31 Day Writing Challenge: Day 24 - 'January'

The cold, January air swirled around Poppy's exposed legs, the skirt of her little black dress (the one he hated) brushing against her thighs in the breeze. The concrete, icy cold beneath her bare feet, was only slightly warmer than her heart. Stones clung to her soles as they coated the ground in his blood. 

As she staggered away, exhausted and hurt, she dropped the knife. He'd fought back, tried to defend himself, he'd gotten in a few good shots too. She'd been relying on that. Everyone believed that she had had a lucky escape when she and Scott parted ways, and if it had happened a short time earlier, that would have been true. But it was Scott that had managed to get away. She had snapped and turned into something more dangerous than the men who had abused her. First, her father, who had abused her in every way he could, except molestation. That particular sin was saved for his nightly, unwanted visits to her mother's side of the bed. Poppy still woke up in cold sweats some nights, haunted by memories of life under Gerry Baldwin's roof. 

Gerry was followed by personifications of varying degrees of manipulation talents in the shape of boyfriends; each one with his own strengths and particular brand of soul crushing tactics, but almost always a mix of physical and mental beatings. 

But they were nothing compared to Scott. Scott made her feel safe. Scott was a 'good guy'. Scott was subtle but effective, He was so good, that by the time he actually hit her, she was so broken down, that she blamed herself before he even had a chance. She had even apologised to him. He apologised too. He apologised every time at the start, but he stopped eventually. They always stopped apologising. She didn't react how they expected when they hit her; she didn't cry or scream or shout. She was silent, stoic. She just took it. And if it didn't upset her, why should they apologise? 

'Girl, you sure can take a hit', 'You take a punch better than some guys', 'Be careful or we'll find out just how much you can take, bitch' and 'No-one takes a hit like you, babe' replaced sincere sounding and tear-filled apologies.

Then Poppy Baldwin got hit one too many times. She snapped. She used techniques picked up from years of abuse at the hands (and feet) of a life-long stream of abusers. Due to her size, she realised she was far more effective at the mental methods. The most effective seemed to be pushing his buttons until he beat her, then reporting the assault to the police. That combine with the medical records nearly their entire relationship, meant that the blame and suspicion was solely on Scott. She made Scott fear her, then she made him terrified. 

One August morning, Poppy woke to find Scott gone. That should have been the end of it. But, a little over a year later, she heard he was living with someone new. That didn't sit well with Poppy, so she checked up on the situation ever so often. Scott's new lesser half consistently had new bruises; was slowly retreating into herself, and although most of the signs were subtle, Poppy knew what she was seeing, Scott had found someone else to prey on who wouldn't fight back, Well, that poor girl maybe couldn't break away but Poppy could deal with Scott on her behalf. To protect the latest victim and every possible victim, Poppy would have to go back on the offensive and end Scott's ability to abuse anyone. Permanently.

As she walked away from the now harmless abuser, the metallic smell surrounding her, Poppy didn't look back. Scott's left arm was lifelessly reaching out after her, like he had been trying to entreat her to come back to him. The truth, however, was that it had fallen there after a fail attempt to strangle her, ineffective at all but leaving some slight bruising. Said bruising would aid her while giving her statement to the police. 

It was self-defense. Her ex-boyfriend had found her again after almost two years and had attacked her for running away. She didn't plan to kill him, didn't want to end his life, she just wanted him to stop, to get off off her. She just wanted it to stop. Some crying would probably be a good idea too. It would be that easy and would only be marginally harder for the police (and anyone else) to believe. 

Scott believed he was so smart, so in control, arrogant bastard. Scott hadn't taken something very important into consideration:

Hell hath no fury like a woman.