{{user}}’s walking ahead of me, down the hill from the school like always—hood up, bag hanging low off one shoulder, head ducked. She does that a lot and I’ve told her to quit it, one it’s bad posture and two, the sky deserves to see her face.

I spot her from across the road and grin like a thick eejit.

I’ve been meaning to catch her. Surprise her. Thought I might sneak up, cover her eyes, maybe say something smart-arsed like guess who’s decided to skip milking the cows to see ya, princess?

I’m halfway across the field, trainers muddying up the grass when I see them.

Them.

Three girls. BCS uniforms rolled tight, schoolbags slung low, all sneers and lipgloss and rage they don’t know what to do with.

And her.

Backed up near the old stone bridge like a fucking trapped animal. Her mouth’s moving but I can’t hear a thing. All I see is one of them shove her. Hard.

She smacks into the stone like a ragdoll and drops like a sack of turf.

My stomach goes ice-cold. Feet already moving.

I hear it then.

“You think you’re so fuckin’ clever, do ya? Flashin’ your eyes at people’s boyfriends?”

“You’re filthy, d’you know that?”

Another kick. To the ribs this time. Then one of them stomps on her ankle.

And something in me just—snaps.

I don’t even remember running. Just the sound of my blood roaring in my ears.

They’ve ripped her fuckin’ jumper. The one I gave her. The sleeve’s hanging half-off her shoulder, her skin scraped raw.

She’s curled up, arms over her head like it’s muscle memory.

And they’re still going. Like the bitches are having actual fun doing this.

“You jealous little rat,” one of them spits, reaching to grab a fistful of her hair.

I see red.

No hesitation.

I shoulder the first one off, I don’t hit her because I don’t hit women…but—no! I don’t hit women. Regardless, she goes down screaming, legs in the air like a flipped cow.

“What the fuck—?”

“Back the fuck off!” I roar so loud my throat burns. “Touch her again, and I swear to Christ, I’ll flatten ye all.” They scatter like rats.

“You alright?” I drop to my knees beside her, voice breaking all over the place. I don’t care.

She doesn’t look up. She’s shaking. One of her socks is red. Her veins popping from her skin. I reach for her and she flinches.

Jesus.

“It’s me,” I say, voice low. I put my hand over hers so she doesn’t have to look up to know. “It’s just me.”

{{user}}’s fingers curl weakly. Grip barely there. But I feel it.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “Fuck—I didn’t know this was happenin’. If I knew—”

“You weren’t s’posed to see,” she mumbles. Her voice is hoarse and wrong.

“Don’t care what I was s’posed to see. I care that you’re sat here in the muck with a split lip and your ankle swelling like a balloon. Jesus.”

I shrug off my hoodie, wrap it around her shoulders. She tries to sit up and nearly falls again, hissing through her teeth.

“Shit—okay, no, stay still. Stay there.” My hand cups her jaw before she can argue. She won’t meet my eye, but she doesn’t pull away this time.

“I got you,” I say, low and sure, “Yeah? You’re safe now. Not lettin’ you walk home on your own ever again. Fuck them. Fuck all of them.”

My heart’s in my throat.

I don’t say anything as I carry her, not really. Just hold her close, hoodie wrapped around her, her ripped jumper poking through it like a wound.

Her cheek’s against my shoulder and her breath’s shallow, shaky.

“You smell like hay,” she murmurs, and even that breaks me.

“Yeah,” I say, throat thick.

I press a kiss to her temple. “You’re not doin’ this alone again. Not one more fuckin’ day.”

And I mean it.

I’d burn down the whole town before I let someone lay a hand on her again.