The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Ten

It was dark. I could barely see where I put my feet. The ground was hard and cold, stones and other invisible things dug into my soles.
There was a brand new moon. It was beautiful, and gave off a slight yellow glow. I kept staring at it as I broke into a run.
Turning onto the main street, the lights suddenly blinded me. I kept going, the crisp night air filling my lungs. Each breath hitched in my throat as tears blurred my vision.

How did I get here? Not so long ago I was almost a normal teenage girl. Finishing high school, looking forward to college and a career and maybe one day in the future; a family.

But then all of this.

A lamppost loomed ahead. I couldn't dodge it in time, and ran straight into it. The impact slammed through my head and knocked me to the ground.

Vaguely, I heard laughter.
"What are you doing out here all alone," a man's voice asked, and another laughed.

I tried to answer but my tongue wouldn't oblige.

A face swam into view, perhaps handsome, but with a vicious leer and stained teeth. He smelt of piss and alcohol.

He grabbed my arm and put a hand over my mouth.
"Now don't you scream honey," he said and groped at me. His fingers fumbled to undo the buttons of my shirt.

I wriggled.
"Get off!" I shouted but it didn't sound right around the obstruction.
He dug his nails in until they broke through my skin.
"Keep still," he spat.

I tried to get my knees up so I could kick or dislodge him somehow, but my limbs weren't working how I wanted them to and I couldn't concentrate because of the pounding in my head.

Suddenly the man gave a weird strangled cry. He was flung violently aside and I caught a glimpse of someone punching him repeatedly in the face.
'Aaron?' I thought.
The weight was gone so I sat up. It was Aaron, and he was hitting the man over and over, kicking him and shouting incoherently.
"Don't you ever touch my wife again!"

I didn't even acknowledge the strength and sincerity in his words. I just curled up where I was as the reality of what had just happened sank in.

I was shaking by the time Aaron was done with him. He scooped me up easily and carried me back to the house, where he set me gently down on the sofa.

"Are you ok?" He asked softly, after we'd sat in silence for a while.
I didn't have the strength to answer.
He nodded, as if he understood.
"Do you want me to run you a bath?"
"Yes please," I whispered.

He left the room and came back a while later. He reached for my hand but I flinched away.
"It's ok," he said without looking at me. "I understand."

I followed him to the bathroom where he'd laid out fresh pyjamas and a towel. Before I closed the door on him he looked straight into my eyes and said with more feeling than I thought him capable of,
"I'm sorry Camilla."