Protector

Towel

Amelia's POV

We drive for hours. My body aches. I have bruises and cuts on my arms. I am exhausted.

"My dad's old house is about 2 more hours. We will stay there, it is safe." Jackson says.

"Okay," I mutter, my voice hoarse from screaming.

"They won't hurt you again," he vows, his voice laced with anger.

He offers his hand out and intertwines his fingers with mine, holding my hand.

"We will make a plan and figure out what to do next."

"How did you find me?" I ask, the weight of his words pressing down on me.

"I put a tracking device in your necklace," he explains.

I look down, holding my necklace in between my fingers.

He starts rubbing his finger over mine while holding my hand. Even after what just happened to me, all I can feel is a gut feeling for Jackson.

We pull up to this red dirt road, last time we passed anything was a gas station 20 miles ago.

"Nobody will find us here." He says.

"Good." I mutter.He pulls up to this little rustic log cabin.

He turns off the engine and gets out of the car. I unbuckle my seatbelt and start to open the car door.

"Come here." he says as he pulls the door open. He puts his hand under my waist wrapping my legs in his arms and puts his other arm behind my back, holding me in his arms once more. I wrap my arms around his neck.

I lay my head on his neck, my breathing intensifying. I can't handle this tension anymore. He gently sets me down and takes the keys out of his pocket.

"Since my dad died the house hasn't been lived in for years. He left it for me in case anything happened."

He opens the door, and takes a deep breath before walking in.

"Is it hard for you to be here?" I ask him.

"I'll be okay." He says. I know it is hard for him.

He grabs my hand and walks inside. It's a one-room cabin. There is a living room area with a couch and tv, a small kitchen and a bathroom.

"Are you hungry? I still have the groceries and the clothes I bought you in the trunk." He asks.

"Yeah, sure." I answer.

He sets his backpack down on the couch and puts a pistol in his back pocket. "I'm gonna go get the rest of the stuff from the car. I'll be right back. Stay here."

"Okay." I say. I look around. I can see a little fireplace, and some books.

Jackson comes back with the groceries and the bag of clothes.

"Here are your clothes," he says handing me the bag.

"Thank you," I reply, grateful to finally have my own clothes again.

"I need a shower." I say. "I need to wash today off of me."

"Okay, go ahead."

I make my way to the bathroom and turn the shower knob to hot. I take these soiled clothes off of me and throw them in the trash. I step in the shower and immediately am relaxed by the hot water rushing over me. The heat is searing, burning away the memories.

I look down at the floor and see blood and dirt rushing down the drain.

I start scrubbing my body. Scrubbing and scrubbing. Trying to remove the memories of that man's hands on me. All of a sudden, I hear the bathroom door open.