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The fragility of trust

The attack was over in seconds. The wounds would take years to heal. I shouldn’t have fought back but regardless the physical wounds are, in some ways, the least of the issue.

His lean frame made a grab for my bag.

My right fist connected with his shoulder.

‘Stupid bitch’

He kicked my legs out from under me, my head hit the pavement. His punch to my stomach his final blow.

‘I didn’t want to hurt you.’

I grabbed at his mask, and it came off.

He ran tossing my belongings as he went. The breadcrumb trail stopped when he’d extracted my purse.

I crawled along in the wet retrieving what I could.

A young mother stopped to help me. Her children clung to each other as he rushed past.

‘I’ll call an ambulance.’ She got out her phone, her free arm round her girls.

‘Thank you’

‘I better go, they’ll be here soon’

She hurried them away from my unappealing sight.

Saul wasn’t the man I knew any more. The man who shared my bed last night seemed to have vanished without trace. In his place stood a hooligan who beat me up to take what money I had on me. The irony is if he had asked, I would have given him all I had.

As I lay there bleeding waiting for an ambulance, grateful he didn’t take my phone, I wondered if I would ever trust again.


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