One

Joanne moaned and writhed pathetically on the dirty tiled floor of the small apartment. She squeezed her eyes shut to cry, but it seemed as though previous situations like this one had drained her tear ducts dry.

Only blood streamed along her face, the wound a jagged cut on her forehead. Pieces of glass were still lodged on its surface, and the rest were strewn along a straight path to the living room.

"Oh God." whispered a husky voice. It was a short burly man holding a broken wine bottle. He traipsed slowly towards her.

"Joanne. Why did you make me do this?" he asked. "You didn't even give me a chance to explain. Why must you always criticize me?!"

Joanne spat on the dirty floor. "You fucking - I don't even know what you are. How many women did you send your dick to? That intern? She's barely 18. What about the woman at the grocery store you were begging to fuck? The latino woman that lives across from us? The one you wanted to suck her golden juices?"

Conan winced and could not look her in the eye. "That was all talk. I never did anything." he whimpered. "Of course, you didn't. They never even replied you!" Joanne kicked a desk by the entrance to the bedroom. It toppled over and created a barrier between both of them.

This gave her time to drag her numb body to the end of the other wall. "Get the fuck out!" she screamed.

"Joanne! I am your husband" Conan cried. He looked weak and small in the evening light. Between the blood-stained bottle still in his right hand and his cowardly face, Joanne actually pitied him, but pitied herself the most.

"Maybe there are people that are not meant to have any good experiences in existence." She started. "Those women knew better to even talk to you, but I actually married you! Now I am convinced. Not a single good thing has happened to me in my life!"

Conan inched closer. "Joanne, this is still my apartment. You can't kick me out." he said quietly. 

"Not if you know what's good for you." She showed him her unlocked phone. It boldly displayed 911 and the minutes the call had remained connected. It had been more than 3 minutes.

"I don't care what you do to me. You're going to rot in jail for a long long time." Joanne remarked.

Conan rubbed his head and closed his eyes in significant distress. He let out an ugly mangled sound, like a wounded dog, and tossed the wine bottle at Joanne.

"You're better off dead without me, Joanne. You'll see." he mumbled before dashing out the door and onto incoming traffic on the sidewalk.

In minutes, the only sound that was left was Joanne's hard breathing. It took her about an half hour before she could stand up, and start gathering her things. The 911 picture was fake of course. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would have to use it, but she downloaded it off a big account on Twitter dedicated to helping women out of tough situations.

It had worked, but Joanne remained indifferent. She was going to leave her husband, but her life would pretty much carry on the same way it had before. She had zero savings, zero education or qualifications, she had never lasted long enough at a minimum wage job anyway, and now that her husband was gone, no one would love or even think about her.

Her father had deserted her and her mother since she was four. She was an only child, and therefore, the full receiver of her mother's drunken antics. Once, during one of her mother's bad episodes, Joanne had begun on the subject of boys. Her mother told her without repudiation that she shouldn't bother.

That boys would never be interested in a plain looking girl with no tits. She then told Joanne to pray that she would get some nice set of tits when she got older. That was more than 10 years ago, and she had left her long ago, but it was enough to still floor Joanne even now.  She thought about her husband again.

It would've been better if she actually made a 911 call, but she couldn't even think to do that while her husband was swinging glass bottles everywhere. "What the fuck is wrong with me?" she asked, sobbing. 

Before her mind could descend to that dark place that no human being would wish to ever discover themselves in, her phone rang for real this time. It was the name of Susan. Joanne's roomate while she was attending college, before she dropped out to marry Conan. 

Susan had been in town for the weekend, and by a completely serendipitous meeting at the Town mall, they exchanged numbers. "Hey Sis, what's up?" Susan blared with her quintessential high-pitched voice. It felt like she was beaming a white Ray of sunshine into Joanne's cold bleak world.

"Hey Susie." Joanne managed a somewhat clear voice. "Miss me already?" Susan continued. "What time do you get off? I was thinking maybe I should come over. After all, you do owe me."Susan said. Joanne moved her mouth into a half-smile. 

Susan and her had once stayed up a full 12 hours trying to catch up  a semester's worth of work so Joanne could pass ECON102. It was a wild night. But the smile disappeared as soon as it came. College all came to nothing after all.

""Jeeji?" Susan asked over the phone. "It's all shit, Susie", Joanne sobbed. The dam on her tear ducts had opened, and clear water streamed out of her eyes. "My husband - he-he" Joanne cried. 

"Whoa, Jeeji! Calm down. Tell me what happened" Susan instructed coolly. 

Joanne narrated the experience to her. 

"Jeeji, you need to be gone out of there. Like yesterday." said Susan.

"But I don't have anywhere to go" Joanne whimpered.

"Joanne! This is why I'm upset with you. You got my number today. And you didn't even bother to call?!" Susan fumed. "I have a studio in Madrid!" she continued.

Joanne was stumped. She didn't know how to react to a gesture of pure kindness. "And I don't have any money-"she started.

"For God's sake Joanne! Just come. We'll figure all that out. Come." Susan instructed. Joanne remained still for a moment. Two choices lay ahead of her, and she didn't know if one was more treacherous than the other.