The hidden truth

Screams curdle the essence of your blood.
They stop the rhythmic beatings of the heart;
A skittish pulse forms and throbs
And creeps its way towards the temple.

I saved her from her father's curse,
His frantic hands clawing fabric folds
And tearing buttons from her shirt
To accompany his morals on the floor.

I was the hero, just ask the girl.
She'll tell you indirectly though,
Her voice is lost- the truth remains
Buried and clasped between her lips.