The Victim

Part 2

I remember a girl, as a child; long, brunette hair down to her slender waist. A smile so bright, the image blinds you, embedding itself in your mind. My best friend - Rosie, as she preferred to be called.

"Rosie, Rose darling! It's tea time, Nathan must go home now." Her Mother always was an upbeat woman.

"Nathy, you'll come back tomorrow, won't you?" Her beautifully inquisitive voice sang.

"Of course, Rosie."

"Promise?"

"I promise." And with that, I left. But I always keep my promises, especially to her. I returned, every single day for 7 years, right up until her 14th birthday. The day she changed.

I never understood why. That is until I had the repetitive dream every night for the past six months of that one moment. Why was it significant, you may ask; the answer a pain fulfilling sound - the dark, deep shades of purple and green covering her otherwise perfect skin on her petite arms haunts me. I know I could have done more to help her, if I would have just opened my immature eyes, and realised what was happening in her broken world.

On that day, I gave her the items I promised 2 weeks previously. Hair bleach and bright red stilettos. Peculiar choice for such an innocent beauty, but nevertheless, a promise is a promise. To me, anyway. All the clues were colliding together in a hurricane of pain, but I chose to ignore the sense of change, selfishly grasping onto any last innocent moments I could. Many years went by, many bruises got deeper, and the space between our once unbreakable bond got further and further. I'd still see her, every day; with a non-existant smile beaming on her gentle features. There were still elements of her innocence beyond the mask - the pink dresses, the hair down to her slender waist. Most people couldn't see beyond the scars, the bruises, the make-up, the tragedy. I could, I could see it Rosie, I promise.

Oh, she was ever so beautiful.

We all knew what happened after dark, where she went. But perhaps, my naive mind never wanted to believe such an immense wrong. She deserved better than the life she executed. I knew despicable men took her innocence and beauty for granted. How I wish I could destroy any being that placed a horrific finger on her. Anyone that exploited her sensitivity into an explosive ray of hurt, ripping her purity away. But I couldn't - I couldn't fathom where to start. I realise now, even with my help, my Rosie would still be lost.