Imperfections

By Ann Chiappetta

For Lainie, feeling unwelcome is only the beginning of her struggles. Her mom is addicted to painkillers, her stepfather is a felon, and her dad traded her in for a new family.

So what if she’s kicked out of high school? Determined and attractive, Lainie sets out to make her own path.

Shane, the young man she begins dating and believes is trustworthy, transforms into a possessive and cruel boyfriend. When Efren, Shane’s older cousin, enters her life, Lainie grasps onto a sliver of hope, falling in love.

Shane’s obsessive and abusive treatment of her, however, casts a deep shadow over Lainie and Efren’s chance to find safety and a future free of the fear of Shane’s sadistic retribution.

Will their love persevere, or will Shane’s pervasive and negative influence push Lainie and Efren apart, forcing them to love secretly?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Chiappetta
• Release date: Mar 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224914012

Ann Chiappetta

Ann Chiappetta is a writer, poet, and essayist. Her writing has been featured in dozens of small press poetry, fiction, and nonfiction journals and anthologies including the Pangolin Review, Poesis Poetry Journal, Dialogue Magazine, Magnets and Ladders literary magazine, and Breath and Shadow, a magazine of disability Literature. Ann hopes to make meaningful connections with others through writing.

Book preview

Imperfections

Ann Chiappetta

Editing, print layout, e–book conversion,

and cover design by DLD Books

Editing and Self–Publishing Services

www.dldbooks.com

Cover photograph by Cheryll Romanek

Copyright 2024 by Ann Chiappetta

All rights reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Books by Ann Chiappetta

Upwelling: Poems (2016)

Follow Your Dog: A Story of Love and Trust (2017)

Words of Life: Poems and Essays (2019)

A String of Stories: From the Heart to the Future (2020)

Hope for the Tarnished (2022)

Imperfections (2024)

Chapter One

Lainie

We become what we love, and who we love shapes what we become.

—Clare of Assisi

I located the main office and handed the secretary the messily folded bunch of papers from Mom.

Where’s your parent or guardian? she asked, making a point of glancing around the office as if she hadn’t known I came in alone.

My mom’s at work by now, I said.

She tut–tutted and rose from behind the reception desk. Well, we need her to come in and sign some papers. She must have forgotten to do that before giving them to you.

Embarrassment flushed through me. I knew I’d have to make excuses for her again.

Can I take them home and bring them back tomorrow? I asked.

I endured her tiny eyes boring into me. She pulled a pen from the iron–gray frizz near her ear and tut–tutted again.

How many times a day does she make that sound? I thought.

Is your mother a single parent? she asked, pulling a file from the cabinet beside the desk.

Uh–huh.

She sounded disapproving. I suppose you can fill out most of it. I’ll see what I can do. Have a seat. I have to print you out a class schedule.

An hour later, I left with my classes and a campus map.

Welcome to eleventh grade at Campbell High, I mumbled, searching for the way to my next class.

By the end of the day, I had realized a few things: I had the wrong clothes, the wrong shoes, the wrong accent, and came from the wrong state. Not one kid talked to me, and the teachers were barely civil. One teacher had the nerve to have me stand in front of the class and answer questions.

I hear the New York accent is unique, he said in a nasal twang I would later recognize as belonging to the Pacific Northwest.

My cheeks burned the entire time. After being asked to say coffee, water, and dog, I sat and waited out the last twenty minutes of the class, gritting my teeth.

I never went back to that class, telling myself I didn’t need European history to get a job.

The school finally caught on to my various truancies.

Mom threw up her hands. Lainie, is there anything you can’t fuck up? She lit a cigarette and threw down the lighter. You’ve missed so many classes, they expelled you. She made the word expelled sound shameful.

It sucked anyway, I said. No one wanted to be my friend, and the teachers are assholes.

As usual, Mom didn’t say anything about the good grades I’d earned in English, biology, art, music, and gym. I got expelled for cutting algebra, history, and health education.

Well, since you just turned seventeen, you can study for the G.E.D. If you pass, you’re done with high school.

She tossed an envelope at me. The school’s name and address were printed on the upper left hand corner and addressed to Elaina Cartwright, me. I opened it and glanced at the contents. The information about night classes and how to register for the test felt cold to my fingertips.

You’ll be able to get a job and find out that you made a big mistake, said Mom. She laughed. I’m going to bed. Don’t forget to wake me up at 7:00.

I got up and stuffed the brochure in the back pocket of my jeans and began to wash the dinner dishes. I dunked my hands in the water, scrubbing the pot I’d used to make dinner, and sighed. I hated it here. By the time I finished, Mom and her second husband, a gross man named Keith, had locked themselves in the master bedroom, probably watching porno and getting high.

Mom drove me to the junior college to register for night classes. Since I qualified for financial aid, she drove me round trip three nights a week. I guess she felt magnanimous because she hadn’t had to shell out the cash for the classes, books, supplies, and any other education fees.

The people there were friendly. I struck up a friendship with a tall Korean girl named Fawn. We sat next to each other in English class, and I helped her with grammar.

Past participles? Dependent clauses? Lainie, how do you make sense of this?

I laughed. I don’t do so well in math class.

I love math! I’d be happy to help you.

We met an hour before class twice a week and traded tutoring. I liked Fawn, and we both listened to the same music and moaned about not having cell phones.

Do you live with your parents? I asked after a mind–boggling algebra lesson.

No. I live with my uncle and his family. My mother died after I was born, and my father gave me to my uncle.

He adopted you?

No, not officially, she said, eyes downcast.

Why not? I asked, fearing I’d gotten too personal, but she answered.

His family is still in Korea. I’m staying with him until they come here to live.

When is that? I asked.

Maybe next year. This is why I must get my degree and find a good job, so I can move out and be on my own.

She asked me about my life.

I live with my mom and her new husband. I lived with my dad, but he remarried, and my stepmother got pregnant with twins. She convinced him it was time I moved, went to live with my mom. I rolled my eyes. What a mistake.

Fawn touched my hand. It seems we are doing what we must to break free of bad things, she said.

I wondered what bad things she meant. Maybe they were as bad as my own circumstances. Or maybe hers were worse.

She straightened, and her face brightened. Oh, yes, I almost forgot to tell you. I’m taking the test in two weeks. If I pass, I’ll be starting nursing classes in the fall. Don’t forget, I’ll drive you home later. Call your mom to tell her.

That’s why I wanted a cell. Not having one inconvenienced me all the time. I left the student library and was heading to the only pay phone left in the city of Campbell when I heard a noise and stopped. Something hit me, and I lost consciousness before I hit the ground.

I smelled stale tobacco smoke and turned my head to avoid it. The action made me feel nauseated.

I think she’s waking up.

Was that my mom?

I tried to open my eyes, but even a little light made them tear.

Lainie, can you hear me?

It was someone else.

I licked my lips. Water, I croaked. Please, water.

A thirst–quenching ice chip slipped into my mouth.

What’s your name?

Elaina Cartwright, I said, sinking back into oblivion.

Each time the nurse woke me I was given a few ice chips and asked a question or two. I dropped into a half–sleep after each set of questions and a brief examination.

I woke that night, opened my eyes, and knew I’d been assaulted. I moved out of New York, assumed to be the most dangerous place to live, and I got attacked in California. How ironic. I wanted to smirk and roll my eyes, but my lips were cracked, and the bandages swathing my face and head kept me from any sudden movements.

I reached for the cup on the table. My arm trembled while I sipped from the straw. How long had I been out of it? I drank a few more sips of water and fell back asleep.

Lainie, wake up.

I opened my eyes. A nurse greeted me. The name tag read Nurse Kim. She pressed two fingers to my pulse.

How are you feeling? she asked.

Tired.

She refilled the cup and helped me sit up, propping up the pillow and adjusting the bed.

What day is it? I asked.

You’ve spent the night here. Do you remember what happened?

I was attacked, I said.

She adjusted the covers.

Before you ask, I said, the president of the United States is George Bush, and the last four digits of my Social Security number are 9221.

That’s right. Now that you’re awake, why don’t I get the doctor?

She inspected my lips and reached into a pocket of her scrubs. This will help heal those dry, cracked lips, she said, tearing the foil packet open and dabbing a healing ointment over the worst of the damage. She dropped the packet into a clean pill cup and set it on the nightstand. When you feel your lips start to hurt, put more on.

She whisked out of the room in soft shoes, and a few minutes later, a doctor came in. She was an Asian woman. Her bright, sympathetic energy seemed to fill the room.

Hello, Lainie. I’m Dr. Kwan.

Hello. What kind of doctor are you?

A neurologist. I specialize in treating the brain and the nervous system. She removed an instrument from her white lab coat pocket and sat beside me. Let me examine you, and then we’ll talk.

She asked me the same questions the nurse had asked.

When she touched the bandaged sections of my head, I winced.

You have sutures there, she told me. Fifteen of them, and ten on the other side. Don’t worry. The sutures are the kind plastic surgeons make, very small, to minimize any scars.

She touched a sore area over my right ear. You were hit on the left side, and when you fell, you hit your head on a trash can, and the edge cut you. We’ve treated you for head trauma and a mild concussion.

How long have I been here?

She finished her exam. Since last night. About twelve hours. She patted my arm. You’re very lucky. I think you’ll make a full recovery. She picked up my chart and made some notations. Are you hungry?

My growling stomach answered her question, and she chuckled. Let’s see what we can do.

I ate everything on my tray. It wasn’t too bad for scrambled eggs, toast, and pudding.

The first time out of bed was disturbing. The floor tilted as if I were moving through a funhouse tunnel. The nurse helped me get on and off the toilet.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror shocked me. My hair hung in limp, uneven clumps, the bare spots and sutures obvious. Fatigue darkened the skin under my eyes, and the right side of my face was a swollen mass of bruises and scabs. I didn’t remember falling and scraping my face on the pebbled stone of the in–ground trash container. I resembled a third–world refugee camp survivor. I started to cry.

Nurse Kim rubbed my back, calming me.

I can’t even brush my hair, I sobbed.

She let me cry on her shoulder for a time, then got me back into bed.

She sat beside me and held my hand in hers. It felt firm, comforting.

Lainie, you’re going to be okay. It’s normal for you to feel this way. Why don’t I get something to help you relax?

The medication melted away the stress and pain, and I watched some TV. I wanted to forget being here. I’d never been attacked before. I’d been caught unaware and almost killed. At least I hadn’t been raped. Maybe that’s what the doctor meant by being lucky. I wanted to go over what had happened to me, find out who had done this to me, but the shock of it drained my energy. I closed my eyes, escaping into sleep.

The next morning, the nurse removed the IV, and I ate more of the hospital food, asking for seconds of eggs and toast. I felt much stronger, and I bathed. A nurse’s aide washed and dried my hair.

Mom visited for an hour after work. She visited each night, staying until she began craving a cigarette.

The police want to talk to you, she said. I told them you didn’t see who hurt you, but they said they got to anyway.

Mom, it’s okay. I’ll talk to them.

Good, ’cause they’re coming in tonight. She fiddled with her purse. I hope it’s soon. Keith doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

Keith was a gross and nasty man. I don’t know what possessed Mom to marry him. I saw him dealing coke out of his car one night and told her about it. She made me swear not to tell anyone, especially not Keith. He probably had a record.

Mom jumped to her feet when the detectives entered the hospital room. The other two beds were empty and had been since I arrived.

Hello, Lainie. How are you? The Hispanic detective smiled at me. I’m Detective Rios, and this is my partner, Detective Novikov.

Detective Rios was average height and weight, balding, with a bushy black mustache and kind eyes. The other detective was a tall, broad, athletic woman. Her blond hair was messily styled, and her makeup was expertly applied.

We won’t take up too much of your time, Lainie. Are you up to answering some questions? she asked.

I nodded.

I was tired by the time Detective Novikov flipped her notepad shut and stashed her pen.

If we get any leads, we’ll let you know. The security camera covering that end of the building is damaged, and we couldn’t get anything from it. Since you didn’t get a good look at who assaulted you, and we couldn’t talk to any witnesses, there’s not much we can do.

Detective Rios gave Mom his card. Call us if you have any questions.

Mutt and Jeff, quipped Mom after they were out of earshot. Did you see that broad? I’d hate to meet her in a dark alley.

Mom, I’m tired. Why don’t you go home?

Mom kissed my cheek and left.

I swallowed my nighttime pill and escaped into sleep.

I was released the next afternoon. Dr. Kwan pushed my wheelchair to the elevator.

I thought only nurses did that, I said.

I’ve been known to do un–doctor–like things from time to time.

I trusted Dr. Kwan. She explained things. She described what a brain injury is and how it makes someone feel. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Kwan explaining things, I probably would gone nuts.

I’ve given your mom my number in case you start to feel worse, she told me. I don’t want you to go back to class until after I see you for your follow–up appointment. You are to rest. That means no exercising, no bumpy rides, and no driving.

She and a nurse helped me into Mom’s car, and we drove off.

Chapter Two

Dr. Kwan

The follow–up appointment with Lainie Cartwright and her mother, Mrs. Hodges, concerned me for a number of reasons. During my examination, Lainie appeared uncomfortable. Neurologically she presented well, yet something told me to delve a little deeper.

I called in my nurse, and we removed the sutures. The affected areas were healing, thanks to the skill of the new plastic surgery intern.

You’re healing well, I said. I don’t even think there’ll be much scarring, and your hair is already growing back.

She didn’t react. That wasn’t a good sign.

Are you feeling all right? I asked.

She didn’t respond.

Lainie, you seem a little tired today. Have you been finding it hard to concentrate?

Yes. It’s hard to read, and I just don’t feel right. She started to cry. "Sometimes I wake up and don’t remember where I