H. A. Carter by Kimberly Fuller

up. She looked like a badly
used rag doll thrown to the trash. I peered deep into her eyes,
searching for that sparkle of hope that I had not lost her
forever.
    “I'll make it all right, Jo. I...I don't know
how...or when...but I'll make it all right. He'll never hurt you
again. I promise you that.”
    Tears erupted from her eyes until they
overflowed, running in rivers down her cheeks, washing away the
dark, already smudged, eyeliner. She pressed herself hard against
my chest and cried uncontrollably into the confines of my shirt,
saturating my clothes. I squeezed my battered broken girlfriend
close to me, trying to wish her pain away, my heart ripping
apart.
    After several hours of stifled sobbing and
seemingly futile consoling, she finally began to calm. Her
breathing began to ease, rising and falling slowly and heavily. I
was grateful for her slumber, but
    frightful of it just the same. I wasn't
exactly sure what the symptoms of shock were, but knew Joanna had
to be experiencing them. No one could endure what she just had and
not feel tremendous pain and suffering of some form. As she slept I
gazed down at her tattered and ripped clothing. Dirt and grass
stuck in random patches up and down her legs. The faintest of
scratches could be seen peeking out between the tears in her mint
green skirt, and her once white shirt was caked with dirt,
stretched out beyond repair. Thick fragments of flesh were imbedded
deep within her broken fingernails. I wondered which “gentleman”
was on the receiving end of her once manicured talons. Purple thumb
imprints were already developing on the edges of her tiny wrists,
and the vague outline of someone's rough grip mocked me as I
caressed her arm. My blood boiled, searing to the tips of my
fingers and curling into a tight hate filled fist. I couldn't tell
yet whether or not she was bruised badly anywhere else, or at all
for that matter, but I guessed she would be by the looks of the
rest of her. I guess they weren't into chivalry. I felt worthless
and pathetic at the horrid thought that I could do nothing to stop
the pain, or even avenge it.
    I highly doubted she would let me take her to
a hospital or a police station. I knew she was scared. Hell, I was
scared enough for the both of us, but something had to be done
about this. What could she say though? We both knew that it was
next to impossible to tell anyone the truth. No one would believe
her. Not in this town, anyway.
    I held her softly in my arms for hours,
watching the moon rise and fall in the night sky out my living room
window. No matter how much nausea and anger washed over me, no
matter how sore my arms grew, no matter how tired my body became, I
wouldn't leave her.
    I thought long and hard as the clock ticked
away the night. I thought about my failure to defend the one I
loved and how by any chance at all that could be rectified. I had
to decide a path to take.
    What do I do? How do I fix this? Would I be
able to take the road less traveled by, creating my own unbeaten
path? My mind thought incessantly, aching from the stress. Sadness
and despair swirling with rage and frustration. The night slowly
turned into day and by morning I had made my final decision. I knew
what path I would take.

 
46
     
    “You Bastards! Why did you do that? Why? All
I ever ask is for it to not be that one. Just that one! Why can't
you even give me that?”
    Let it end already! Just let it end!
    You know, no matter how horrible it gets
Here, it still doesn't compare to the pain of that night. I would
give almost anything to be free from that memory alone.

 
47
     
    I stood unmoving peering down at John's
slumped figure at my feet.
    Please forgive me, John.
    I raised my gaze, scanning the lunchroom. A
few stray kids hid under tables and shoved themselves into concrete
corners. Their trembling hands masking the reality in front of
them. They looked much like troublesome toddlers believing that if
they couldn't see me then I didn't exist. I could