The Story Of Sarelle (Twilight)

Chapter 17

Flashes of Ashton and that horrific night crept from the recesses of my mind, and I found my steps stuttering as I unconsciously tried to avoid the apparently drunken voices. However no matter where I turned they seemed to chase me through the streets. I knew logically that they weren't following me but logic didn't rule my mind now. Instead all that filled it were memories of kicking, screaming, blood, and pain. I could feel my heart racing at the memory of Ashton's hard eyes glinting at me, enjoying my weak attempts of fighting back.

Wherever I walked the voices still crept up on me, becoming clearer by the second. I had no idea where I was going in this town but I soon found myself within the more residential area. The streets were deathly quiet and the glowing windows showed the stark contrast between the warmth and safety within their homely stone walls, and the darkness I stood in with whispers running on the wind and promising me nothing good.

I hurried down a darkened street, heading back towards where I thought I had started.

There I could see them. The end of the street framed their show of drunken stumbling like a picture frame. The tall dark walls of the buildings on either side caused the pool of golden light, which came from the broken streetlamp they stood under, to seem even brighter than it actually was. This meant that my eyes were forced to see them.

They were dressed in the fine uniforms of aristocrats and rich boys. Their bodies clad in suits of the finest fabrics and their hands holding polished expensive canes, though the expensive sticks did nothing to steady their stumbling. They created a perfectly ugly picture of men lost to the dizzying effects of alcohol.

I turned to walk away but before my eyes left their rowdy group I saw an innocent girl walking into their lecherous trap, like a butterfly fluttering unknowingly into a spider's web.

I could see she was beautiful, even though I stood several metres away. Her golden hair was intricately woven onto the top of her head, and she held herself with the good posture that came from mixing in a high society. Her pastel dress and form fitting jacket were simple, but the garment fitted her nicely and the dress flowed prettily around her ankles as she strode carefully towards the group of men.

I crept forward reluctantly. I didn't want to get any closer to the men. In fact I wanted to run as far away from them as possible, but there was something in me that felt I had to be near the girl. I couldn't just leave her to walk into their arms. Drunken men couldn't be trusted; I had enough experience to know that.

"Rose!" A statuesque man called out to the girl and she edged closer to them, her lovely face showing a mix of confusion, anger and worry. She didn't want to be near them, just as I didn't, but she didn't have the ability to just walk away like me. They seemed to know her and that meant she was pulled towards them against her will. The butterfly had its wings trapped in the web.

"Here's my Rose!" The man shouted and his voice was thick and lazy with the alcohol running through his system.

The men around him laughed at his statement though i couldn't find one thing in his sentence that would be considered funny.

My body crept a little further towards them, whilst my mind screamed at me to run, backing up its logic with the haunting memories of Ashton's rough hands on my body. However, the memories didn't give me the urge to turn and run. They made me want to stay and make sure that this girl, Rose, didn't have to endure what I had.

No one should ever have to endure the crippling feeling of being helpless and unable to defend your own body. No one should be made to feel inferior and worthless just because they aren't strong enough to exact the punishment on those who had wronged them. When I thought back on the night Ashton had attacked me I felt nothing but rage that I hadn't been able to punch him like Jasper had.