Voices murmur as I try to focus my vision. A sharp ringing forces my hands to my ears. I blink hard a few times and try to find my bearings. Hazy branches of dry orangey leaves wave several feet above my head and the sound of cars hum by. I drag my sleeve across my cheek and try to scrub off the dry blood and dirt.
I hear a voice of a man somewhere near me, but disregard it. I push myself up into a sort of sitting position but feel an immense pain in my stomach, causing me to go limp back to the stiff ground. I try again, more cautiously. Once I'm up, I lift the hem of my shirt to reveal a huge green-purple bruise stretching from right by my left hipbone to the right side of my rib cage. The voice comes closer and closer. I only hear bits and pieces. "What the hell... why are you... do you know where... what did that to you... what is..."
I rub my eyes and try to stand. Pain shoots through my body and I slump, once again, back to the ground. "Hey, take it easy... Alright? Do you want me to call an ambulance?" It's the voice, but now there's a beautiful face to match it with. First off, his jawline could kill. I swear it could slice an apple clean in half. But just his whole face... I try my best to match his gray eyes but I feel so out of it that I just close them and try to speak. He puts his hand on my back and squats beside me.
Words. Hello? Words? Where are you- "N-no... I- I'm fine." I sound terrible. My voice is scratchy and the words are short and choppy.
No I'm not. I'm not okay. I'm terrible.
"You look terrible..."
I know.
My throat is dry. My head hurts. I feel sick. I feel sick. I feel sick.
"What happened to you?" He clasps his hands together and rests them gently on his knees.
I can't find my voice... Should I tell him? What if he knows Eli... What if this is just a set up? He'll just drag me back. I can't go through that again.
Quinn, run. Run as fast as you can.
I scramble to my feet and run towards the trees but my body gives out and for the third time now, I'm on the ground. I land face first into some leaves and another sharp pain arrives in my face. Fresh blood paints the leaves below me as a pull a stick out from underneath my cheek.
Screw this. Screw it all.
I hear someone run towards me but by now I have given up and I just lay limp. My stomach is throbbing. It feels like someone is ripping me open. The man, I assume gently lays me on my back and rests my head against his knee.
"Hey, hey. I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help. Seriously. You don't need to tell me what happened... That's your busine- Your stomach!" I feel cold air brush up against my bruise as I realize my shirt must have ridden up when I fell. I groan and reach for my shirt but am stopped by a warm hand. He looks down at me worriedly and brushes the hair out of my face.
"Yeah..." I croak. "My boyfrie-." Eli beat me up. He beat me up, and he dragged me out here... To the side of the road... "It's fine." I pull my shirt down and he doesn't try to stop me this time.
"This isn't 'nothing'. Not even close. What happened to you? What's your name?"
I let out a sigh, sit up and rub my forehead. "I'm Quinn."
"I'm Ricky, can I take you home? Let you shower and rest up or something...?"
Seeing as I have nowhere else to go as I'm assuming Eli's at our- his house... "I guess so..."
"Alright." He readjusts himself and scoops one arm under my legs and the other around my waist. Ricky lifts me with ease back to a small silver Mercedes Benz E-Class. He gently sets me down in the passenger seat and assists me with my seat belt.
Ricky cautiously puts the car in drive and pulls out of the grass.
This is a stupid idea, Quinn. Really stupid. He could be taking you back to Eli right now. He could be a liar.
He could. He could. He won't.
After about an awkward twenty minutes of silence, I decide I should tell him something... I mean he's taking me (I assume) to his house. I owe him at least this... "M-my boyfriend attacked me... Out of nowhere. He kicked me in the stomach- that's where the bruise is from." I gaze out the window before noticing my horrific reflection in the glass. My face is covered in a lot of my own blood and my hair looks like a giant tumbleweed.
I'm interrupted by Ricky's soft voice. "What can I do to help you?"
I shake my head in response. What can he do? I stare blankly at the blur of trees going by and begin feeling nauseous again so I close my eyes and replay the eventful day over and over again in my head.
YOU ARE READING
The Year of Maybe
Teen Fiction"In some ways I am glad that he's gone... But in others, I'm not ready to accept the fact that he is." ~ The Year of Maybe ***I am warning you right now, there may be some triggers. And there is a good amount of explicit vocabulary.***