He was holding her.
She was on the ground, soaking wet from the rain, sobbing uncontrollably, shaking.
And he was holding her.
The other man, he had left her in the middle of the lot, in two totally different kinds of pain.
One, the physical pain, from the blows and kicks that he had given her.
And two, the mental pain, from being used as an outlet for his anger, an object for him to vent on.
It had started out with a few words, hurtful words, but they always hastily followed by an apology.
Soon after that, the apologies started to weaken, and then they ultimately ceased, the flow of criticisms and slander and insults never ending.
The first time he put his hands on her (after she came in the door exactly four minutes after she said she'd be back) it came as a surprise, and she fell down to the ground, in silent shock of what he had just done to her.
At once, the man seemed to come to his senses and helped her off the ground, apologizing in superabundance and kissing the bruise that had already formed.
She stayed awake that night, wrapped in his arms, feeling his warm breath on the back of her neck.
It gave her chills.
From this point forward, she found out that the apologies for these strikes would too, as the others, deteriorate over time.
The punches would get harder and there would be more of them.
She would be in constant pain.
She told herself that this was just a phase and he really didn't mean to hurt her.
He would snap out of it soon.
That's what she told herself when she was covering up the purple spots on her arms and face with concealer.
That's what she told herself when she was curled up in a ball in the bathroom, trying to find a way to breathe around her sore ribs.
But THIS man, the gentle one, the caring and kind one, the one who had cleaned her up after he was through with her,and let her spend the night with him when she was too afraid to sleep at home, THIS man was all she could think about right now.
The feel of his arms surrounding her as he rocked her slowly back and forth, the smell of the jacket he had put her in, the sound of his voice rumbling in her ear that was pressed to his chest, soothing her.
"I've got you, I've got you. Shhhhh. Don't worry, I've got you. "
"Let's go home, hm?"
She freezes for an instant. For a minute, she thinks she meant his home. She thinks he is going to make her go back to him.
It's okay though. THIS man wants her to come to HIS house.
Safe.
When her sobs have slowed and she is more in control, he proceeds to lift her up, one hand on her waist, and the other under her arm.
He supports most of her weight as he walks her to the car.
He opens up the back door and sets her down inside, instructing her to lie down.
After a brief mumbling about "not safe" and "seat belts" she obliges.
He closes her door.
Now in the driver's seat, he adjusts his mirror so she is in view.
Her sobs have quieted now, but he can still see them shaking her small form.
The sight makes his hatred for the other man rush through his body almost violently.
But- he can take care of that later.
He starts the car, pull out of the lot, and drives.
They arrive at his house and he helps her out of the car, shielding her from the cold rain with his own body.
They run to the door, he fumbles with his keys for a sec, and then lets them both inside.
She stands still, facing away from him, and he tries to get her to turn to him.
When he succeeds, to his horror, he sees that another fit of sobs has overcome her and he leads her to sit on the couch before she can fall.
All she wants right now is to feel his arms around her again and to be safe.
When he hugs her to his chest finally, she buries her face in the crook of his neck.
She inhales the smell of him - it's wonderful.
Just this alone seems to dull away the searing pain in her body that focuses on her arms, torso, and face.
He pulls her from his neck, causing her to whimper a little bit and clutch on to his t-shirt.
Was he leaving her?
But—all he does is free up one of his hands so he can gently stroke her bruised, cut, and slightly swollen face, careful to mind the lacerations there.
She feels herself almost involuntarily leaning in toward his large, warm hand, closing her eyes.
He sighs and continues to stroke her face, but this time, softer. And slower.
She really is exhausted.
"Hey. He's never gonna touch you again. I'll make sure of that" he says, almost to himself.
She turns to look up at him, and he can't help entranced by her dark blue eyes that come in contrast with her bronze cocoa colored skin.
He says that he won't let him hurt her anymore.
She doesn't know how to believe that he would be able to do that.
But.
When she looks up at his face, his eyes are soft, but slightly tightened around the edges.
She closes her eyes and buries her head in his neck again, wanting the smell of him to take the pain away.
"…for now" she thinks.
"I'll believe him just for now."
And while he strokes her face and holds her as she drifts-
She does.
Hey! Okay guys this is my absolute first story, kay? So don't get too mean, but give me some reviews, please!
OH!
This story actually has a whoooooollle bigger story it goes to and I think I want to write it out.
SO.
You have been warned.
LOL.
THANKS!