I know, late again! Good thing this blog isn’t my period! He he.
Anyways, moving on from that fairly bad attempt at a joke… I swear this is a true story. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.
It was Friday night, Russ and I had just gotten back from dinner/drinks which puts the time at roughly midnight. I was crawling into bed and Russ was brushing his teeth when an unexpected knock came at the front door.
Russ, being the man of the apartment, had to go answer the door. I heard him crack it slightly, pause a moment, then swing it open. “Babe?! Bring some clothes!” His tone was urgent so I unquestioningly hopped to. I grabbed a pair of my sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt before rushing to the front of the apartment where he and a naked woman were standing. Yeah, you read that right. There was a naked woman standing in our doorway and bless her little heart, she was using her arms to cover her stomach and not her lady bits. Priorities, am I right?
Neither were saying a word or moving a muscle. Both Russ and the naked woman were standing silently, staring helplessly at me. Russ is usually the authority when it comes to all things scary or bizarre but apparently (thankfully?) he draws his line at strange naked women standing outside his door because that man was doing nothing.
Kicking into action, I rushed over to the woman and gently pulled her into the apartment, closing the front door behind her. I handed her the pile of clothing and told her to put them on in the kitchen (located kitty-corner to the front door). I then shooed Russ (who had still not moved or spoken) off into the bedroom so that the poor woman could have a little privacy while she dressed.
The tears started to roll down her cheeks as she pushed her first leg into the sweatpants. By the time she had her head through the t-shirt, she was bawling. I didn’t know what to do or say to this previously naked woman. I dumbly opened my arms for a hug which she eagerly accepted. She cried for what felt like forever (time moves more slowly during awkward moments, anyone else notice that?) before she finally broke the embrace and asked for a tissue. She had a thick Russian accent and I couldn’t help but think, “Fuck, please don’t let this be a mail order bride arrangement gone wrong.” Ding, ding, ding, someone give me my prize!
She tells me that she just moved here from Russia to live with her new fiancé, a man she met online. Ugh. The transition had not been a smooth one; they’d been fighting essentially every day since she arrived. Apparently that night, he had wanted sex and she has refused so he attempted to rape her. He had ripped her clothes off and was attempting to choke her into submission when she managed to break free of his grasp. She escaped from the apartment and ran straight to mine because she had seen me walking my dogs around the complex and thought I looked friendly, like someone who might help her. She had very little money and nowhere else to stay, her fiancé was the only person she knew here in the US. Ugghhh.
I called Russ out of the bedroom and summarized her story- Domestic violence, foreign national, no money, no close contacts. I told him to go down to the fiancé’s apartment to get her passport and wallet, I was planning to help her find a hotel to stay at for the night.
Russ left and I was in the middle of giving the woman my best “leave the abusive asshole” speech when I realized that quite some time had passed and Russ had not yet returned. Shit. I asked her if her fiancé would hurt Russ and when she said she wasn’t sure, my heart sank.
I rushed out the front door and down the hall towards the apartment she said she was staying in. Three police officers were leaving the apartment with Russ and another man, who I assumed was the fiancé, in tow. The first officer gestured for me to continue towards him. He asked me to bring the woman out of my apartment so that she could provide an official statement. I looked over to Russ for some sort of visual hint as to how this situation was going to go down but he was busy checking out the officer’s duty belt. Thanks babe. I looked over to the fiancé and noticed that he had long, deep scratches on his face, neck, and arms and that his t-shirt was stretched out and torn. Serves you right, fucker.
I returned to my apartment and after some cajoling, I convinced the woman to go out into the hallway with me to give her statement to the police. And there was where shit hit the fan.
The Russian mail order bride part was true. Everything else, however, was a lie. The woman was suffering from a psychological disorder and had failed to bring her medication with her to the US. Unmedicated and in a haze, she attacked her fiancé mid-sex session (which she admitted to initiating), wrecked their apartment, and ran off to me to play the victim.
She was arrested right then and there and was hauled off to jail in my sweatpants and t-shirt. The fiancé was given the officers’ best “leave the abusive bitch” speech and was sent home to clean himself up. The next day, I was given my clothes back and a bottle of vodka, as a thank you for my troubles, by the happily reunited couple. Ugh.