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It was sticky and dark. Blood. My blood. It was all like a film, a film in slow motion. I saw Mike swinging back for the next hit, and then I was back. I saw the hit coming and dodged. Mike?s punch hit only air were the second before was my face. For my turn, I made a short, strong move of my arm and my fist was placed on Mike?s nose. He stumbled back, searching for balance, turned around and fell face down into mud. Next thing I remember was a sharp pain on my side and me, lying in the mud myself, and hits and kicks all over.Screams again. Seconds later I saw Mr. Peters face right over me. Next to him was that of Patrick."Mr. Arther! Mr. Arther! Are you all right?" I?m OK. ...I guess." My reply came slowly.Hands and arms helped me up to my feet. Supported at first, but then on my own, I was escorted into the building where a small man looked on my head and examined me quickly."To my opinion, he is all right. Nothing but bruises." He told to Mr. Peters. Then turned. ’ Finally he reached for me, another of those sessions of need, grabbing and almost fighting each other to give pleasure. Jon spent the night in my bed, the same bed I had never in my entire life shared with any man but my husband. At 10 AM Sunday morning, there was a knock on the door. I opened it to a driver, picking Jon up to go home. I spent the rest of the day alone, waiting for the darkness to come to me, waiting for needing to take my medication. It is now nearly 11 PM, I am going to go to bed. I haven’t needed medicine for 2 days now. The only reason I am online writing is because of the voice, Ted’s voice. If I take the medicine I can’t hear him. Well that isn’t completely true, I still can but the words are like being off-channel, hard to understand. He knows, he stopped and waits until early mornings or when I am late with my pills. I like him talking to me, so I sometimes sit and wait for it. ‘Go write it down.’ he said to me. No one needs to believe that, that is fine. It.
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