Ripper Row

Different Perspective

I am still lying on the floor in the spot Shadow dumped me. My head is throbbing and my muscles are stiff as boards. The light from the window falls on me, illuminating the large, purple blossom on my arm. I would hate to see my face now, considering my left eye is swollen shut. There is a familiar screech of rusty hinges from the door as a sense of fear crawls into my spine. Please, please, go away. Have I not been through enough? "Riley?"

My muscles ache at the sound of his velvet voice. I hear his light, even footsteps as he makes his way over to me, resting a hand on my shoulder. Even his gentle touch makes my body burn. "Are you alright Love?" Jack asks.

"No," I say, my voice as raspy as sandpaper, "now lay off."

His thumb grazes against my bruised arm and I cringe away from him as I resist the urge to tremble. I am so weak in this place, it makes me feel like a little babby again. It would be so easy for him to slit my throat at this very moment and never have to be bothered with me again. "You need to start taking better care of yourself," he says.

I want to laugh, but I cannot. "Excuse me if I cannot protect myself from the overgrown gorilla," I say.

I look up at him, seeing his face contort into pain before quickly looking away. "No... I suppose you couldn't," he says weakly.

He still refuses to look at my battered face, keeping his eyes trained on the tiny window. I watch him carefully, seeing the muscles flexing in his jaw and the light hitting his irises, making them look golden. "So... you can murder prostitutes with ease, but you cannot stand to look at a bruised face?" I ask.

His eyes slowly drift to meet my one, but they seem to be filled with pain having to look at me. "This is different," he says.

"It's still painful," I say.

"They were whores, nothing more than rubbish on the streets that won't be missed," he says, his jaw clenched.

"I can assure you that I miss my sister and she was not some random garbage on the street," I say.

He sighs, standing up. "Of course she wasn't," he says, walking away.

I listen as his footsteps go up the stairs, leaving me alone. If I could sigh I would, finding it relieving in a way to be left alone in misery. The footsteps come back though and a bowl of water is set on the ground next to me. Jack sits in front of my face, a dry towel on his shoulder. "Sit up for me Love," he says.

I shake my head slightly, but even that sends jolts of pain through me. "I can't," I say.

"I know it hurts, but trust me now," he says.

As painful as it is, I laugh sourly at that. "Trust you? Are you serious?" I ask.

"I am trying to help you- just sit up already," he snaps.

I try to glare at him, but I know it is not having full effect when only one eye is cooperating. Slowly I sit up, my muscles burning. Jack steadies me with his hand, careful not to touch any of my bruises. He then takes the towel and soaks it in the bowl of water, wiping the side of my face. It stings at first, but the warmth feels so good and the cloth is soft against my skin. Jack stays focused on his task of cleaning my wounds, which I find quite strange. Last night he was a knife to my throat and now he is taking care of me? Why?

I have been pondering what Nathan had said in the hall when he had first started to beat me. Why not me? What did he mean by that? Was what happened that night unusual? I am sure that Jack does not get challenged often, but that does not help explain much. "Recently..." he says quietly, breaking me from my thoughts, "I have realized that I have been treating you quite poorly."