So, short chapter this time, but trust me, with the amount of angst coming your all's way, you're going to want these chapters short. It literally might just kill you.

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Chapter Seven: Beat Down

Oh. Fuck.

Ohhhhhhhh, fuck!

You know how you never feel adequately prepared for the biggest moments of your life? You know how the biggest moments of your life may also intertwine with another person's life? Like, what is that supposed to be, divine fate? Am I even making sense?

Probably not, but you can hardly blame me.

I mean, fuck, how do I react to this? I was ready to try and accept anything—hell, I was even ready to play defense attorney and prove Elsa's innocence had she said she really had killed somebody. But…this?!

What the fuck?!

"A-Anna?" she's saying, her voice wavering considerably although I'm completely out of tune to anything but the rampant thoughts rampaging through my head.

I had suspected this "secret" had something to do with that brace of hers, especially when she wore it to our day outside the gym, but…never had I expected this!

I mean, I'm staring at Elsa, who is sitting on her couch, beautiful face streaked with tears, left hand curled around her stomach in that adorable defensive position of hers…

But her right hand?

It isn't there. Neither is half her arm.

Literally, where her right hand and forearm should be is a rounded off stump that ends abruptly at her elbow. To complete the whole thing? A large pink scar holds the skin of the stump together by its seams.

Fuck.

"Anna…p-please," Elsa strains, and I'm still only partially coherent enough to recognize the pure, unbridled fear laced in her voice. "S-Say something."

My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and some part of me is aggressively criticizing my sudden deficiency in the English language and the fact that I had just promised this girl I would be there for her and that nothing would turn me away, and I'm pretty sure I'm doing a terrible job at convincing her I'll keep true to my word.

"You…" I stumble, my mouth suddenly dry, and why the fuck can't I look anywhere beside her arm? "I don't…"

I see her cautiously reach out to me, biting her lip in a way that would usually have me swooning and swallowed in the sudden desire to kiss her, but now it only serves to prove how real this situation truly is.

Elsa Arendelle, elite boxer and two-time Olympic medal receiver, only has one arm.

You kind of need two to box.

Damn it, now I'm sure I just sound like an ass.

"Anna, please…" Elsa's begging again, "Sit back down and let me…try to explain!"

It's only then I realize I had jumped off the couch sometime in the last five minutes, and I'm pulling myself back to its plush cushions in a second.

Shaking my head in hopes to dispel my shock and apparent asshole side, my eyes soften and I look—this time actually focusing on her face—back to the beautiful blonde next to me.

"Sorry," I mumble, looking down, ashamed at my horrible reaction. "I just…wasn't expecting that."

She tries to smile, but I can tell it's forced, my reaction truly having made her self-conscious.

"It's not easy to take in, I'll give you that," she mumbles back. "God only knows I still haven't completely."

I glance up at her face, eyes laden with sadness, before I'm looking at her arm again; this time in nothing more than a sympathetic, painful manner.

"How long ago did this happen?" I ask, my voice now gentle in tone and less asshole-ish.

She sighs heavily before she herself is staring—glaring—at the offending stump.

"Two months after the last Olympics," she grits out bitterly.

I suck in a sharp breath; that fits perfectly with the timeline of her disappearance.

Then I realize this poor girl has not only been living in seclusion for fourteen fucking months but dealing with this all by herself as well and my heart instantly goes out to her.

Not like it hadn't when I first saw her, but you get the idea.

"And you haven't told anyone?" I inquire next. "I'm the only one that knows? What about your parents?"

As soon as the word is out of my mouth, Elsa stills and my heart is sinking to my stomach.

Dear gods, please don't be true…

"My parents are dead," she whispers before she's crying, arms wrapped around herself to the best of her ability.

Fuck.

"God damn it, Elsa," I grumble, "I'm so sorry. That was…completely rude."

She shakes her head slowly as she sniffs, her head remaining on her knees where I can't see her face.

"It's not, really," she forgives. "You had no way of knowing."

"Still though," I say. "I feel like shit."

I hear her snort a laugh, and a smile flickers across my face before I'm frowning again and thinking about how to proceed. I'm treading on some really thin ice here.

There's a moment of silence where I'm trying my damnedest to keep my eyes off her right arm while she's still curled in on herself, but with the way that scar is now engraved in my retinas, I know I'm failing miserably.

In hopes to distract myself, I inch closer to Elsa, carefully reaching out to her until I have one arm cradling her against my side. At the touch, she immediately clings to me and lets out another sob. I can now feel tears running down my face as well.

I really should have brought that ice cream.

Not only has this angel on Earth lost one of her limbs—and the most important one, given her pastime—but her parents as well. She had been riding so high, on top of the world after that last Olympics, and in one cruel instant, it was all ripped away from her. Like, what kind of justice is that? Congratulations on the Olympics, Elsa, but now you're going to lose your arm and your parents in one fell swoop because you've reached the peak of happiness.

Complete bull, right?

This is why I have never believed in a god. Some omnipotent being who is supposed to love and care for all would never implement this kind of hell on someone, right?

But that's beside the point. Elsa's still clinging to me and sniffling as she grasps handfuls of my shirt, and I know this night is still far from over.

My girl needs me.

"You can ask how it happened," she mutters eventually after she pulls back, smiling shyly yet appreciatively at me as she does so. "I know you're curious."

I'm blushing because it is the question on the forefront of my mind.

"I felt as though I shouldn't pry," I try to explain.

She smiles gently at me and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

"And I'm grateful for that, but I really don't mind," she says, and I blink at how easily she seems to be riding this all out. "I mean, yeah, I do, but my therapist says talking to someone about it will help me come to terms with it. Keeping it all inside like I've been doing is only damaging me in the long run."

Shit, she's seeing a therapist on top of all of this?

I mean, it makes complete sense given all the trauma she's been through, but to me that seems to be adding fuel to the fire.

Then again, what do I know? I'm no psychologist.

"How did it happen, then?" I ask, glancing back to the stump before I focus once again on her face.

Her eyes repeat my action but linger, and she heaves out a sigh before speaking.

"Car accident," she utters, and my heart clenches. "Dad was killed on impact, mom died an hour later at the hospital. I fell into a coma and didn't wake up for two weeks. When I did, I awoke to one arm and two dead parents."

I flinch at the harsh bitterness that she finishes her statement with, and my hand reaches for hers automatically. She squeezes back almost instantly, but no more tears fall, her face hardened, jaw set in stone. Beneath all that sadness, emptiness, and longing in her eyes, a fire burns; one fueled with anger, frustration, and a hell of a lot of survivor's guilt.

"Did they say why you lost it?" I inquire next, praying I'm not crossing any boundaries.

Elsa doesn't turn to look at me and remains focused on her right arm, but she carries on easily enough.

"Passenger side door nearly cut it off completely," she whispers. "They tried to reattach it during surgery, but the nerves were too far gone apparently."

"Gods, I'm so sorry, Elsa," I mumble.

"I know," she sighs.

"So, what you wear now is…?"

She looks to the fake half-arm on the coffee table in front of us and my eyes follow hers.

"A poor substitute," she says bitterly. "It's nothing, really. It's not connected to anything so it's virtually useless. Just fastened on by Velcro. That's why I wear the brace; to keep it in place."

"Have you ever considered getting a prosthetic?" I ask. "I mean, with technology today, it could be-."

"Don't say 'just like it was,'" she cuts me off.

I close my mouth instantly and avert my gaze to the floor.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"My therapist is already up my ass about it, I don't need you up there too."

I simply nod in return, not wanting to upset her even more.

Another bout of silence falls between us in which we're both staring at the floor dejectedly, hands still linked subconsciously.

"Thank you for telling me all of this, Elsa," I speak after a while. "I know it wasn't easy and brought up unwanted memories, but…"

She finally looks at me again, and I'm surprised to see her smile gently, a glimmer of contentedness floating in the depth of her irises.

"I know," she whispers, and I can't help but mirror her soft smile.

Suddenly, a clock somewhere in her flat chimes at us, and it's only then I realize it's going on three in the morning.

Before I can even think about getting up to leave, Elsa's tugging at my clothes again, keeping me down on the couch. I look to her and see another wave of vulnerability taking over her.

"Will you…stay, please?" she asks me, and my heart jumps to my throat in elation.

Trying to contain myself and not shout my approval and want in her face, I nod mutely, what I'm sure is a goofy grin on my face given the way Elsa looks to be holding in laughter.

She's as close to beaming as I've seen her tonight and my own happiness levels rise in tune with hers.

"I'd love to stay, Elsa," I am finally able to speak. Grasping her hand once more, I stare her down as I tell her, "I told you I wasn't going to leave you."

She breathes out what sounds like a mix between a cry and a laugh, and before I know it, I'm leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss to her forehead.

God damn, where did this bout of courage come from?

"If anything," I continue, "tonight has only solidified my want to stay with you." And I can only hope she doesn't take that out of context. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

She smiles and giggles in turn, and my heart flips as a coy look slowly builds on her face.

"I hope I come to learn that that's a good thing," she whispers in my ear, and I can't hold back the shiver that wracks my body at the feeling of her breath so close to me.

Face flushed beyond control, it's all I can do to squeak out, "Y-You will," before I'm alone on the couch as Elsa retrieves some spare blankets from her bedroom.

And, despite the fact that I'm sleeping on the couch and not with Elsa, I'm over the moon with joy.

Granted, I had no idea of the trials Elsa and I would come to face that would truly test the bond that was forming between us, but I knew I was ready to face them head on.

No, Elsa was definitely not getting rid of me that easily.