My heart beat frantically when I approached the front door. I hesitated before opening it, thinking I'd heard her yell. When I didn't hear it again, I continued inside.
Her agonizing cries stole the breath from my lungs. I stared in horror at the large man pounding his fist into my mother's side as she cowered on the floor in front of the couch with her hands over her head. She hollered in pain with each impact, trying to shrink away from his blows without anywhere to go.
"What are you doing?" I yelled, without thinking about anything except making him stop, despite the fact that he had a good five inches on me and looked enraged enough to take down a bull.
"This is none of your business," the guy growled at me. "Get the fuck out of here."
"Emily," my mother gasped. She tried to pull herself up on the coffee table. My mouth opened in a shocked utterance when I saw the blood gushing out of her nose and the swelling enveloping her right eye.
He wasn't about to let her come back up, turning toward her as she stumbled to her feet. He raised his bloodied fist just as I screamed, "No!" The collision spun my mother around, teetering her over the top of the coffee table. It collapsed upon impact. Her crumpled body didn't move, sprawled awkwardly on the splintered wood.
He turned to intercept me when I rushed to her, shoving me out of his way with virtually no effort. I landed hard on my side with a grunt.
"You want to make this your business?" the guy threatened from above me. I shrunk into the floor. He snarled down at me as he breathed heavily through flared nostrils. His black eyes threatened to bore right through me. "Then you're going to get hurt, little girl. This is between me and Rachel, so I'm only going to warn you one last time. Stay the fuck out of it."
I tensed, prepared for him to hit me. But he moved past me, slamming the front door behind him. I scrambled to my knees and slid over to the collapsed coffee table where my mother was starting to moan.
"Mom?" I called to her with tears in my eyes. "Can you hear me?"
She groaned louder and squinted with her good eye. "Emily? Is he gone?"
"Yeah, he's gone," I assured her, tenderly sitting her up. She whimpered with the slightest movement. "Can you get up? We need to get you to the hospital."
"I think I broke my wrist," she cried, holding her left wrist, the one she'd held out to break her fall.
"Easy," I coaxed gently. My voice was steady as I supported her to sit, but my entire body was shaking.
"I'm sorry," she gasped, fresh tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry."
"Okay," I consoled, dismissing her pleas. "Now let's see if you can stand." Supporting under her arm, I helped her up.
She was crying uncontrollably by the time we reached the car. I took a deep breath when I sat on the driver's seat and tried to remember how to get to the hospital, needing to remain calm so I could think clearly.
"It's okay," I breathed to myself. "Everything's going to be okay." I flipped my eyes toward my sobbing mother and said it louder for her to hear, "Everything's going to be okay."
Her cries dwindled to spastic breaths and sniffles as we neared the hospital.
"How are you doing?" I asked, afraid to take my eyes off the road, strangling the steering wheel.
"I'm sorry," she choked again.
"Okay," I dismissed anxiously. "But how are you feeling? Can you see out of that eye? Does anything else hurt?"
"I think I'll be fine," she returned in a murmur, wiping the blood from her face with her sleeve covered hand.
"Who was that guy?" I asked, now that she was starting to sound more coherent.
She just shook her head.
"Rachel," I demanded forcefully. "Who was that guy? Why did he do this to you?"
She swallowed audibly and released a quivering breath. "I owe him some money," she whispered faintly.
I pulled my brows together. "For what?"
She wouldn't answer. I didn't ask again.
I tried to remember if I knew what he looked like, for when the police asked. Besides being big and sleazy looking, I couldn't remember anything descript about his face. Then I knew. There was only one reason my mother would owe a guy like that.
"He's your dealer," I concluded out loud. Rachel remained silent. I couldn't stand to even look at her. I clenched my teeth together and stared at the road as the anger built up in my gut, tightening every muscle in my body.
When we arrived at the emergency room entrance, I demanded, "Give me your phone."