Savior

He hurled the book at me, and I tried to dodge out of the way, but I had never had very good coordination. The dictionary hit me in the arm. I clutched at it blindly, and stumble backwards, tripping over the coffee table.

He continued throwing things: cups, plates, articles of clothing, anything that he could reach. I felt too weak to try and dodge, so I just laid there, sobbing.

"How dare you cry!" he roared. "I've taken care of you since your sorry excuse of a mother left you here, and you pay me back by crying? Do you think I ever cried when I was a boy? No I did not. I took it like a man. I am utterly ashamed to call you my daughter."

The flying projectiles stopped coming, and dimly, I could hear him make his way upstairs, leaving me on the living room floor.

When I deemed it safe to move without incurring the further wrath of the man who I am bidden by my biological makeup to call father, I slowly rose and made me way to the front door, carefully avoiding the broken shards of glass scattered all over the worn carpet.

I let myself out of the house as quietly as I could, shivering in the cold night air. I hadn't put a coat on, nor did I have any shoes. If I had taken the time to get them, he would undoubtedly have heard me, and hurt me even more.

Blindly, I staggered through the snow to my neighbor's house. She was a kindly old lady who knew about my father's violent tendencies, but listened to me enough not to report him. It was stupid to continue to live with him, but I still clung to my early memories of when my mother was still alive, and the three of us would laugh together and be happy.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I registered the fact that this walk was taking me longer than it should have. I immediately dismissed the thought. It was probably just due to the fact that I was trudging through snow, and my injuries were a little worse than they usually were. He had been in a particularly bad mood today.

I reached a door, and rang the doorbell.

It was almost immediately opened, which should have told me that something was different. Mrs. Erikson always moved slowly, so that I always ended up waiting for a couple minutes for her to get to the door.

Then I got my first look at whoever had answered the door. Instead of an old lady with a cane to help her walk, a tall guy of around twenty-three with a concerned look on his face stood in the doorway, peering at me closely. He must have noticed that I was shivering uncontrollably, because he opened the door even wider and stood back to let me in.

I walked inside, and asked through my chattering teeth, "Where's Mrs. Erikson?" The guy had disappeared through a doorway, but reappeared moments later holding a thick blanket.

"Here," he said, draping it over my shoulders. I winced as his hand brushed against my arm, but tried to hide the pain. I murmured my thanks.

He had seen my flinch though. "What happened to you?" he asked in a low, controlled voice. I could detect the anger in his tone and I cringed, waiting for the assault I was sure would moved closer, apparently trying to reassure me. I flinched instinctively, and raised my arms to fend off any blows.

Seeing my defensive position, he stopped advancing immediately. "Hey, it's okay," he said soothingly. "I'm not going to hurt you." Still talking to me as he would to a scared, wounded animal, he slowly made his way towards where I was cowering. I watched him warily, but could see no threat of harm in his body language. I let him approach.

"Something happened to your arm, right?" he asked, still in that calming tone. I nodded slowly. "Can you take off your sweater for me? I want to look at it for just a while. I promise I won't hurt you."

Slowly, my eyes still watching him carefully, I unzipped my hoodie, and took it off. I tried not to move my left arm, but I wouldn't help but wince when I jarred it accidentally. I didn't look at my arm, instead watching his facial expression. His features remained carefully blank as he took in my array of cuts and bruises, but I saw anger flash through his eyes, before it was replace by a large dose of concern.

"Let me see it?" he asked. Again, I nodded. His fingers moved across my skin lightly, so that I could barely feel them. The whole time he was conducting his examination, I pointedly looked away. I didn't want to see the full extent of the damage my father had inflicted on me.

With the guy still examining my arm, I let my mind wander, daydreaming about a life I knew was most definitely out of my reach.

"Amara? Amara!"

I jumped at the sudden shout of my name. I looked around me quickly, to see if he was anywhere in sight. When I didn't see any sign of him, I let myself relax a fraction of a millimeter.

I felt a pair of eyes watching me closely, and I turned around. The guy was staring at me again, with an even stranger look on his face.

Wait a second... I thought. "How do you know my name?" I asked suspiciously. He'd better not be a stalker or something. I have enough complications in my life as it is.

He shrugged. "Mrs. Erikson talks about you sometimes, when I help her with the yard work and other stuff. I just assumed it was you."

He didn't have to explain why. It wasn't like there were many domestically abused children in our area of town.

I let my guard down a little. If he knew Mrs. Erikson, he couldn't be that bad.

"Who are you, anyway?"

"Bryan Donahue," he replied promptly, sticking his hand out for me to shake. Hesitantly, I took it. His hand was warm and strong in a comforting kind of way. It was the hand of someone who did more comforting and patching up than hurting. The handshake put me even more at ease. It also made me painfully aware of all the bruises I had accumulated. I winced.

Bryan must have seen it, because he suddenly dropped my hand and left, leaving me in the hallway. A few moments later, he returned with what appeared to be a first aid kit.

The next few minutes were spent in silence, interrupted only by my occasional yelp, as Bryan tended to my various cuts and scrapes.

Then, suddenly, he asked, "Your father did this, right? That's what Mrs. Erikson told me."

I nodded.

"Does he do this often? Hurt you this much?"

I nodded again. "Sometimes worse."

"You should report this, you know. You're what, nineteen? You're legally an adult. Just report it and get away from him."

I shook my head firmly. "I can't, Bryan. He'll know that I reported it. Even if he was convicted and sent to jail, he'd come after me as soon as he was let out. He'd just hurt me even more."

He finished with the first aid kit, and helped me up, guiding me towards what I assumed was a spare bedroom. "You could just run away," he suggested, handing me a large shirt to sleep in.

I shook my head again. "He'll find me. And when he finds me, he'll take me back and hurt me more. Nothing is going to work. Whatever I do, he'll always come back and haunt me. It's best for me just to take it now, and deal with it."

"Then at least go to a hospital. You don't have to tell them that you're dad's doing this. Just make up whatever excuse you think is appropriate. They have the equipment and expertise to treat you a lot better than I can with just a first aid kit."

"No. No hospital." And as far as I was concerned, that was the end of our conversation.

o.O.o

A few weeks later, Mrs. Erikson passed away. She had died in her sleep, for which I was very grateful. She had helped me out too much for her not to have a peaceful death.

However, it also meant that I had to go to Bryan's place every time my father got...difficult. Not that I minded; Bryan was very nice, and he listened even better than Mrs. Erikson had. But he was a guy, one of the one ones -and the only one my age- that I had regular contact with.

I started seeing him around the neighborhood more often, when I was outside doing yard work or running errands. I don't see how I could have missed him before; he always offered to help me with whatever he could, and his actions touched me, small as they were.

My father started getting more and more unpredictable, and he started returning home in the middle of the day, drunk as can be. He stopped working, forcing me to take on a second job to pay the bills. His drunken stupors led to harsher and more frequent beatings, and more than once I just barely managed the fifty feet to Bryan's house.

Each and every time I went there, he advised me to go to the hospital, or to get away. He even offered to take me in and let me live with him. And every time, I refused.

o.O.o

I was too weak to ring the doorbell, but Bryan must have heard me, because the door opened a few moments later. I stumbled inside, and collapsed in a bruised and bloody heap in the hallway.

I heard Bryan curse colorfully as he knelt beside me, assessing my various injuries. Apparently, his results were not very satisfactory, because he just kept on swearing under his breath, even as he picked me up, presumably to carry me to the couch or the spare room I always used when I came over.

My eyes slid shut and I groaned in pain. Then I shut my mouth, trying not to let Bryan know how exactly how much agony I was in.

He didn't say anything out loud, but I could feel him tense a little, and his grip on me tightened fractionally, though not enough to hurt.

My eyes snapped open when Bryan stepped from the cool air-conditioning of the house into the sun. He walked a few more steps, and then I was placed -very gently- into the passenger seat of his car. Instantly, I began to protest. I had refused to go to the hospital for a reason, damn it!

He ignored me until I tried to get out. As soon as I reached for the door handle, Bryan yanked my arm back, causing me to wince. He let go right away.

I didn't try to escape after that. We were already driving, and I wouldn't be able to find the strength to get out of the car, even if I managed to get the door open, which seemed unlikely. And besides, I hated seeing that anguished look on Bryan's face. He always looked as if all of this was his fault, though I had told him numerous times that he was totally blameless. I resigned myself to my fate.

We pulled into the ER parking lot about twenty minutes later. When I walked into Emergency, the nurse on duty took one look at me, and led me away. Bryan trailed behind me. The fact that it was late at night probably helped too.

A harried-looking doctor hurried into the room. He stopped short when he saw the state I was in.

"What happened to you?" he asked, already pulling on new gloves.

I opened my mouth to answer him, but closed it again when black spots began dancing around the edges of my vision. When they faded a little, I tried again. This time the darkness overwhelmed me. I was out like a light.

o.O.o

When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to various machines that blinked and beeped softly. To my left was Bryan, sitting on what appeared to be the only chair in the room. It was one of those uncomfortable plastic ones, too. Nevertheless, he was fast asleep.

I realized that this was the first time I had ever seen him asleep, and therefore the only time I could observe him freely.

Before I could proceed to do so, however, the hospital door opened, and a nurse came in with a tray of food.

When she saw that I was awake and coherent, she uttered a small exclamation of surprise. It wasn't very loud, but it was enough to wake Bryan up.

He sat up slowly and blinked sleepily a couple times. Then he turned in my direction. When he saw that my eyes were open, he immediately got up and lurched towards me.

"Amara! You- you're awake."

I nodded.

He opened his mouth to say something more, and then shot a look at the nurse. She was still standing in the doorway, with the tray of food, watching us intently. At his glance, she started to life again. Quickly, she deposited the food onto the bedside table, and hurried out of the room, closely the door softly behind her.

"What happened?" I asked as soon as she left.

He was close enough for me to see the muscle in his jaw tighten. When I glanced down, I could see that his hands were clenched into tight fists.

"You almost died is what happened. You were bleeding so much, and then you had that head wound that I didn't notice, and you still had all those cuts and bruises and that minor concussion from the last time..."

"But I'm alright now, yes?" I asked.

He shrugged. "You're out of any immediate danger of dying, if that's what you're asking. You should probably stay at the hospital for a few more days for them to run tests and take x-rays and stuff though."

"But I could leave now if I really needed to?" I pressed.

He shrugged again. "I gu- Oh no you don't. You, little missy, are going to stay in this hospital until the doctors say that you are one hundred percent fixed. And after you're released, you're coming to live with me. You're never going to set foot in that house again if I can help it."

"But," I started. He covered my mouth with his hand, effectively smothering all my protests.

"No buts," Bryan said firmly. "Your dad will have to deal with it. He's lucky I'm not reporting him to the police," he added darkly.

I took his hand off my mouth. "But I can't just impose on you like that."

"It's not imposing if I'm inviting you," Bryan pointed out.

"More like ordering me," I muttered. Then before he could comment, I asked, "What about all my stuff?"

"I'll buy you new things."

"But I have things of sentimental value in the house. You know, pictures, clothes, whatever."

Bryan sighed, and raked his fingers through his already tousled hair. "Fine," he said at length. "We'll go back to get your stuff. But only when he's not out home. And I'm coming with you."

I agreed. I had expected as much. I would have been surprised -and a little hurt- if he hadn't said that.

We fell silent for a few moments. I stared hungrily at the food on the table.

Bryan seemed to notice the direction of my gaze, because suddenly he spoke up. "Hey, are you hungry? You haven't eaten since, what? Yesterday morning?"

"Actually the night before," I corrected, already reaching for the food.

I slurped loudly as I drank the soup. Though already cold, it was possibly the best meal I had eaten in well over six months. I was halfway done with the bowl before I remembered to breathe.

"Do you want some?" I asked Bryan, offering the spoon to him.

He shook his head, but I could practically hear his stomach protesting.

"Take some anyway," I said, shoving the spoon into his hand. He resisted at first, saying that I needed it more, but when I insisted, he took the spoon and the bowl without any further complaints.

I watched him eat for a minute.

Then, "Why?" I asked suddenly.

Bryan lifted his head, brows furrowed. "Why what?"

"This," I elaborated, gesturing at the room around us. "Why did you bring me to the hospital? Or actually, why do you even care about me in the first place?"

Bryan sighed, and put down the soup, setting it back on the tray. "I brought you to the hospital because you were hurt, and I couldn't take care of you anymore. I saw something wrong happening, and I tried to fix it. Of course, if you had let me go to the police the first time you came to me, then you wouldn't be here in the first place."

They were the opening words to an old argument. "But I told you over and over again that-"

"I know," he interrupted. "But that still doesn't make me feel any better."

"And my other question?" I asked.

"What question was that?"

"Why do you care?"

"Care about what?" he hedged.

"Me," I said, throwing my arms up in exasperation. Then I winced, my head throbbing painfully.

"You okay?" Bryan asked, his green eyes dark with worry.

I nodded gingerly. "Answer the question."

He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair again. "Because...I know how you feel." Seeing my shocked expression, he hurriedly added, "No, my parents didn't beat me. But they always had high expectations for me, and whenever I wavered just a little they would always have long 'talks' with me. It never got to physical violence, but...It hurt, you know? Knowing that you're disappointed your parents is painful. Sometimes I felt like no one cared about me. And when I saw you that first time," he paused, searching for the right words. "I felt like I needed to let you know that at least someone out there cared enough to look after you. And I was the only one around to be that someone." He shrugged.

"Oh." I hadn't expected that. Still, I couldn't help but feel that tiny flutter of disappointment in my gut. I had thought that Bryan might have had more of a...romantic inclination.

"Besides," he continued. "I think that I might kind of maybe sort of like you."

I smiled. "Oh? Then I guess I should say that I think that I kind of maybe sort of like you too."

Review please.
Kathy