Breaking the Cycle

“Go, then,” said Paris, suddenly calm. “You wanna leave? Then go.”

She saw hope surging through his brain but didn’t loosen her grip.

“How I’ma go?” he whimpered. “Ya’ gotta loose me! Loose me now, lady, fo’ the love of God, loose me! Else how I’ma git out?”

“Break out, motherfucker! You broke in, didn’t you?”

“Yo’ door was settin’ wide open, dammit! I din force mahsef in here on you!”

“I didn’t invite you in, either,” Paris spat, yanking his nuts in opposite directions and wringing them left and right.

“Then call the po-leece, Lady,” he whimpered and stomped his feet.

“Let’s jes call the po-leece an’ I turn mahself in!”

Paris thought for a moment. This motherfucker had made every woman’s greatest fear her painful reality. He had violated her home and her body. But he’d also done something else. He’d given her something that had been lacking in her life during the last ten years with William. He’d given her courage.

“Okay,” she said. “But you’re gonna call them. If you can break in my house by yourself, and stick your nasty dick in my face all by yourself, you can call the police by yourself. Now,” Paris explained slowly and carefully as if he were a child. “If you think I won’t fuck,” she jerked his left testicle upward, “you,” she yanked the right nut downward, “up…” his balls split east and west, “then you need to call an ambulance before you call the cops!

“Walk over to the telephone,” she commanded, pulling him over to the speakerphone on top of her desk. “Now press that red button that says, ‘speaker’ and dial 9-1-1.”

Following her instructions, the stranger waited until a voice flooded the room from the small speaker.

“9-1-1 emergency, Sergeant Glascow, how may I help you?”

“Sh—sh—she got me by da’ ball

s, Man,” the stranger cried. “My name S-s-stanley and she got me by da’ balls!”

“Yeah, Man,” the dispatcher replied, “that’s what happens when you marry ’em and give ’em your checkbook, but this number is for emergencies only.”

“Nah, Man, nah, she really hurtin’ me bad, she hurtin’ my balls, really, really bad!”

“Could you repeat that?” the dispatcher asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Is someone there hurting you, Sir?”

“You’re goddamn right, I’m hurting him, and I’ll kill his black ass, too!” Paris yelled.

Quickly she explained that she’d captured an intruder and gave the policeman her name and address. Then she made Stanley press the red button to end the call. Although her hands were sore and tired and her fingers were sticky with the stranger’s blood, Paris felt like she could have held on to him for at least another month.

At least.

“I gotta wee,” the stranger moaned.

“What?”

“I gotta take a piss, lady. Real bad.”

“Well, hold it till the cops get here, and then you can christen your new jail cell.”

“I cain’t hol’ it, Lady! I swear fo’ God, it’s comin’ out!”

“Dammit! Walk over to that front door and don’t try nothing cute because it’s your dick and your balls.” She yanked him over to the door and instructed Stanley to open the door a small crack and aim his dick toward the porch. For a split second the stranger’s body obscured Paris’s view. For just an instant her attention wavered.

And that was all it took.

Stanley swung the door toward her with all of his might, catching Paris off balance and off guard. The edge of the door slammed into her face, whipping her around, and Paris howled and grabbed at her broken nose. Stanley moved like white on rice. Leaping onto her front porch he hurled himself over the side rail and, barefooted and bare-assed, took off bounding toward Jerome Avenue.

Paris wanted to rush down the steps and chase him, but she could barely open her left eye, and her right eye was flooded with blood. It would take more than a few stitches to close the gash her teeth had made when the stranger split her lip, and her broken nose made breathing terribly painful.