I locked up the back door and flipped the signs to close. I untied my apron and picked up my glass of water. I took a sip of it as the drops slid down the tips of my fingers. I grabbed my keys off the counter and poured the rest of the water out in the sink. I lock the front door on my way to my walk to my car. As I hop into my old pick up, the passenger seat creaks open. I turn my head slightly and cry. The face of a beaten women, or what I make out to be a women, is staring back at me. “Help me.” I see her mouth. I jump out of my side and run over to her and help into the seat. I try to put the seatbelt around her but she winces. I close her door and make my way to my door. Before I get in a ask God for the strength to help this woman. I slide into my seat. I turn to her, but quickly turn back.
“What happened?” I choke out the words. I’m afraid of the answer. I’m don’t know what to do. I mean I’m only nineteen, barely getting money to pay for my apartment, and can’ even get into college. And now God has faced me with this challenge. I pray to lord one more time. Then I hear her try to make something out.
“What?” I ask. “Do you wanna go to the E.R?” She shook her head. “Do you wanna come to my apartment? I can clean you all up.” She nodded, and I swore I saw a little bit of a smile. “What’s your name?” I ask.
“Martha. Martha Evans.” She scraps out of her throat. I nodded my head, as to say okay, and put the truck in reverse.
Martha was quiet the whole ride. I stole a couple glances at her though and there was a glimmer of hop in her eyes. I smiled to myself. I’m doing the right thing. I pulled in front of the building. I pulled the key out of the ignition. I walked over to Martha’s side and helped her walk up to the door. I opened the door to the building and looked straight at my destination; the elevator. It took a while to get there but when we were in the Martha clinched on to the side. Now that I wasn’t driving I took a good look at her. Her face was blue and purple. It was puffy. Her eyes were black but still a little open. Her mouth was open as she struggled to breathe. Her arms had bruises the size of hand prints. And all that covered her was an old torn gray shirt that was so big it hung down to her knees. And she was covered in blood from the cuts that were exposed all over her body. I almost cried by the time we reached my floor. I put her arms arond my neck trying as much as possible not to hurt her. I opened the door to my apartment.