  she shook. breathing hard...the only form of movement emitted from the typically hard-to-tolerate energy that literally seeps from her skin. the pseudo-masochistic garrulous-when-comfortable pacifist is nothing more than a silent weeping heap upon the cold concrete. she hears someone ask if she's "alright". wiping her nose.....grabbing her pulsating head, a knot already growing rapidly, she looks up at a car with an expression of concern semi-distinguishable on the face in the driver's seat. the near blackness of the early Saturday morning and her disorientation making it all the more unbelievable.
befuddled as the soreness begins to spread from her thighs, her tailbone a burning spot that usually goes unnoticed in day-to-day passing. the assault made her body a difficult thing to navigate. she pulls herself up, anyway. what other choice is there. coaxing the invisible strings attatched to move her limbs with her vehement will, spatting out the distinguishable coppery flavor of crimson bodily fluid upon the place she had been thrown against, she thuds her suddenly heavy legs towards the aid of the nameless one. "just take me up to Irving and Ashland....thanks.
i am fine," she said to the figure that (thankfully) didn't feel the need to put her in any worse position. (she still can't believe that she took another risk entering a foreign vehicle. ) where did her friends go to? where were they at instead of meeting with her like they said they would? now, some stranger's hands would be burnt in the form of bruises upon her lower back... the palms and thumbs could be outlined. she would be able to inspect them in a few hours.
his nails leaving a few raised welts. her pants ripped. her confidence as well...receiving yet another blow. his fingers could be detected as well around her slender neck. she enters the house...hearing a television on. the anger builds out of nowhere.
unexpected, fuming and headed up the stairs, the physical pain shooting up her entire core as each step is tackled with the frightening resurrection of strength she wished she had to ward the aggressor off of her.... would soon be fighting off another one. her former necessity layed out upon his bed, and immediately threw verbal defenses against her infuriated and crazed expression. she couldn't even take the chance to get a word out....jaw open and hanging in awe, more tears managing to swell again in the dehydrated ducts.... she retaliated by throwing the fan. he lunged and began pushing her out his bedroom door. restrained again for the second time that night, she refused to submit.... screaming and throwing punches and kicks furiously again. a tiny fist landing upon a mouth she used to smother with her own.
more bruises scattered upon her translucent skin, the brusque scuffle would be even more shocking than the first. she fights against the second body that pinned her down under the roof she rests her head. the kinetics taking her nowhere, a sobbing writhing creature that would have to hold her head up alone, regardless, after it all was over. finally, she wails in defeat....confessions spill on both ends. two days later, her body still sore, her only remedy is new music. polly jean growling, whispering, calling, humming and taking her away with the English girl's erratic melodies and severely accurate lyrics in lullabies sang by her waifish savior... some of pj's words make her blush as if being exposed herself.
she keeps "uh-huh her" on constant loop. borrowed literature from her friend's golden mine of a personal library to flood the memories with knowledge. drown the fact that she was handled like a lathe .... again. " LATHE: a machine used for holding and turning pieces of wood or metal as they are worked . " 
