachelor party. I had some angst about that. Nick had still been attending his NA meetings; he knew that he had to abstain from situations that might cause him to relapse. He had never really been a drinker; even after he came out of rehab he hadn’t used alcohol with the exception of the champagne on Valentine’s Day.

Nick had assured me that he would limit himself to a beer or two; I wasn’t to worry. I had worried though; I had worried when he hadn’t returned home by the following morning. I had convinced myself that he had probably gotten a little bit drunk and slept it off at his buddy’s place; but which one? Why hadn’t he called me?

I had worried the whole time that I had worked my shift at the drug store. When I had returned home, music was blaring from the stereo in our apartment. I thanked God; at least he was still alive.

I recalled when I had opened the door to our apartment that afternoon. There had been strangers inside. I hadn’t even spotted Nick at first; then I did. He was in the kitchen, snorting lines of coke off of the kitchen table.

I had freaked out. I had screamed and yelled for everyone to get the f*ck out of the apartment. They had scurried out of my way like cockroaches. I had shut the stereo off and returned to the kitchen to find a very buzzed Nick laughing at my rage. I had spotted the plastic bag with the rest of his cocaine in it. I snatched it up and emptied it into the sink, running the faucet to wash it down the drain.

That’s when Nick had lost it. He had gotten up from the table, kicking the kitchen chair out of his way. He snatched me up and threw me against the wall in the living room. I remembered how I had slid down it and fell into a heap on the floor. Nick hadn’t been done with me just yet. I saw his enraged face as he closed in on me. I had curled myself into a protective ball, trying to shield my stomach from his flailing fists; his savage kicks to my ribs. His enraged beating had continued on and on until I had finally passed out.

I had awoken the following day in the hospital. My mother had been at my side, weeping and sniffling. Nick had been there, too. He had told my mother that I had fallen down the stairs at our townhouse apartment. I had suffered a miscarriage as a result. She had been beside herself; chastising both of us for not telling our parents we had been expecting. She had insisted I come back to Hoboken so that she could take care of me. Nick had assured her that he would take off work and care for me. I had simply remained silent.

Nick had kept his promise. He took several days off from his job and tended to my every need. He had been extremely apologetic; assuring me that it would never happen again. He had been to NA meetings on a daily basis to show me just how serious he was about never relapsing again. He had assured me that he would do anything to make things right between us again. I had smiled and nodded; I had told him that he was doing all of the right things and that I had faith in him. I knew that I simply had to bide my time.

It had been a little over a week since my ‘accident.’ Nick had gone back to work, instructing me to take it easy and stay in bed until he got home. After he had left, I got dressed, packed my bags and emptied our emergency cash stash into my purse. I had called a cab to pick me up. I went to the bank where I emptied out our joint savings account. I had figured the bastard owed me. I then took a bus to Philadelphia where I got a job as a waitress. Two weeks later I met Ian Hatton. That is when the second CHAPTER of my life had started.

I threw the covers off of me and got my Blackberry from the dresser. It was 7:15. I called the airlines and had my flight changed. There was an 11:15 flight out of Newark tonight for Atlanta. I booked it; then called a cab. I dressed and packed as if a demon was chasing me; in a way, that’s exactly how I felt. I didn’t ever have to face Nicholas Camerucci again. That was my choice to make and I chose not to.