Chasing Freedom

By Wendy Zuccarello

Joey Nichols lives in New York City with her demanding and controlling boyfriend, Jonathan Bane. The constant physical and emotional abuse from him terrifies her enough to prevent her from leaving. The only thing keeping her going is secret letters from her long-time pen-pal, charismatic Chase Matthews.

 

Since fourth grade, Chase and Joey have become best friends, yet she hides her abuse from him out of shame. When they finally meet face to face, Joey is physically torn from him by Jonathan. Chase witnesses the abuse first-hand and is forced into action.

 

Through secret meetings, Chase and Joey realize that there is more to their relationship, yet they are unable to explore their feelings due to Joey's dire circumstances. Chase uses his connections as a lawyer and devises a plan to rescue Joey. With her life on the line, Chase must act fast to save the woman he loves.

**WARNING - this book details instances of physical and emotional abuse and may be a trigger for some readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wendy Zuccarello
• Release date: Apr 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223565604

Wendy Zuccarello

Wendy Zuccarello lives in central New Jersey with her husband, two teenagers, and many pets.  In her spare time, when she is not reading or writing, she is working on her MFA in Creative Writing.  She also enjoys watching movies with her family, photography, and baseball.

Book preview

1

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Joey

The slap comes abruptly .  I never saw it coming, never expected it.  The instant pain on my cheek is not enough to rid myself of the shock.  His horrifying gaze sends chills down my spine.  Standing above me in his black suit and blood-red tie from work, glaring down his nose at me, I feel so small.  He is the prowling, poisonous, predator, and I the paralyzed prey.  Not wanting to appear weak, I attempt to straighten my spine, push back my shoulders.

I asked you a question, Josephine, Jonathan says in a growl.  His eyes narrow accusingly at me, his brow furrowed in anger and what looks like could be confusion.  He is leaning over me, the intimidation technique making me quiver.  How he went from the gentle, calm man I thought I knew to this seething beast in front of me, I will never know.

I scramble my thoughts, trying desperately to remember what he asked a few moments ago, but blanking.  Tears begin to run down my face, a direct result of the sheer terror coursing through my veins like ice.  The pain does not help.  The momentary confusion as to what is happening has me dumbstruck.  The situation is baffling to say the least.  Just moments ago, I was washing dishes which now seems so trivial in the grand scheme of things.  My life just changed the instant I felt the sting of betrayal.

I... I’m... I say while backing away from his anger.  The plain, white, kitchen wall stops my retreat.  My heart pounds, my breaths coming in pants as the panic washes over me.

A second back hand to my face knocks me to the floor.  In a moment of weakness, I pull my feet up and try to appear small, willing myself to disappear.  My arms cover my head protectively.  What were you doing out of the apartment today? he asks harshly, drilling holes through my head with his laser focus.  His breathing is labored, his nostrils flaring, not from the action of slapping me twice, but from the anger that is pouring off him in waves.  Like a deer caught in headlights, I am frozen, unable to move to save my life.  At any moment, the truck barreling down on me is going to strike, dealing another blow.  This being the first time that he has turned violent, I am utterly confused, lost as to who this man is in front of me.  Certainly not the man that I met in college, the sweet and gentle soul that drew me into his clutches.

Coming to my senses, I quickly answer him.  I was checking the mail.  I almost shout this, proud that I conjured anything to say at all in this state of fright.  I only went to the lobby of the building, I say, the nervousness evident in the shaking of my voice.  I fail to mention that I retrieved the mail from my secret post office box of which he is unaware.  Hidden for the sole purpose of his jealous and controlling nature, which is on full display.  If there were ever a moment where I was more confident in my decision to keep it hidden, it is now.  If he knew about my long-time friend and pen-pal, Chase Matthews, I know he would forbid it, and I am not willing to let him find out.  Since the beginning of our relationship, Jonathan Bane has always been a jealous man, not permitting me to speak to or be friends with other men.  It never occurred to me for a second, that he would ever turn violent.  But something has changed in him these past few months.  His actions are more controlling, his mannerisms harsher. 

We met in college, at NYU, when I was a sophomore and he a senior.  Being shy did not allow me many new friendships, but something about him drew me in and our similarities were abundant as we got to know each other.  Both of us from broken families, or lack thereof.  My teenage mother gave me up at birth and I grew up in the foster care system, no father listed on my birth certificate, no known relatives.  She was young and scared and did what she thought was best for her unwanted infant, leaving me to fend for myself in this harsh world.  Bouncing from foster home to foster home, I learned at a young age that if I kept quiet, I would be left alone.  I aged out at eighteen but had luckily earned myself a full ride to college.  I do not have any terrible tales of torture; I just never found my family. 

Jonathan on the other hand, was placed in foster care when his parents were killed in a car accident when he was eight.  His only living relatives were older and unable to care for a young boy.  He was taken in by a wealthy Senator and his wife.  Unfortunately for him, though, it was for image purposes only.  His foster father was very stern, imposed many rules, and was not stingy about his physical punishments.  Jonathan learned that perfection was expected, and anything less was not tolerated.  Therefore I am so shocked that he has resorted to violence with me.  I always thought that his strict rules and obsessive nature were because of his stepfather’s teachings and he followed along because it would make it easier for him.  Now, I have no idea what to do.  I feel lost.

If you only went to the lobby, why did I see you exit the building on the security feed? 

I panic for a moment, never putting a second thought towards the security cameras when I left, a mistake now proving to be a fatal flaw.  He usually shows no interest in what I do during the day, why should I expect him to review security footage.  I drag my body off the floor slowly, not making any sudden movements as if that may set him off again.  I take a tentative step towards him, holding my hands up in front of me.  Jonathan, please, I say calmly, as if I am talking to a wild animal about to snap.  I stepped outside to get some air, that’s it, I promise.  My tone soft and subdued, begging him to calm down.  When I raise my hand to touch him, to gently remind him that it is me he is talking to, he slaps it away harshly, the force knocking me to the side.  My eyes widen in fear of my unknown immediate future.

Then you just lied to me when you said you only went to the lobby to get the mail.  If you lie to me about that, what else are you lying about?  A million scenarios run through my head as if someone pressed the start button on a horror movie, and I am the star.  I think, dear Josephine, that it is time for you to learn your place, he says with a warning.  He shoves me into the wall and moves in, each slow step towards me taken with purpose, a promise of what is to come.  Backhand after backhand, slap after slap, I struggle to remain on my feet.  I try to protect myself, but I am no match for a man his size.  At six foot and two hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle, he is a force to be reckoned with, and I am simply a living punching bag.  At one point, my legs buckle, and I crumble to the pristine floor, clean from the completion of my earlier chores.  His foot flies into my side, and I cry out in pain, the first noise that has come out of my mouth since the pummeling began.  Now that the deafening silence has been broken, I plead and beg for him to stop, to end this agony, but my cries only fuel his rage.  Sweat is dripping from his brow, falling unapologetically onto my body, each drop its own little insult.

Then, just as suddenly as it all began, he stops, stepping back from my battered body.  After the longest two minutes of my life, he stands and straightens his shirt and tie, as if what he just accomplished was part of his normal day.  He is breathing heavily, almost panting.  His clothes slightly disheveled, his face, red with hostility matching his tie.  Then, as if nothing happened, he turns and leaves the apartment without a word.  The sound of the door closing instills instant relief that the violence is over.  I fear, however, this marks only the beginning of the pain.  The tears flow freely, the dam has burst and there will be no stopping the flood.  I curl into myself and wince in pain.  I can feel the blood coming from my nose and can barely see out of my left eye.  Tiny droplets of blood splatter around the floor, standing out brightly against the white tile like little ruby coins.  The stabbing pain in my left side alerts me to a possible broken rib or two; each breath brings with it a reminder of his aggression. 

My mind is reeling over the brevity, yet intensity, of what just occurred.  There was so much wrath it was pouring off him in waves, yet gone in an instant, as if he flipped a switch.  I am at a loss as to who that was hitting me.  It was certainly not the man I thought I knew.  He always had a harshness to him, but it was part of his charm, in a way.

I curl onto my side on the floor, aching to find a position that is somewhat comfortable.  Any attempt to stand up will have to wait – there is just too much pain.  I agonize over what I should do.  Should I leave?  Should I stay?  What if he comes back?  So many questions and no answers, at least, none that I can think of now.  The shame that rolls over me is sudden and it creates an immense pain in my heart.  I feel weak and destroyed. 

"Don’t let them get to you, Joey.  You are strong, I just know it."  Chase’s words ring out in my head from one of his very first letters to me.  We began writing to each other as part of a school project back in fourth grade.  We were paired together as the result of there not being an equal number of boys and girls in each class.  I had no issues with it, and neither did Chase.  Our friendship was fast and unbounded, and the letters travelled back and forth across the country on a regular basis, as if there were a direct line between Alabama and New York.  As my one and only friend, I cherished each letter from him. 

I would laugh if I could, thinking about one letter from over fifteen years ago, from a much simpler time in my life.  When we first started writing, I remember telling him about some girls at school that were making fun of me because of my hand-me-down clothes, and boyish nature.  I was known as that foster kid and scrub, a result of my constant disheveled appearance and unkept clothing.  I always was a tom-boy, getting along better with the boys than the girls, and the girls took it out on me.  When I told Chase about them, he told me to stand up for myself.  What would he say now that I am lying on the floor, battered, and broken? 

I am suddenly so tired.  I remember something about not going to sleep right after you hit your head, and I think Jonathan pummeling my face would count as hitting my head, but I cannot for the life of me find it in myself to care right now.  As I drift off, dozing in and out of reality, I think of Chase, and that letter.

Dear Joey,

I’m sorry that those stupid girls are picking on you.  Don’t let them get to you, Joey.  You are strong, I just know it.  The next time one of them says something to you just punch them right in the nose!  If I were there, I would do it for you.  I hate girls.  Well, all of them except you.  You are the coolest.  I wish we went to school together so that we could hang out.  You are my best friend, and it really stinks that we live so far away from each other.  I asked my mom and dad if we could move to New York City to be close to you, but they just said no.

If I had money, I would buy a bus ticket to come and live with you.  Do you think your foster parents would let me stay in your room with you?  I’ll keep mowing lawns and delivering the newspaper and see how much money I can make.  I was saving up for the new Super Mario Brothers video game but now I think I want to buy that bus ticket more.

Did I tell you that we got a new dog?  His name is Gunner, and he is a real runt.  Smallest dog I ever saw.  But my mom fell in love with him at the kennel where she volunteers and brought him home.  I will try to get my mom to take a picture of him and I will send it to you in my next letter.  Are you allowed to get a dog where you live?  What is your foster family like?  I know you said there was a lot of kids in the last home, but you haven’t said anything about the new one.  I wish you had a mom and dad like me.  I even wish you had a brother or sister.  I’ll give you my little brothers if you want.  All they do is annoy the crap out of me.  They follow me everywhere.  Mom says I should be nice and help take care of them, but I just don’t want to.  Do you think I’m mean for thinking that?  If you do, I’ll be nicer, I promise.

Well, I have to go help with dinner now.  I can’t wait to get your next letter.  Write back soon!  And don’t forget to punch those girls in the nose!

Your friend,

Chase

2

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Chase

Everything that I have ever worked for, wanted, has culminated in this very moment.  I am officially a lawyer, well, as soon as this graduation ceremony is over.  The sacrifices all but forgotten as I stand here waiting for my turn to walk the stage.  I allow my eyes to travel the sea of nameless faces, taking in all the families in attendance.  Such a proud moment for so many people all at once, it is exhilarating.  I spot my parents and brothers, immediately feeling the wide smile taking over my face.  The goofy grins that they sport almost amusing.  My mother catches my eyes and she give me a little wave, quickly wiping a stray tear away.  My name is called, snapping my attention back to the task at hand and I saunter across the stage to accept my diploma.  I hear the hoots and hollers from my family, turning to hold the most important piece of paper of my life over my head in victory, like an Olympic champion claiming their medal.

We love you, Chase!  My Mom’s words ring out loud and clear just before the next name is called.  I touch my fist to my heart and point directly at them, telling them without words that I love them.  None of this would be possible if not for their support.  The difficult journey has finally come to a head, and I can now start my career.  As I stride back to my seat, following the student in front of me as if we are playing follow the leader, I try to take it all inside.  The giant mass of white caps and gowns gives the appearance of an enormous, fluffy cloud, a sea of intelligence.

As I reach my seat, my smile faulters, thinking about the one other person who has been there for me more than any other – Joey.  She should be here.  I invited her long ago, mentioning it several times in letters to her.  She always declined, citing one excuse or another.  Something is off with her lately, and it