Down and Out
chapter 1.
The bruises on her skin stood out against its stark white color. The bags under her eyes and bruises on her cheeks were meticulously covered with makeup, but she could still feel them, weighing on her eyes. She didn't feel the strikes against her body anymore. The marks they left behind were now surprises to her when she woke up in the morning. He was always gone by then, the only thing left behind were the black and blue stains on her skin.
She had been beautiful, once. You could see the remnants of that beauty in her face; even know as she stumbled out of his apartment, clutching her small suitcase full of everything she had been able to grab before he woke up. Even now, one might still say she was beautiful. But in the way a broken porcelain doll is beautiful. Big blue eyes staring helplessly, cracks running down the sculpted face.
She didn't know where she was going. She just wanted out. It was too much for her this time. His fist had fallen upon her just a little too hard, the glint in his eyes just a little too cold. She was usually able to convince herself that he loved her. That his fist falls were ones of love; that he did it only to remind her of who she was and who she would never be. But not tonight. She stumbled down the stairs and onto the dimly lit street. She had nowhere to go, no money, no friends, but still, she kept walking, almost delirious in her desperation for freedom. She could hear him shouting after her, but knew that he didn't care enough to come after her. Or maybe she hoped. But she kept walking, the padding of her feet against the sidewalk keeping her grounded, though she was steps away from a breakdown. The street was empty, she thought, but no, there were headlights, she realized. a car approaching, coming to a stop a few feet ahead of her. She froze, her delirious mind keeping her from running as she probably should have.
"Do you need a ride somewhere?"
He wasn't sure why he was driving. It had seemed natural at the time, climbing into his car at two in the morning and starting the ignition. As he drove, his hands and feet worked the wheel and the pedals, allowing his mind and eyes to wander about the passing streets. His eyes fell upon a girl walking crookedly down the street. She clutched a bag overflowing with junk. The bruises on her skin were glaringly obvious in the harsh light of the street lamp, and her wrists were so small it looked as if she were made of twigs. Without thinking, he brought his car to a stop a few feet in front of her.
Something about her looked so broken. So frail and helpless. He had an overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be alright. He had to save her.
"Do you need a ride somewhere?" the words escaped his lips without a second thought, and he immediately regretted them. She flinched and began walking away quickly, obviously shaken out of the daze she had been standing in. her hands shook noticeably as she clutched her bag.
He tried again, his brain growing desperate, not wanting her to run away. He had the feeling she wouldn't make it on her own. "I know I seem it, but I’m really not sketchy. I just want to help," he said softly. She just kept walking, not slowing her staggering pace. Then he heard it. He assumed she did too, because she froze again, her body stiffening.
“You little bitch! Get your ass back in here or I will come over there and drag you back myself!”
She turned her head over her shoulder, towards the source of the scream, then turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and her lip trembled visibly. Even in the glaring light of the headlights, she was beautiful. The chocolate brown of her eyes mirrored his, and she had a soft face with gentle features, thought they were mottled with bruises. Her body leaned towards his car, but her feet stayed planted, as if she were unsure which fate was worse; one of certain pain and abuse or one of an uncertain destination.
“I mean it you whore! NOW!”
That made the decision for her, her feet running for the car and her hands working the handle quickly. She piled into the passenger seat, looking even smaller and more fragile than she had before.
“Drive, please,” she breathed, closing her eyes and putting her face in her hands. She crumpled in the seat next to him. He had half a mind to suggest her buckling her seatbelt, but held his tongue. He drove as she asked, not knowing what came next, only sensing the frailty of the girl sitting next to him and his desire to fix her.
She had been beautiful, once. You could see the remnants of that beauty in her face; even know as she stumbled out of his apartment, clutching her small suitcase full of everything she had been able to grab before he woke up. Even now, one might still say she was beautiful. But in the way a broken porcelain doll is beautiful. Big blue eyes staring helplessly, cracks running down the sculpted face.
She didn't know where she was going. She just wanted out. It was too much for her this time. His fist had fallen upon her just a little too hard, the glint in his eyes just a little too cold. She was usually able to convince herself that he loved her. That his fist falls were ones of love; that he did it only to remind her of who she was and who she would never be. But not tonight. She stumbled down the stairs and onto the dimly lit street. She had nowhere to go, no money, no friends, but still, she kept walking, almost delirious in her desperation for freedom. She could hear him shouting after her, but knew that he didn't care enough to come after her. Or maybe she hoped. But she kept walking, the padding of her feet against the sidewalk keeping her grounded, though she was steps away from a breakdown. The street was empty, she thought, but no, there were headlights, she realized. a car approaching, coming to a stop a few feet ahead of her. She froze, her delirious mind keeping her from running as she probably should have.
"Do you need a ride somewhere?"
He wasn't sure why he was driving. It had seemed natural at the time, climbing into his car at two in the morning and starting the ignition. As he drove, his hands and feet worked the wheel and the pedals, allowing his mind and eyes to wander about the passing streets. His eyes fell upon a girl walking crookedly down the street. She clutched a bag overflowing with junk. The bruises on her skin were glaringly obvious in the harsh light of the street lamp, and her wrists were so small it looked as if she were made of twigs. Without thinking, he brought his car to a stop a few feet in front of her.
Something about her looked so broken. So frail and helpless. He had an overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be alright. He had to save her.
"Do you need a ride somewhere?" the words escaped his lips without a second thought, and he immediately regretted them. She flinched and began walking away quickly, obviously shaken out of the daze she had been standing in. her hands shook noticeably as she clutched her bag.
He tried again, his brain growing desperate, not wanting her to run away. He had the feeling she wouldn't make it on her own. "I know I seem it, but I’m really not sketchy. I just want to help," he said softly. She just kept walking, not slowing her staggering pace. Then he heard it. He assumed she did too, because she froze again, her body stiffening.
“You little bitch! Get your ass back in here or I will come over there and drag you back myself!”
She turned her head over her shoulder, towards the source of the scream, then turned to look at him. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and her lip trembled visibly. Even in the glaring light of the headlights, she was beautiful. The chocolate brown of her eyes mirrored his, and she had a soft face with gentle features, thought they were mottled with bruises. Her body leaned towards his car, but her feet stayed planted, as if she were unsure which fate was worse; one of certain pain and abuse or one of an uncertain destination.
“I mean it you whore! NOW!”
That made the decision for her, her feet running for the car and her hands working the handle quickly. She piled into the passenger seat, looking even smaller and more fragile than she had before.
“Drive, please,” she breathed, closing her eyes and putting her face in her hands. She crumpled in the seat next to him. He had half a mind to suggest her buckling her seatbelt, but held his tongue. He drove as she asked, not knowing what came next, only sensing the frailty of the girl sitting next to him and his desire to fix her.