“I like you the way a farmer likes his prize pig,” he sneers. “You’re my trophy to set on the shelf for others to look at, to admire, to crave. Knowing I’m the only one who can touch you.”
Again, he lunges at me, his hand raising to my throat. I swing for the same spot my foot landed on. He flinches but catches my collar, fisting it as he pulls me closer. Then, his fist lands on my cheek. My eye swells instantly, while blood throbs through the left half of my face.
“You fight back, you get safe, you come back to me.”
I keep swinging. Through my blurred vision, I try to find his throat. His eyes. He keeps punching, too, making it harder forme to find a target. Still, I fight. I won’t make it easy for him. Not this time. He chokes, and I think it means I found his windpipe.
“I fucking hate you! I hate you,” I scream, as I cry, push, kick, and hit. I fight with everything I have. “I’m not yours! I hate you!”
I cry for all the times I couldn’t. I hit for all the times I didn’t. If I’m doing any damage, I don’t know. It would be a surprise if I was. But at least I know I didn’t give in or give up.
Fight back. Keep Paige safe.
Grady will come. The police will come.
It’s exhausting. My limbs grow heavy, but still, I swing. Minutes pass like hours, but I fight. I can’t stop. Won’t. Don’t give in. Keep moving.
Another fist lands somewhere on my body. I’m losing track. Losing time. Yet, I don’t feel the pain. That will come later. After the adrenaline. After the bruises flower in bouquets of autumn color.
Pierre roars in my ear. My name…over and over. I keep swinging. Fight back. Get safe. Keep her safe.
Time slows. My head spins, ears ring. There’s more sound, now. Sirens. Voices. Lights flash behind my stinging eye.
“You fucking whore!” A sharp thud. “I’ll fucking kill her!”
More voices and more voices. So many words. I spin as I struggle to stand.
“Lou,” someone says. Someone not Pierre. A soft hand on my shoulder that still makes me flinch in fear. “It’s over, Lou.”
“Paige? Is she okay?” The words come out too watery. I spit blood. Lose balance. The hand catches me.
“Grady has her,” the voice says. I wipe at my eye, the one he managed to miss. A hazy Sam comes into view.
“Sam,” I say on a sob, and he wraps an arm around me.
“Jerry’s here to help get you cleaned up. Is that okay?” I think I nod, but I can’t be sure. “The sheriff is taking that piece of shit out of here. Good thing, or we might kill him in the street.”
That doesn’t sound like a good thing. Or a bad one. I can’t discern anymore. Can’t focus or stand on my own. Maybe I never could. Maybe I never can. Not when he’s always there to knock me down.
“Sam!” It’s Grady’s voice I hear over Pierre’s protests. They’re both farther away than Sam.
A fresh wave of tears pours out with my relief. Grady has Paige. He’s here.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fucking coming,” Sam grumbles. “You got her, Jer? She can’t hold herself up.”
“I’ve got her,” he says. “Can you sit down, sweetheart? Just here.” He guides me slowly to the back of the ambulance.
“Lou! Fuck, Lou.” Grady enters my limited vision, kneeling in front of me, his fingers probing all over my face. “Jesus.”
“Where’s Paige?”
“She’s fine, baby. She’s inside with Sam.”
“She was so brave,” I mumble. “So brave.”
“So were you,” Jerry says. “You did good, kid.”
“Did I get him?”
