Violent shouting, desperate screaming, the loud sound of heavy objects being knocked over trespassed the shared wall to invade his apartment with a dramatic feeling of impotence and a familiar sting on his chest. It was at this point grim remembrance, just that he didn't know how far those memories went into the past, or if they were just the usual image of recent events. What Add did know very well was that there was an awful sensation oppressing his lungs and it wouldn't go away no matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was all a matter of controlling his emotions with reason. Truth was, he wasn't even able to put his finger on what exactly was that was causing all of those emotions from the day reality had opened in front of his eyes. It all felt too disgustingly familiar.

The receiver of the apartment phone was still hanging from its cord with the subtle and repetitive sound of the open line marking the rhythm of the unsettling ambience. It was obvious that this situation was far more complicated than just a sick man doing sick things to an innocent girl out of pure sickness, and he didn't feel prepared to discover any truth beyond that vision. But it didn't suffice with just erasing his surroundings and pretend that nothing bad was happening right next to him. Sitting on the couch slightly curved over himself he supported his elbows on the knees and covered his eyes with intertwined fingers, not daring to move under the constricting air that had taken over the place.

The loud sounds stopped abruptly, and the next thing he heard was the contiguous door opening and slamming shut once again, then heavy footsteps on the hallway. Anything that quietness could have had of calming before had now been replaced with the certainty of a tragedy, the same way that silence would never be reassuring ever again. And how could it be if even after everything had ended the echo of that screaming and whimpering was still lingering in the air. Then, the sound of a message popping up from his blog page that was still open on his laptop.

With a cold shiver running down his spine he stood up heavily and made his way back to the bedroom, where the bright screen lighted up the otherwise dark room. Dragging his feet, he fixated on the room ahead of him, giving away the presumption of something terrible waiting for him, just that visceral knowledge that made his way to the bedroom feel like an eternity. He clicked on the notification with a hand covered in cold sweat.

The first thing that appeared on the screen was a picture, showing the figure he already knew was going to be there. She had her slim arms supported weakly on the edge of the bed with her head resting on them, the rest of her body sitting on the floor messily, like it had been thrown against it and that was just the position it fell in. With only underwear on her, the purple and black bruises, the red lines of cuts and spilled blood covering her skin all over were perfectly visible. Under the photo was a message that read "Had a fun night" with a smiley face next to it. It only made the bile rush up his throat. But the thing that disgusted him the most was the fact that her eyes were showing nothing more than a blank expression, the pure epitome of bitter acceptance.

Leaving the laptop as it was, he made it to the apartment next to his in the verge of throwing up, loud palpitations bumping inside his ears and making his brain feel like it was throbbing. He felt agitated, but it wasn't fear. It was something closer to impotence, the acknowledgment of a repeating cycle that wouldn't stop going around, the feeling that there was something he had been unable to stop a hundred times. With those sensations piling up inside his stomach he knocked on the door he had in front of him, only then realizing that it had been left opened. And of course he had done that on purpose.

Add pushed the door softly and was received by a dense darkness, the light bulb on the ceiling only gave out a faint yellowish light when he turned on the switch, but it was visible enough for him to see the disaster the living room had been made into. A couple of big furniture pieces had been knocked over and there were shards of glass and white porcelain covering the floor, some of them with traces of blood on their sharp edges. He advanced through the narrow corridor that connected to the bedroom, careful to not step on the pieces.

Dim light emerged from the only bedroom in the apartment. He saw the wardrobe knocked over and her clothes sprawled all over the floor, the bed sheets torn up and messy, falling over one of the sides of the bed, covered in small circles of blood and white liquid, with brownish and yellowish stains that were obviously old and already dry. The room exuded a disgusting smell of sweat, metal and something else that almost made him gag. He looked at her laying against the edge of the bed in the same position he had seen her on in the picture, her body moving slowly with the rhythm of her weak breathing. Big bruises covered her pale skin in every possible spot, while the parts of her skin that didn't have those dark figures were covered with a white liquid that ran down her body in multiple places. Her feet had several cuts and on her cheeks were the traces of tears that had already dried, her lips were swollen and there was a thin thread of blood coming out of her nose.

Something unpleasing started to form inside his stomach, rushing up through his throat until he had to run to the bathroom connected to the room and empty his body of the disgust inside the toilet. He threw up until there was nothing more than saliva coming out of his mouth even though his throat was still throbbing. His body was shaking almost uncontrollably, cold shivers making his limbs tremble and filling him with terrible flashbacks. That blank expression she wore on her face was something he knew all too well, the sight of her condition didn't cause pity or compassion, but an awful sensation of rage and a sharp pain that cut across his chest.

Going back to the bedroom and seeing her again only made the sting become more painful. Add kneeled down next to her, brushing the hair off her face to see that she was awake and conscious, still breathing even if weakly. Taking his phone out his pocket he pressed the numbers to call the emergency line, but the soft touch of another hand moved it away from his face.

"Don't" she said merely, a thread of a husky voice coming out painfully out of her mouth. On the other side of the line there was a voice repeatedly asking what was wrong. "Please" she insisted, her hand looking for the cell phone to cancel the call. But it wasn't necessary; the voice on the other side spoke angrily about something related to pranks and the lines being too busy before hanging out and leaving the tone of the open line lingering in the air.

He hadn't dared to move, even when her movements were ever so soft and delicate that they wouldn't have been able to stop him if his determination would have taken over. But there was something in her voice that told him it was best not to contradict her. Maybe because he was convinced that he would never be able to completely understand the way she felt, and thus she was the only one who had the right to speak out. But it felt bad nonetheless, it felt wrong. He would have to think of something to make her get help, one way or another. He wasn't the right person to fix what was wrong.

Placing one arm under her knees and the other around her back he stood up, lifting her up in his arms on the way. There was at least one thing he could do, and that was cleaning up the mess, even if it only was to wash away the dirtiness of the touch of that terrible man. He felt her head burying against his chest and her fingers weakly grabbing onto his clothes. They were being completely covered by the liquids she had covering her body, even his hands felt wet and dirty just by holding her against him. But that was the last of his worries this time, even if the urge of cleaning himself up was just buried deep inside his brain to pop up later on. It was even strange how the untidiness of her apartment hadn't caused anything but pure rage and anxious disgust.

He carried her to the bathroom, gently putting her down inside the tub. The fast palpitations of his heart were taking over the inside of his head, but he wasn't trembling anymore, even if the sharp sting of pain still remained piercing through his chest, threatening to cut his breathing off any second. But he knew that whatever he was feeling, she had it ten times worse. Her face looked calm, but the subtle movement of her body gave away the agitation that was boiling inside of her quietly, bearing with it all by herself. It was a painful sight.

His left hand reached doubtfully to the upper part of her back, timidly fumbling for the clasp of her bra.

"Is it okay to take this off?" he asked hesitantly, knowing too well that it was probably one of the worst things he could ask in a situation like that. But he tried not to give away any of that insecurity and uneasiness, keeping his voice as serious and calm as possible. Maybe a part of him wanted to be reliable. He received nothing but a quiet and almost unnoticeable nod as an answer, and he wasn't going to ask for anything else from her. When the bra slid down of her arms, he heard a quiet whimper escaping her lips.

Just for that one time and that one time only, he thought to himself, he embraced her protectively.


Some of you may already know, but I've started my classes in college and I have little to no time to spend. I've been awfully busy and that's why I haven't updated this fic for so long. But I'll still try to use the little free time I have in updating it as frequently as possible, please bear with me!

Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Until next time.