Jasmine was more like her name than her parents could ever have imagined. Something about her, perhaps her stillness, made her seem like a dainty flower perched among the leaves. She was a small, slight creature with the palest skin and most delicate features, framed by rich brown hair and eyes. If one looked at her, one could see she was very beautiful, without question. And yet so few people seemed to look at her. To herself she seemed so small that she was unnoticeable. People always seemed to be looking over or under or past her. She felt she was a wallflower, fading into the background.
Unfortunately, this was definitely not the case. Jasmine was noticed, as was her slightness. One snippy winter night on her way home for the weekend, Jasmine was pushed into an alley by an unseen body. She found herself facing two men in balaclavas, and she felt the presence of one behind her. They drew nearer, looming over her ominously, their intentions unmistakable. She turned, trying to work out which one meant to grab her. One did, and she began to scream. Loud and indiscriminate noise issued from her mouth, trying to reach compassionate ears as brutal hands were finding their way under her clothes. Clouds of vapour billowed from their mouths as they breathed on her. Something hard and cold met with her eye, she suspected a pipe as the blood filled half her vision. She felt a shoe slip off her foot as she kicked and flailed uselessly above the ground. She heard fabric tearing, she had no idea where or what, just that it sounded horrifying. And then she heard a sickening crunch, which she somehow knew was a fist breaking a face. But it wasn't hers. She felt herself being dropped and she landed hard on the concrete. She looked around and saw one captor's face down beside her, and in front of her stood someone; a someone who was standing between her and the other two.
The two men seemed tentative but stood their ground. The someone protecting her started toward them and they flinched.
"Please leave."
It was the unmistakable burr of a woman. Jasmine leaned a little to see the men better. Their breath still puffed out in a haze.
"Fuck you!" spat one as he skipped in toward her. The woman jabbed her fist at his nose, and it seemed immediately to explode with blood.
"Shit!" he spluttered as he stumbled back, "Go on Jack! At her!"
The last one hesitantly started toward the woman and she started at him. He swung and she ducked and threw a fast fist into his ribcage. A sickening heave issued from his mouth.
"Please leave, or I will kill you."
The men scurried away like frightened animals, leaving their unconscious friend.
The woman sighed, shook her head and turned around. She bent down to Jasmine and gently lifted her to her feet, "The hospital's just around the corner."
As Jasmine slowly and somewhat shakily walked from the consult room to the waiting room holding her top together, she spied on her rescuer. The woman was sitting in the bustling waiting room, in profile to the corridor. She was tearing a paper cup and looking curiously about herself at all the people. She had flame red hair, cut in a fashionably boyish way so that her fringe sat just above her brow and electrified her blue eyes. Her slouch made her look defeated, but Jasmine could tell she had a strong body, the kind that was constantly worked on. Her abdomen was showing a little below her motorcycle jacket and above her jeans, showing some clear muscle definition. And, Jasmine reasoned, one doesn't know instinctively how to make a person's face explode like that.
The woman caught sight of Jasmine and rose from her seat. Jasmine realised that she was quite tall, probably about 5'8'' to her 5'5''.
"How many?" Asked the rescuer.
"Eight." Jasmine replied, touching her finger to the dressing on her eyebrow.
The woman squinted in sympathy. "Well... better to have them than not."
"Yes."
"Well," She said, turning toward the door, "My car's back the way we came."
"Um," Jasmine started, not moving. The woman froze.
"Oh, I'm sorry." The woman said meekly, "I mean if you want I'll give you a lift... I... you don't have to, I was just..."
"No, no, I mean, yes... thankyou, but... You saved my life and I don't even know your name." Jasmine replied.
"Oh. I'm Lizzie, Lizzie Mercer," said the woman, extending a hand.
"I'm Jasmine Satch," she replied smiling, taking the hand, "Thanks for saving my life."
"I'm sorry I didn't come earlier," Lizzie said quietly, avoiding Jasmine's eye. For a moment they just stood there awkwardly, still vaguely shaking hands. Lizzie retrieved hers first, and broke the silence. "Come on, my car's not far."
Lizzie walked Jasmine out of the hospital and down the street she'd been walking before the attack. She got a little shaky, a little skittish. Lizzie put a hand on Jasmine's elbow and gently urged her on. They passed the alley where they'd had the altercation, and Jasmine noticed it was empty.
"The police came," Lizzie stated, catching Jasmine's look, "But they'd all gone."
Jasmine smiled with all the gratitude she could muster. Lizzie nodded her acknowledgement.
As Lizzie turned off the engine outside Jasmine's apartment block, she looked at Jasmine seriously, "I can stay... if you want."
Jasmine was sorely tempted to say yes. She could still feel hands moving on her body, and she really didn't want to be alone. She would eventually have to be on her own, she thought. So she decided to suck it up and be alone. "No," Jasmine smiled, "I'll be fine. I couldn't do that to you. Besides, I don't even know you. You don't even know me."
Lizzie inspected Jasmine's face, trying to see if she really was alright, Jasmine figured.
"Alright. But," she said as she pulled a pen from her pocket and wrote something on Jasmine's hand, "You call me if you need anything, Ok?"
Jasmine looked at the number scribbled on the back of her hand. It was somehow comforting.
"Thanks. And thankyou... again... for saving me. I don't know what I would have done. I don't know what would have happened-"
Lizzie nodded her comprehension, "If you need anything, call me."
Jasmine shut the car door and hoped she was making the right decision.
She traipsed into her bedroom and began peeling off her bedraggled clothing. She wanted desperately to have a shower, but the doctor had told her to wait until morning. Yet she didn't want to sleep in her bed with this experience still on her body. She found some old pyjama bottoms and a tank top she felt happy to throw out, and put them on. She took to her sofa rather than her bed, and wrapped herself in a thick blanket, staving off the shivering. She heard a car pull away in the silence.
Her own screams tore her from her sleep as she struggled to extricate herself from her blanket. She was somehow entangled in it, shivering and drenched in sweat. She had been dreaming of the attack, brutish hands on her body. She fought free of the blanket and clambered to her feet and sent herself to the bathroom, fighting to regain control of her breathing. She splashed cold water on her face rubbed it hard.
"It's over," she said to her reflection, "It's over."
Jasmine returned to her sofa and sat down. She was exhausted, but she couldn't put her head down. She feared closing her eyes. She looked at her left hand. The number was a little smudged, but it was still there. Jasmine did want to ring it... very much. She had become aware of the emptiness of the apartment; the shadowy corners of it were now threatening. She decided she could resist the temptation. She was stronger than that. She was a big girl, and she could pull through this. She wilfully put her head down and shut her eyes. Within moments they flew open again. The images were beating against her eyelids, and it didn't seem that she could keep them shut. She fell off the couch and began to cry as she realised she could not do this alone. She wiped her face on the blanket and picked up her phone.
The doorbell rang about ten minutes later. Jasmine went to answer, doing her best to conceal the fact that she'd been crying. But when she opened the door and saw Lizzie, she somehow completely collapsed and began to bawl. Lizzie frowned and put her arm around her, shutting the door behind them. Jasmine completely fell into Lizzie's arms, unable to control her emotions. They suddenly came flooding out. Lizzie made soft cooing noises, trying to calm Jasmine. She sat Jasmine down on her lap on the sofa and drew the blanket round her. Jasmine's head was buried in Lizzie's shoulder, her chest shuddering and heaving with the terrible effort of crying. Lizzie held Jasmine gently, and Jasmine clutched at her jacket, waiting for the fear to subside.
Jasmine awoke to the foreign smell of something cooking in her apartment. She opened her eyes and found she was lying on the sofa under her blanket, and listening to something sizzling and someone humming. She stretched a little and got to her feet to make her way to the kitchen. Lizzie was making pancakes. She saw one jump out of the pan and fall on its other side.
"Good morning," Lizzie said warmly as she lifted the pan off the stove, "I made breakfast."
Jasmine stared. The table was set properly with a pile of pancakes in the middle, and the kitchen smelled inviting for once. She hardly ever cooked. There was maple syrup and lemon and sugar and ice cream, and a sunflower beamed on her window sill. She never bought flowers.
"You're upset," Lizzie said, misinterpreting Jasmine's shock response, "I'm sorry. I thought you might like—"
"No... I do.... No, it's... I just never... Thankyou."
Lizzie seemed to relax a little and put the last pancake on the plate. She turned the stove off and pulled a chair out for Jasmine.
"Why?" Jasmine asked, feeling completely irrational tears well.
"Why what?" asked Lizzie, frowning in confusion.
"Why have you done all of this? You've already done so much for me..."
"You need it. Sit down."
