Chapter Eight
Broken Ones

She found herself walking in the darkness of night. Her feet carried her as steady as they could as her body grew increasingly tired and heavy. Her head was swirling and pounding, and every time she blinked, it felt like her eyes were going to roll out of her head. She knew she looked a mess, but there was not much she could do about it. Blood trailed down from the wound to her head and dripped down on the dirt road beneath her, tracking the journey she took. Droplets of blood seeped into her eyes obscuring her view.

There were times when her body grew heavier than it had done and all she wanted to do was stop and crumble to the ground but she continued walking, hoping that her feet didn't fail her in that moment. The night usually scared her but this time was different. She did not care if anything more happened to her, for she would rather be anywhere than the place she had come from.

She closed the gap between herself and her destination quicker than she had realised. She turned onto the street and quickened her steps. She knocked gently on the door, hoping to stir the sleeping inhabitants inside. She soon realised that her knocking was not loud enough and so she started banging against the wooden door louder and more frantically than before.

She heard someone bang about inside the house and curse in frustration. She slumped against the door, her body refusing to work in that moment. The door opened revealing a woman with curly hair placed messily upon her head and a colourful blanket covering her body. The woman's mouth was moving but she could not, for the life of her, hear what she was saying to her. And that was when the darkness welcomed her like an old friend.

-

"Ada!" Polly shouted desperately into the darkness of the house. She heard Ada move upstairs and making her way down the stairs to where she was stood.

Ada stood dumbfounded as she saw Martha's unconscious body lying on the floor.

"What the hell happened?" Ada asked, rushing towards the young woman's side. It had been a long time she had last seen her, having only been a young girl when Martha disappeared from her life. She had felt bitter towards the girl afterwards, especially when Tommy came back from war to find himself lonely.

"Ain't got no clue," Polly said, inspecting the woman's face. Blood stained her delicate ivory skin and the older woman wondered what the true extent of her injuries were. As she looked the woman over, she inspected that she had to have walked for some time going by the state of her shoeless feet. "I need you to go find Tommy. He should be at The Garrison."

Ada nodded and slipped into her coat. As the young girl rushed out into the night and raced towards the pub to urgently find her brother, Polly pulled Martha's body further into the house. She lifted her lifeless body onto the couch, before moving over towards the candles and illuminating the house with light. She returned to the girl's side, and took her hands in her own. The girl was frozen to the bone. She grabbed the matchbox and lit a match, throwing it into the fire.

In the distance, she heard the sound of the pub doors opening and the chatter of drunken men roll out on the street. She strained her ears and heard the thundering sound of feet against the hard stone ground before it silenced outside her home. She turned around.

Tommy advanced towards the girl lying on the couch, her eyes closed and her mouth agape. He took in her bloodied face, as well as the cuts that adorned her hands, arms and face. Bruising was beginning to form around her neck and he stroked her face with the back of his hand, before turning to Polly.

"What happened?" his voice was stern and demanding.

"There was frantic knocking on the door. Seems that took all her energy away," Aunt Pol answered. "I asked her what was wrong, what she was doing here, but she just stared at me. Looked right through me and then she collapsed."

He inspected her face, noticing that the majority of the blood staining her face came from the large cut to her head hidden in her hairline.

"Tommy…" Aunt Pol said. "Do you know why she's here? Why she's unconscious and knocking on our door in the middle of the night?"

Polly's question remained unanswered. John and Arthur shared a look with each other. Tommy stood, bending down and sliding his arms beneath her. He lifted her with ease and carried her carefully upstairs to his bedroom leaving the members of his family stood dumbfounded downstairs. He kicked the door open as gently as possible, and laid her gently on the bed. He pulled the matchbox from his pocket and lit the candle next to his bed.

As he stared down at the girl who had come to him in the middle of the night for safety, he could not keep the anger he felt at bay. He knew that whatever problem she had was quickly becoming his own.

The sun beamed onto her face. It was oddly warm and comforting. After a moment, her eyes fluttered open slowly and she moved slowly into an upright position. Her body was heavy and sore, and she winced in agony. She took a moment to observe her surroundings and her stomach dropped. She was in Tommy's bedroom. It had not changed all that much despite the years that had passed.

The door opened slowly, as if sensing her consciousness. Tommy stepped inside carrying a cup of tea.

"What am I doing here?" Martha asked, her voice hoarse.

"You tell me, Martha," Tommy said, setting the cup down on the bedside table next to her.

"I need to get back home," Martha said, pulling the blankets from her body. It was then that she noticed the cuts that adorned her legs. The bruises from the other night were still visible, and she could sense Tommy's gaze upon them. She glanced at him, and observed that his eyebrows were knitted together as his eyes analysed the extent of her injuries.

"He hurt you, didn't he," it was more of a statement than a question. Tommy moved closer and inspected the cuts on her legs. He allowed his eyes to observe every inch of skin that was on offer to him; more cuts scarred her arms and hands, bruises had formed around her wrists and upper arms, and as he tipped her head backwards, he inspected the bruises staining her neck in the same of hands. "You have a cut to your head. I cleaned as much of the blood from your face as I could."

Martha closed her eyes. She allowed herself to feel the injuries to her body as the memories came flooding back to her like a harsh slap.

"What happened, Martha?"

"I returned home with Mary. She left soon after," Martha began. "I went to bed, and I woke up to him strangling me in my sleep. He was squeezing the life out of me and I fought back as best as I could. He was drunk, I could smell it on his breath. He likes to drink but not to that extent. I'd never seen him like that."

"He ever lay a finger on you before?" Tommy asked, to which Martha gave a sharp shake of the head.

"Never," Martha said sadly. She touched her head gently, winching. "He pulled me from the bed by my hair. And he started punching and hitting me all over my body. He dragged me down the stairs by my hair, and he was yelling at me. He threw things at me. Books at first, then photographs of me and him, then ornaments."

Tommy remained silent as he listened to her remember the events from the night before.

"I was pleading with him to stop, to tell me why he was so mad, and he lost it then. He had an ornament in his hand and he…" she faintly touched the wound on her head. Her sentence trailed off as her emotions become too powerful for her. Sobs plagued her body.

Tommy clenched his hands together tightly until his knuckles turned white. He bowed his head as Martha continued her story.

"He was so drunk. I don't think he even knew what he did. I knew I needed to get out of there as soon as I could get off the floor. He left to go to bed, told me to clean the mess up," Martha said. "But I ran. And now I'm here, I guess."

"Did he give you a reason as to why he beat you?"

Martha shook her head, her body succumbing to shock once more. "He's never been like before."

"But he can be like that again with you," Tommy whispered. "You gonna take that chance, Martha? If he hurt you like this now, what else can he do to you, aye?"

"I know, I know…" she repeated. "Do you think he knows about what happened between you and me?"

Tommy shrugged. "We'll find out with time."

She nodded, shaking with fear.

"In the meantime, you stay here," Tommy said, to which Martha nodded. He knew she was safer here with him. He always kept her safe no matter what, and the years had not changed that. Part of him was surprised that she had agreed with him but he only imagined that she was scared to think about the possibilities of her returning back home. Michael had beat her senseless, and it worried him that Michael could hurt her more than he already had. What would happen to her if he let her return home, would he ever see her again? He knew men like Michael, he had seen the injuries on their wives as they desperately tried to hide the pain in their eyes and mask the bruises that stained their skin.

He had to make a plan, but he wished that it wasn't too late.