She’s trembling, staring at me. Silent.
I gesture at the car. “Get in.”
She shakes her head. Not no, I don’t think, just…unable to process what I’m saying. Or, unable to even speak.
“You’re hurt. Running from someone.” I take a step toward her, and she shuffles backward with a terrified whimper. “Hey. I won’t hurt you. Trying to help.”
She’s been beaten to hell. Her lip is split and bleeding, her nose is bleeding, and a bruise darkens her eye. The way she’s holding her ribs makes me suspect they’re bruised at least, if not cracked or broken.
And yet, she’s breathtaking.
Seeing her beaten, battered face cracks open a memory.
His foot slams into her stomach, and she can’t even gasp or cry. Can only curl in on herself, mouth open and flapping, eyes leaking tears. Or, they would, if they weren’t both swollen and bruising. He hauls her up to her feet..and backhands her, a vicious bone-jarring crack of his knuckles against her delicate cheekbone. She stumbles backward, twisting away, still not able to breathe from the kick.
I tackle him from behind, trying to get my arms around his throat. I almost manage, but I’m not fast enough, not strong enough. I’m only ten, after all. He hurls me over his shoulder and his foot batters into my stomach, sending me rolling…
I shake my head. Here. Now. Side of the road, looking at a beautiful, beaten girl.
Fuck no.
I hold out both hands toward her, palms out like I’m trying to approach a skittish horse. Voice quiet. Low. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay? You need help. There’s nothing out here in any direction for miles.”
She twists to look back the way she came—the partially ajar gate. “I…” her voice is a hoarse, scraping whisper, barely audible; she looks back at me. At the car. Longing yet terrified. “I can’t.”
I approach another step, and she freezes, not even breathing, so I halt again. “If you’re trying to escape whoever did that to you?” I gesture at the black ribbon of road disappearing into the darkness. “You won’t do it on foot. Not with broken ribs.”
“They’re not broken,” she whispers.
“Sounds like you know from experience.”
She doesn’t answer, but she doesn’t need to. I see the answer on her face. “Just leave me.” It’s another whisper, shaky and thin.
I shuffle closer—three feet gape between us. I take another step, and she shuffles backward, almost hyperventilating. “Not gonna happen.”
“Why?” The question escapes, it seems, unbidden. Immediately, she drops her head. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry.” Her voice cracks on the secondI’m sorry.
I blink at the sudden apology. “Wait, hold up. Why what? And what are you sorry for?”
Shakes her head, chin dropped to her chest, visibly shaking all over. “It’s not my place to question. I’m sorry.”
“Jesus fuck.” I’m starting to get a vague sense of what she’s running from. I point at the car. “Look, lady. I don’t know if you’re aware of what you’re up against, out here. There isn’t anything but fuckin’ cows and fields for miles in every direction. Nearest anything is a gas station, and that was ten miles back the other way.”
She swallows. Doesn’t answer.
“You ever walk ten miles before?”
She shakes her head. “No sir.”
“No sir,” I echo. “Shit.”
She trembles. “Sir?”
“Quit calling me sir. Jesus.” I look away, exhale sharply, and look back at her. “You need medical attention.” I look down at her feet; they’re bare. “Fuck me running. You’re barefoot?”
She wiggles her toes. “I didn’t have time to get shoes.”
“Well, you’re not going far in that state.” I gesture at the car. “Just get in.”
