God Only Knows

The doorbell jangled and a blast of cool air hit me as I stumbled into the all-night diner. The grease-stained wall clock read a quarter past one… AM. I had an irresistible craving for french fries.

I patted the slight bump on my belly, imagining my unborn baby wondering why Mommy was awake at that hour. But if Baby was to blame for the craving… half a smile flickered on my face.

"Your order, miss?" The lone guy in the kitchen hollered, coming to the counter.

"Small fries, please."

"One-fifty."

I paid in worn-out pennies and dimes I'd scraped out of the fountain downtown.

The cold draft chilled my bare, sweaty shoulders as I sank into a sticky vinyl booth. I shivered and wondered if it would have been a better idea to stay outside, huddled in an alley, wrapped in whatever passed for a blanket I'd pulled out of a dumpster.

I fished my charging cable out of my backpack and plugged my phone into an outlet. The dining room was empty, its silence amplifying the hollowness of my thoughts.

The cook served my fries, footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor, and withdrew into the kitchen to deal with drive-thru orders. I was relieved he didn't stop to ask if I was okay, too ashamed to remind him to bring ketchup.

My hands shook as I reached for the food. Turned out the fries were not really what I was craving at all. If anything, my stomach heaved and gurgled at the greasy smell. I shuddered deeply from head to foot, the hell of withdrawal combining with the cold, drafty AC.

My eyelids sagged. I leaned over, folding my arms on the table and resting my head on them, battling the urge to go find a crack hit to take away the pain and sink me into oblivion, the closest thing I knew to peace.

Why did I run away? How did I think I could stay sober? I must have it or I'll die! But I can't… I can't do that to my baby. If I can just get through this moment without screaming… Augh! I writhed, digging my nails into my arms. Another minute and—

My phone buzzed on the table, reminding me to unplug it as it was fully charged. I dredged out a pair of earbuds from my backpack. If I couldn't numb myself with one addiction, I'd use my other one: music.

I opened Spotify and hit "shuffle," closing my eyes to see if I could guess the song after an agonizingly long ad. Hypnotic opening vocals stumped me: God Only Knows, by For King and Country and EchoSmith. I was hooked.

God only knows what you've been through
God only knows what they say about you
God only knows the real you
But there's a kind of love that God only knows…
For the broken, for the ashamed,
The misunderstood and the ones to blame
What if we could start over…

The all-too-relatable words of desperate hope washed over me so powerfully, I couldn't tell if I was getting goosebumps because of the AC or this song I'd never heard before.

I looped it a hundred times, finding meaning, a path out of myself, something to get my mind off the crack I'd sworn away.

Then, I lifted my head in time to see the door swing open. A man strode in. Good God, it's Ken! My fragile peace vanished, replaced with dread like twilight ghosts.

He hadn't changed a bit since I'd last seen him two months before: crisp polo shirt, slick hair, sharp blue eyes that scanned the diner and saw me almost as soon as I saw him, despite my attempt to shrink down and hide in the booth.

I tried to get up as he approached, but my bare, shorts-clad legs were quite literally stuck to the vinyl seat. He held out his hand, smiling down at me.

"Beth. I missed you."

I stared blankly, his words barely filtering past the song still playing in my ears. Ken slid into the seat in front of me.

"Whatcha listening to?" He reached for my phone and lit up the screen. "Christian music? You're such a sap…" He hit pause. With my last escape gone, I pulled out the earbuds.

"How did you find me?" I hardly recognized my own voice.

"Does it matter?" He examined me with a piercing gaze; the set of his jaw and the way his lips drew thin unnerved me.

"Why did you find me?" I tried to steady myself.

"Because I love you."

I grimaced. Silence.

"Come on, what have you been doing with yourself? When did you last eat? Are you hungry? Why are you here?"

"I… ordered food."

"Fries? At this hour?"

"I'm expecting, for Pete's sake. I get cravings." I rubbed my icy hands together.

His eyes flicked to my unembellished wrists.

"Where's the gold bracelet I gave you?"

"I sold it." I stared down at my pale, trembling hands on the table as if they were not my own.

He let out a short harsh laugh.

"Really, Beth? That's how much you love me—you swapped my gift for some crack?"

"No, no!" My head jerked up, and I met his eyes with a flash of indignation. "I've been clean since I left. I don't want my baby to be addicted!"

"Two whole months? Yeah, sure." His eyebrows arched. "You couldn't stay sober for twenty minutes without having a panic attack and throwing up, last I checked. Where you sleeping?"

"I try for a shelter bed every evening, but there's never enough. So…"

"I'll get you a hotel room. Then you come home with me in the morning." He picked up my hand on the table and held it. "How's that sound?"

"No. I'm not going back." I pulled away from him. "I want a new life. A clean one. A fresh start for me and my baby."

"Your fresh start hasn't started out well. You're starving on the streets. If you keep up like this you'll lose the baby, stupid."

"I'll get help!" Tears stung my eyes. "You don't love me—you just want me back to make you money! I'm not your slave." My chest heaved, the trauma I'd tried so hard to suppress and run from exploding to the surface. "You stole everything I had: my dreams, my innocence, my sobriety. You're not getting my child! It isn't your child—you can't tell me what to do with it!"

"From one of the clients?" His lips twisted. "Shame on you. That wasn't supposed to happen."

"I don't know how it happened. I don't care. God gave me a child so I have someone to get sober for. A reason to live. A reason to get away from you!"

"What did I ever do to you that wasn't your own fault? You think you can make a new life for yourself with a past like that?"

Agitation flickered in Ken's eyes. He reached for a straw, tore away the wrapper, and played with it, bending it around his finger. It didn't flex; instead it made sharp corners and folds as he twisted it around and around, finally splitting open at the stressed points. He tossed the mangled plastic aside.

"Listen." He leaned forward, pinning me with an intense glare. "You're an outlaw and an outcast. Prostitution is illegal, crack is illegal, and I'm the only person who cared enough about you to be here now. I'll protect you. If you had any sense you'd stay with me where you belong instead of running around waiting to be thrown in jail."

"Belong," I tried to scoff but sniffled instead. "Do I belong with you or to you?"

"Both," he sneered. "Consider your options. Without me, you're nothing but a piece of trash in the wind. I'm only doing this because I love you."

"That's not what love is." My voice was low and dull. I could barely think coherently, sleepiness tugging me down into a deadly abyss of apathy.

"You think love is what you hear about in your cheesy Christian songs. It isn't. This is the real world, Beth, not a fairytale."

I yawned. My stomach gurgled. Maybe he was right. I should let him get me a room so I could sleep. Maybe if I was good and did what he told me to he'd let me have a dose of—

Wait, what?! I jerked upright with pure horror at the thought of poisoning my baby. No!

Ken leaned in like a vulture, watching me, as if he knew what would exact the most damage.

"You think you deserve to raise that kid? You're no mother. You're a slut."

His words knifed my heart. A rush of nausea engulfed me. I tore myself off the sticky vinyl seat, grabbing my phone and backpack.

"Where you going, Beth?"

I pressed a hand over my mouth as bile rose in my throat, rushing blindly towards the front of the diner. Shoved myself into the ladies room. Locked the door behind me. Slumped against the wall and sank into a sitting position, hunched over on the floor.

I lay in deathly stillness, face pressed into my knees, waiting for my stomach to settle down. Did I pass out? What time is it? Maybe he's right. I can't survive on my own, much less carry a baby. I'm just a loser, a nobody. A drug addict. A slut who got pregnant with a client…

I stood, wobbling to the sink as a wave of lightheadedness blurred my vision. My face in the mirror was a dysphoric ghost. I stared at the sunken eyes, the matted, unwashed hair, the gaunt cheekbones. She didn't look like a mother. But she was. Nothing could change that. Except…

You think he'll let you keep it?! Some surprisingly lucid part of my brain shouted at me. You idiot—he'll force you to get an abortion or sell it or something! Get out of this before it's too late!

Ugh. How? If I called the police I'd be turning myself in. A jail cell wasn't appropriate shelter. An arrest wouldn't help my future.

God, please help me… I need a miracle. I noticed a business card stuck in the lower corner of the mirror frame. It read,

Are you in crisis? Need guidance? Call me, Jody Schwartz, Chaplain. Free 24/7 Confidential Emergency Counseling from a woman who believes with God, all things are possible.

I stared. Ken knocked at the door.

"You getting out?"

"I'm not well."

This wasn't a lie, as I clung limply to the sink. I dialed the chaplain's number, nearly dropping my phone.

"Jody Schwartz," a firm, no-nonsense voice said, as brisk and alert as if she'd been standing at attention waiting for my call.

"I'm in a terrible situation," I whispered, petrified that Ken would hear.

"Do you need to call 911?"

"No, I'm too scared."

"Tell me everything."

I poured out the bitter misery of the past two years of my life, my escape, my struggle for sobriety and the dead end facing me.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Honey, you're a minor. You've been coerced. No one will arrest you. Stay where you are—I'm coming right over."

Oh my God. Why hadn't I realized that?

Ken jiggled the doorknob.

"Who are you calling? Get out!"

I kept quiet, praying he would go away.

After an eternity, footsteps approached.

"You Ken? You're under arrest."

A scuffle broke out. Shouting.

"Get down! Put your hands up!"

Silence at last. Then Jody's voice,

"You can come out, Beth. You're safe now."

She stood waiting, with a warm smile and open arms. I fell into her embrace, an exhausted, sobbing rag doll, barely noticing the flashing red and blue lights filling the diner windows, or the EMT standing by.

Protection and peace enveloped me like a security blanket. I knew, whatever happened next, I had a friend and advocate.

Word Count: 2000.

If you or someone you know in the US is in a trafficking situation, please call the 24/7 National Human Trafficking Hotline at 888-373-7888 or text INFO to 233733. Help is available.

Written for the What a Character, August 2024 Official WdC Contest.
Prompt: Write a story where a character quickly finds themselves in a situation where they're in over their head.
God Only Knows, by For King and Country, TimbaLand and EchoSmith ▼