Hands:
I knew these hands. I knew their rough push, and the sense of entitlement that followed them whenever they moved. I knew their rude prod, and the insensitive way they jerked me toward them. They were not the hands I had grown to love, but rather the hands I had grown to endure.
Now, I flinched as they bullied their way around my waist, attacking me from behind. They brought with them a pair of arms that crushed me, stopping just short of breaking my ribs, and a pair of lips that hid under a mustache that reminded me of a deer blind, keeping his hunting lips from view until they were ready to strike mine.
Today, however, he managed to keep his lips to himself. Without warning, he threw me to the floor. My head smashed against the tile, and my vision became blurred as he strutted away, slamming the cold stone door behind him.
I touched my hand to the back of my head, and warm blood coated my hand. This had happened once before, so I knew I didn’t have much time to react. Dragging myself off the floor was hard, but necessary. A wave of nausea washed over me, almost knocking me back down, but I managed to make it to the door, where I pushed the little red button and said one word before I lost consciousness. “Help.”
When I woke up, there were different hands caressing my cheek, and tending to my wounds. These were the hands I had grown to love. These hands were not only part of a body, but also of a heart, and a person. Not a monster. They were his hands. Luke’s hands.
He noticed that I had opened my eyes and smiled, saying, “It’s going to be okay.” I knew better, though. Reading his eyes was second nature to me, and I saw the fear and worry hiding within them.
“What did he say?” My voice may have been week, but I spoke firmly.
He was slow to respond, but I knew that I would get an answer. Luke could never deny me what I truly wanted, and needed. “He wanted me to slip you a drug. When you flinched away from him, he knew I hadn’t. And…”
“And?”
“And he felt the baby bump. He knows you’re pregnant. He thinks it’s his, and he’s pissed off that you didn’t tell him. What are we going to do? We have to get you out of here. He may think it’s his, and treat you well while you’re carrying his child, but as soon as you give birth, he’ll take the baby away from you, and go back to treating you like trash.”
“It’s ours. You know that. I haven’t let him that close for a long time.”
“I know.”
“We can’t hide it any longer.”
“I know.”
“So it’s settled?”
He nodded. “We leave tonight.”
