Shattered(2)

Trystan is yelling, his voice is mangled, but I still understand him. "Don't touch her!" He's standing. There are angry marks around his neck and his lip is split. A trail of blood runs down his cheek. That wound from the other day, the one that Tucker was upset about, opened up.

Tucker. Tucker knew something was wrong. My eyes dart to Trystan. His dad has been beating the shit out of him. I didn't know. Horror washes over me in a frigid wave. How did I not know?

Trystan's dad has a strange look on his face. I get to my feet even though my middle feels like it's been smashed to bits. Trystan stands between us. His shoulders are tense, corded with muscle, ready to fight. I don't breathe. I can't. Everything happens so quickly, but it feels like forever, like we're moving through a vat of Vaseline.

Trystan's dad takes a swing at his son. Angry words come pouring out of his mouth and his fist follows. Trystan remains between us, dodges the hit, and swings his arm straight up. Trystan's fist connects under his dad's jaw. The punch is solid. The man's bones make a cracking sound before he gets a strange look on his face and falls backwards. His body hits the floor.

Trystan stands over his father, breathing hard, his fingers still clenched into a fist. Neither of us moves. Trystan's shaking, looking at his hand like he's some kind of monster. When he turns back to me, I nearly die. His expression is horrible. All the anguish is plainly painted across his face for me to see.

We both stare at each other for a second. It feels like time stops, but in a bad way. I finally remember I have feet and lunge at him, throwing myself into his arms. Trystan's chest is slick, covered in sweat. I feel every muscle in his body as he wraps his arms around me. He buries his face in my hair and we stay like that until the lights and voices tear us apart. Trystan releases me and looks up confused. Their words sound like far away echoes. They say to drop to the floor, to let go of me. Neither of us moves. We both shiver as the men run at us. One pulls me from Trystan, while the other knocks him to the floor and pulls his arms behind his back.

A police officer speaks to me. "Are you all right? Are you the one who called? Miss..." he continues to talk, but I'm shaking. I can't understand why they're hurting Trystan. I can't understand anything.

I blurt out, "He didn't hurt me! That man did. What are you doing?" I try to pull away from the cop, but he keeps me back. More police are there. Another cop car. They say that I should calm down. They ask my name, my parent's names. They want to know what happened, if I'm all right. But I can't speak, they don't listen when I tell them that Trystan is hurt. They pull Trystan away from me and I can't see him. It feels like there's a foot on my chest and I can't breathe.

~TRYSTAN~

Something inside of him snapped this time. When Trystan saw Mari fall and his father's foot connect with her stomach, his brain broke. Red hot rage ran behind his eyes, blinding him. Before Trystan knew what happened, his father was on the floor. He remembers the steps toward his dad. He remembers the way it felt when his fist collided with the old man's jaw. Maybe dad deserved it. Maybe, but that isn't the emotion rolling over his skin. Trystan looks at his hand, still clenched tight. That fist. Oh god. He didn't want to fight back. Fighting back makes it worse. Fighting back makes him like his father. Trystan's stomach twists as he stares at nothing.

After a moment, he sees her - Mari. She moves toward him. Shame covers him like a thick blanket. He didn't defend her fast enough. He didn't prevent this. He should have. When Mari falls against him, Trystan pulls her to him, touching her back and lacing his fingers through her hair. He saw the kick and knows how much she hurts. Trystan is careful not to make it worse, but he doesn't want to let go. Closing his eyes, he buries his face in her hair and breathes. It seems like hours pass this way.

His life is so f*cked up, so far beyond repair - and Mari walked straight into it. She saw him when he opened the door, but she didn't run. Mari came inside. She must have done something after he blacked out. The last thing Trystan remembers is his father's fingers around his throat and the liquid fire filling his lungs.

Then, Trystan opened his eyes and the world was on its side. Mari was on the floor. It was too much. Trystan was too late. He didn't save her. He walked her into this mess, led her straight into it.

Mari's hands are warm and hold onto him tightly. She doesn't hold back. It isn't until the cops arrive that they part, and it isn't willingly. Before Trystan knows what's happening, he's forced to the floor with a knee in his back. They say things to him, but the pain is making it hard to focus. He can't swallow. His entire throat burns and aches at the same time. It's like his neck was in a vice, but it wasn't. It was in his father's hands.

They pull Trystan up and drag him into the kitchen. The wall blocks his view of Mari. Anger is coursing so wildly through his body that he can barely control it. The cops ask him questions, but he can't really speak. Each word is like a nail through his throat. The only things he can manage is, "It's not her fault. I did this." They shove paper at him. Trystan knows better than to write anything down. He shakes his head.

"Don't be a dumbass kid. Write down what happened." The cop pushes the paper back at Trystan, but he doesn't take it. "You're old man beat you one too many times. We know this story kid. The girl showed up and tried to help. Things got out of hand. I know how this goes. Tell us something." But Trystan is quiet.