But where do I remember it from?
I try to match it with any of the current tenants but keep coming up short. I don’t think we have had anyone move in recently, other than Claire.
Was it someone visiting? That would explain where I’d seen them before. It’s Friday night, which might make sense. Could it have been someone from school?
Each wrong turn in my mind sends another spike of anxiety coursing through me.
Suddenly, it clicks into place.
I glance at the intersection, realizing just how far away I am. Panic consumes me, and I do the only thing I can, I turn around and I run.
I run as fast as I can, completely disregarding Franklin and any demand he might have of me. Nothing in the world could be more important than getting to her right now.
I sprint wildly, quicker than I ever have in my life. I rush past people on the street and don’t give a shit that I must look like a total fucking idiot. I bolt across traffic, horns blaring and brakes locking up to avoid crashing into me.
I narrow my gaze on the building ahead; I’m almost there. Maybe I’m losing it, maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe it was a figment of my imagination, and it wasn’t who I thought it was after all.
But if that’s the case, why do I have this pit in my gut screaming at me to go, go, go?
I hear her voice first, confirming my fear. “Stop it, let go of me.” She’s pleading with him.
And it rips my heart in two.
I fumble with the code and frantically try to look through the gate separating us. The buzzer lets out a failure signal and flashes red.
“Claire!” I call out. “I’m coming.”
“Who the fuck was that?” His voice is like thick poison.
“Please, Griffin, you’re hurting me.” She sniffles and chokes on her words.
I punch the numbers in and thank God it beeps and goes green. I throw the gate open, and it clangs loudly. I clear the courtyard in a flash and take the stairs three by three.
He has her at the top, gripping her forearms and shoving her closer and closer to the first step.
Tears are streaming down her cheeks.
“This is why you broke up with me?” He nods his stupid ugly head in my direction. “This fucking guy?”
I hold up my hands. "Just let her go, dude." I slowly position my body toward him and try to get him to shift his path in a different direction.
He’s holding on way too tightly, and if I make the wrong move, he could easily send her tumbling down the stairs. Not a risk I’m willing to take.
I take a step and he counters, falling right into the trap I’m setting for him.
“She was mine first.” He slurs his words, clearly indicating that he’s been drinking.
“Griffin,” Claire begs. “You’re—” She winces.
“Wah, wah, wah. You’re so dramatic.” He digs his fingers into her forearms tighter and tighter.
“Stop, please,” she says through a sob.
She takes the last and final step I need to make my advancement.
I jump forward, shoving my fist into this asshole's throat and causing him to release her from his death grip. I grab the collar of his preppy boy shirt and pull him closer to my face. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Who gave you the right to lay a hand on her?”
Memories from the first few days she was here trickle in; visions of her wearing long sleeves and hiding her skin, until one day, she wasn’t, and she wore makeup on her arm to cover up bruises. Ones that this prick must have left on her skin before she escaped him.