Gregory James Hamilton

Name: Gregory James Hamilton
Age: 19 (or so he says)
Residence: suburbs outside San Francisco
Physical description: White blond hair grown just past his ears, 6 feet tall, slender (but not beanpole thin), bright green eyes

“Where have you been?” he asked to the empty street. This was the second week Marie had missed classes. Usually she would call later in the day and ask him for a copy of his notes. But now there was nothing but silence. That's why he was walking down a dark street – her street – looking for her bicycle in front of the various houses and apartments.

“Greg?”

And suddenly she was there, pushing a garbage can to the curb and staring at him. Her hair was messy, not like her usual pristine look, and it draped over her left eye.

He wanted to tell her how much he had missed her. He wanted to tell her how worried he had been. But instead he stared. He stared at her sudden lack of confidence and the look of panic in her eyes.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She glanced back at the house, with its large picture window showing a man and woman arguing while the 49ers game played on TV.

“I've been looking for you,” he said, taking a step closer. “Is something wrong? You haven't been coming to class and you never call anymore.”

“I'm fine,” she said quietly and looked at the ground. “I've just been helping out at home. My parents are going through a rough time. That's all.” She winced at the sound of a vase shattering inside.

“I see,” he said. But something wasn't right. She always met his gaze. And she never hid her face from anyone. That's what he loved about her. When she laughed, she would throw her head back and smile brighter than anyone he'd ever known. He stepped forward and reached to push her hair behind her ear. “Please tell me what's going on.”

“No,” she said and pushed his hand away. “I can't talk to you right now. I have things I need to do inside.” She turned to walk away, her shoulders hunched forward.

“Wait,” he said and grabbed her arm. She gasped, as if she was in pain, then pulled away sharply. But before she could flee any farther, he pulled her closer and forced the sleeve of her shirt up past where he had touched her. A dark set of bruises in the shape of a hand stood out sharply against her fair skin. Greg felt a level of anger he had never known emerge inside of him. He clutched her to him, firmly turned her head him and smoothed her hair back. Another dark bruise splashed across her upper cheek and a hint of yellow betrayed the last remnants of a black eye. “Who did this to you?”

“No one,” she said, desperately pushing against his chest. He held firm and gently turned her face back toward his. Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the front of his shirt. “Please, just go. They'll be missing me if I stay out much longer.”

“Not a chance,” he whispered. “Not until you tell me what happened. You don't get bruises like that from just sitting around at home helping your parents with their marital problems.”

“Greg, please,” Marie pleaded. She was trembling now. But the more she tried to pull away, the more he felt the need to hold her close and never let go. “He'll get angry if I don't go back inside.”

“Who, your father?” Greg said, doing his best not to grit his teeth as he spoke. “Well, he'll have to wait a while. You're not going back in there.”

“Don't be stupid,” she said. The tears were flowing down her face now. “I have to go back. Where else would I go?”

“Anywhere! Just not there,” he whispered, putting his hand to her face. “I can't let you go back now that I know what's waiting inside.”

“They're my family.” The words were barely audible. “They love me."

“Giving you bruises for taking too long to take out the trash is not love,” he said. She looked at him with anger flashing in her eyes.

“What would you know about that?”

Instead of answering her, he did what he'd been longing to do for months. He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the lips. He felt her stiffen with surprise. When he pulled back, her eyes were wide.

“I know I love you,” he said softly. “Come with me. Don't worry about the rest. As long as I'm with you, I won't let anything like this happen again. Please.”

Instead of speaking, she buried her head in his chest and began sobbing uncontrollably. He stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head. Then the two figures silently walked away, hand-in-hand, into the night.

Word Count: 858