Not-Titled-Yet

“Thank you.” She whispered, clutching the single suitcase tightly. Rain drenched through her black dress and small jacket, she shivered. She cried, but that was only noticeable by the streaming mascara. He smiled and took the suitcase from her.
It had been five years, five unforgettably long years. The last time he had seen her, or heard from was the day she gleefully told him that she had married and they were moving. He remembered the unforgettable pains in his chest as the woman he loved walked away on another man’s arm. Too late to tell her now, though, why make her feel bad when she was so happy?
But after that day, he never received another letter, or a phone call, or even a cheery visit. Nothing came from her, and he thought she had forgotten him in the upswing of a happy marriage. But three days ago, he had seen her getting food. He had foolishly gone up to her, ask her how she had been. She had been dragged about by a very different man than the man she had married a few years ago. Her husband had been buff, well-kept, and the type of guy girls just swooned for, this man was unkempt, with his hair falling out, beer-bellied, and smelt of stale sweat and beer. She had given him a look of complete helplessness.
He knew than; he knew that she was being beaten and abused. He knew she must be dying inside. His heart told him that he wasn’t the only one that must have been forced out of her life by this low scum. He knew he had to do something, he had to save her.
The next day, he saw her again as she when she stepped out of a church. Her face and hair bound tightly behind a scarf on the cold day. He only knew her by her eyes, those sweet, sad eyes he had known forever. He cornered her, held her as she told him through tears and body-racketing sobs the torture she was being put through, how she regretted marrying that man, how she wanted to go home. He asked where she lived, and ask when her husband worked. Than told her to get ready her things, he would pick her up tomorrow and take her away from her abusive husband. He told her he would keep her safe.
Now, they were riding in the cab, she shivered from standing in the rain. The cab rode silently down the road to his home. A small place above the business he ran. It wouldn’t be much, but it was a place for her to sleep and be safe until she knew where she was going on her own. And maybe, she would never know where else to go his selfish side reasoned.
She stared out the window, twisting her hands together in anxiety that sat in her lap. He leaned over and took a hand in his and smiled encouraging.
“I’m not going to let him, or anyone else hurt you ever again.” He said softly, rubbing her hand softly with his thumb, “I promise.”
She smiled at him, sadness shining through the small cheer. “You can’t protect me forever.” She whispered sadly and stared out the window again. He held her hand still, carefully and stared out his own window, an awkward silence filled between them, but he didn't let her hand go. After a while, he felt her small, delicate fingers fold over his. He smiled to himself.
“Here we are.” The cab driver said pulling in front of the business. The sign blinked on and off in one corner where the lights where dying.
He let go of her hand, rather reluctantly, and stepped out of the cab. Then he helped her out of the car, and grabbed her suitcase. He paid the cab driver the fee, than walked through the rusty old door.
He put the suitcase down and turned on the lights, “It's not much, but whatever is here is your's as long as your here.” he smiled at her. Rather dismayed at the dirty mess that seemed to never disappear.
“Haven't changed much in these past five years, have you?” She giggled, poking a pizza box that laid discarded on the floor with her toes, “Let me guess, Deluxe Pizza, no olives?”
“Of course!” He said flashing her a smile as she looked around. Amongst the empty pizza boxes, which never seemed to end, was empty pop cans and somewhere hidden amongst those was the three couches set up for him to talk to clients (the few that came), a desk with an hold-fashion phone, and a pool table. The rest of the large open space was filled with the only thing he ate.
She shook her head as she kicked the boxes out of her way, “And what do your clients say when they see this mess?” She asked stepping back next to him.
“Normally something like, 'Well, he can be messy as a long as he gets the job done.' ” He shrugged and grabbed her suitcase, “You can use my room while your here. It's upstairs.”
She shook her head, “I can't do that, you need a proper place to sleep.” She pointed to the couch, “I'll sleep on that cleared one.”
“Than you'd be sleeping on my bed.” He grinned, “I rarely drag my ass upstairs into that room. Just sleep on the couch. Come on.” He pressed her shoulder lightly towards the stairs and followed after her. The single room was at the top of the stairs, and the only room up there besides the small bathroom. It was small, fitting only a twin bed, an empty dresser, and a small writing desk with an old picture on it.
She snuffled a laugh, it was an old picture of them. “I remember that day.” She laughed remembering the day at the beach, where she had piled sand around him while he snoozed. Than took a picture of his mermaid-self with her sitting next to her master-piece.
“And it stays as a reminder of never to fall asleep on a beach again. I swear I still have sand grains coming out of my cracks from that day.” He placed the suitcase down. “I'll leave you to get changed into something dry and get comfy; if you need anything don't be afraid to ask.”
She stood looking out the window onto the rainy street, and he made to leave.
“Wait. Can I have one thing?” She asked turning around, to look at him.
“If I can provide, it shall be yours.” He smiled, bowing a little bit.
She rocked a little bit on her toes, her hands behind her back. She looked really young all of a sudden, “Can I have a hug?”
He smiled and crossed the room in a single large stride and wrapped his arms around her. She slipped her arms around him and breathed in his scent for comfort. He held her tight with one arm and thread his fingers softly through her hair of his other arm. He pressed his face against her head and whispered, “Never be afraid to ask for a hug.”