To Help Her

I am here to help her. It reeks of booze in this place; house of a friend of a friend.

Her young bro had told me she was here: too much too drink, she had gone in a room with him, “please come help her.”

So I came. They are both drunk, but she is out. She can grunt or cry, but not move. I hear this all through the door. He is on her, in her, and she does not know where she is.

“Open the door! I will kill you!” I say. Her bro wants me to help her. But, the lock, I would have to kick it in.

I put my ear to the door, but I hear her hair against the wood grain. “If I kick it in, it will break her neck.” I send the boy to call the cops.

At last I hear him drag her away. I hear him come to the door. He pulls it.

He is a waste, pants in his hand, he smells like sex. I hit him in the face. Then, I pull him out the back door. “What?” He says, lost.

On the hood of a car, I break him, I give him pain. But I have no way to give him the pain she will have; or give him the shame he gave to me. I love her.

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