Moonlit

eight

Ryan towered over me, his shoulders broad and powerful looking. His usually neat hair was parted at odd angles and his eyes were a faint crimson, opened wider than usual.

"Ryan?" I asked again. "What are you doing?"

He stumbled forward the slightest bit, almost treading on my legs. Once he held his arms out to his sides, he managed to regain his balance. In incredulity, I linked his uncoordinated movements back to the alcoholic stench.

"You're drunk?" I questioned more to myself in disbelief. I didn't think it was possible to enter the building intoxicated without getting caught, especially in broad daylight.

"Shut up, stupid girl," he snarled, his character nothing like I had ever seen in him before.

"Excuse me?" I asked, taking offense to his rude demeanor.

He crouched to his knees, moving his hands to the outside of my shoulders so I couldn't move. His breath washed over me and I wriggled my nose in disgust.

"I told you to shut up!" Suddenly, he brought his hand to my cheek, a strong stinging sensation following it. I cried out in pain, tears threatening to spill.

"I thought - you told me you didn't drink." I tried to stay calm despite the tingling on my face and my watering eyes. I still couldn't let myself believe that the person I thought to be sweet was causing me so much physical - and emotional - pain.

"I tell you a lot of things, T," he slurred, calling me that horrible nickname. He snickered drunkenly. "Did I ever tell you that I lied?"

I fell speechless, paralyzed in shock. So many angry accusations became stuck in my throat, unable to process into coherent sentences.

When his intoxicated mind realized I wasn't going to say anything, he proceeded. "You know what? I was going to stop cheating on you with that whore friend of yours. What's her name again? Sally? Sasha? Sophia?"

No, no, no. He was wrong, he had to be. I suspected he was hiding something, but nothing as horrid as this.

Ryan continued, as though he didn't know that I had had enough. "But you ... you've stopped giving me what I want. Why is that? I thought you loved me."

At that phrase, I almost laughed at how absurd it was to ever believe that. I never loved him. I just had nothing better to do with my life.

"Right now, I'd rather be lying on my death bed if it meant I didn't have to look at you!"

My ex-boyfriend's face quickly became tinted with rage, his forehead turning the colour of his bloodshot eyes. In one swift movement, he brought his chilled hand to my neck and raised my lolling head. Craze coloured his facial features.

My upper body was suspended from the ground, my nose nearly touching his. The little amounts of oxygen I was receiving evoked me to choke, gasping for air.

Ryan was breathing heavily, his teeth almost bared. "Don't lie, you little, idiotic cun-"

"Get the fuck off her!"

At the same time a low voice bellowed, Ryan's fingers slipped from my neck and the heavy weight lifted.

After that, it all happened like a film in slow motion:

A quick blur of matted hair and dark clothing knocked into Ryan, large hands hurling his body out of the way. I felt my head tip, gravity pulling my upper body back towards the carpet floor in a sickening rush.

A slice of agony was the last thing I sensed as my head collided with the hard ground.

-

What seemed like very few moments later, I awoke to the feel of thin sheets interwined in my fingers. I was rested on a cushioned surface and I immediately came to the conclusion that I was lying on a bed. Strange.