"Two souls are sometimes created together and in love before they're even born." -F. Scott Fitzgerald
When eight year old Beau Ruby met twelve year old Colton Caine, she had no idea she was meeting the love of her life. She had no idea she'd grow...
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He hit me.
He had never hit me before. He had yelled and screamed. He had insulted me. He had called me names. He had never, ever laid a hand on me during a fight. It shocked me as much as it hurt me. I raised a hand to my face, tasting blood already where my lip had been split. "You..." I couldn't even finish my sentence. I stared at him a moment before I moved.
I could hear Colton's voice in my mind telling me to fight back. Fight back, Beau, fight back. So, I did. I stretched my left hand out, fingers connecting with a picture frame on the desk and swung my arm, slamming the glass frame against his face.
He yelled as the glass shattered and pieces fell to the floor. I tried to move away from him then, but he pushed me back against the wall, this time forcefully. The impact knocked the breath out of me for a few moments before I tried to move past him again. He pushed me again, flattening my back against the wall one more time. So, he wanted a fight? I could fight. If I could get through losing Colton... if I could put my feet on the floor every day and leave this apartment and face the day, then I could do this.
Aunt Verne had raised me to be tough. She had raised me to be strong. She had raised me to do no harm to others but to take no grief from anyone. Colton had made me fearless. He had always been there when I was scared. He was my hand in the dark when the thunder shook the windows in the house. He was my push into the water when the rocks were too high. He was my sure and steady step on the old dock. I could do this. "Don't you ever take shit from anyone, Beautiful. They don't know you like I do." I could hear his words again as I pushed again.
"Get away from me!" I spat through my teeth. I slapped his face, my fingers connecting with tiny trails of blood already forming from where the glass had cut him. He retaliated of course. He put his hands on the tops of my arms, his fingers digging into my skin and making me feel like if he squeezed them any harder they would bust just like water balloons against concrete sidewalks. He pulled me from the wall and shook me a few times before slamming me back against it. I lost my breath again. He let go of me quickly and I sank to my knees in front of him, gasping for air and clawing at my chest as if I could somehow open up a secret airway he didn't know about.
I was on my knees in front of him staring at the ground when the next idea occurred to me. Even without my ability to take in full breaths, I closed my hand into a fist and punched him in his groin as hard as I could. When he yelped and doubled over, I crawled toward the door like a child crawling away from an angry parent. He was on his knees from the pain, next, and crawling after me. I raised up, my hand on the door frame to pull myself up when I felt his hands on the back of my ankles, dragging me back down the floor. I kicked at him awkwardly as he flipped me over on the hardwood floor. He used his hands to steady himself as he crawled, like a tiger stalking prey, up my legs with his hands. When he got to my thighs, he squeezed again, and I was reminded of the water balloons again. It was there that he was saying something to me, raising his hand once again, but I couldn't hear him. All I could hear was Colton. "Get up, Beautiful. You've got to come home." When his hand connected with the side of my face, I yelled again, kicking my legs as hard as I could. I don't know I did it, but I kicked him in the chest. He let go of my thighs and recoiled, and I bolted up.
