The cab driver was young, likely not long on the right side of his driving license, and he was good-looking. He asked few questions of the bruised and breathless mess of a woman who had hailed him off the street in the dark, picking her up reluctantly – he was new on the job and she did look like she might up chuck at any moment.

She had fumbled in the haste to get in to the car and off the street, her foot sliding off the hard surface off the passenger side, almost falling into the seat nose first. Only by pushing her elbows into the seat was she able to right herself somewhat, and awkwardly shuffle herself inside. She groped for the handle, unable to stop a tearful groan from escaping when a hot line of pain flew across her right side. It took two or three hard tugs on handle before the door slammed shut, the damn thing felt as heavy as the car itself and a part of her mind quietly registered with some annoyance the kid in the drivers seat sitting and doing nothing to help her.

She had to repeat the address twice. The kid – even in her confused state she couldn't register him as anything else but a kid – had started to worry on about how he should take her to the hospital, until she had half snapped, half whined that he just go, drive, drive, drive. Drive. The word stuck in her mind. Get off this street, go, away, go, go, go. It seemed terribly plausible that Roy could be running up the road behind the car, seconds away from ripping the door clean off the hinges and dragging her back in to the street. Her heart beat at her mercilessly inside her chest. Go, go, go, drive.

She did not bother with the seat belt. It did not seem to matter. Game over, she thought. Roy was going to kill her anyway. Game over.

"Lady, you sure look like you went a round or two with Mike Tyson." the kid said blithely, side-eyeing her. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive to the emergency room?"

Pam shook her head almost violently, pursing her swollen lips together tightly. No emergency room. No doctors looking at her with those very doctor-y faces, the ones that pretended to know how she was feeling and how she had got into the mess she was in and how there was help out there which would magically fix it all.

The kid leaned back with a strained frown. She heard a quiet breath come from him that sounded taut, frustrated.

"Police station?" he ventured slowly. He put his foot down. The cab jolted forward. A second after, so did she. Pain flooded the upper half of here body, dull hot, making her feel as though she had swallowed a gallon of steaming water.

"Just the address I gave you." she mumbled into her throbbing chest. It was a dark night that night, she was grateful for that. Her skin burned and stung all over, from top to toe, and she could feel the right side of her face ballooning out. The dark night spared her the added self humiliation of staring at her scratched and bloodied face in the wing mirror throughout the drive.

"Ma'am, I think I'm required to-"

"No." She exhaled wetly, her eyes then running helplessly with stinging tears. She rubbed her hands together. A numbing cold was creeping over her, the tips of her scraped and bloody fingers tingling. "No." She repeated, a whisper this time.

They drove on in silence. She grew colder, so, so cold. Her bones were turning to ice, her aching body felt like marble under her torn and spattered clothes. She shoved her fingers tightly between her thighs. Thoughts darkened in her head. What was she doing? This was crazy. Of course Roy would know where to look to find her. They worked in the same building. She knew the first place Roy would look for her. She would always be watching over her shoulder for him. She visualised Roy's dodge ramming up the road beside them, dragging her out of the cab. She looked out at the passing traffic, shivering heavily. The night was a hazy, dream-like quality of shifting shapes and blurs, moving faces without sounds. Fleeting fragments of the confrontation she had barely escaped from floated around her worn out mind. The natural calm and quiet evening stood in stark, welcome contrast to the cacophony of rage that had exploded around her. Pam rested her head back against the seat, her eyes distant.

Roy had never hurt her like this before. She had pushed him right over the that edge he had been precariously teetering on for some time. The way he'd come at her on the floor, fists pounding, a violent fury so great she knew, knew in that moment his rage was quite capable of killing her. The wild, uncontrolled – and, utterly terrifying -madness she saw in his eyes set aflame into her, burned in her memory. Only at that moment had running become really real – and she had to get away from those eyes, and the crazy, murderous stranger that Roy had morphed into. Those hands on her neck, squeezing, squeezing, unrelenting. She slowly brought her fingers there, tracing the vulnerable flesh underneath her chin. They came away wet and sticky. She stared at them dizzily. Her stomach turned harshly. Rivulets of blood, dried and fresh, coiled around her fingers and in her palm like veins. She closed her hand into fist. In her ears, the half mad voice of Roy rotated. You're not going anywhere. You're not going anywhere.

"Miss? Are we there?" the young, good-looking drivers voice echoed, startling her. The cab had come to a stop.

"Huh?" she croaked.

"This where you wanted to go?"

Pam looked out at the small row of houses, so familiar and yet so unfamiliar, and nodded carefully. She had only been there a couple of times before, but she recognised the funny mailbox with the cyclist figure on top. She pushed open the passenger door.

"Um," she mumbled to the kid. Tears were inside her voice. "Please wait. I've got to get the fare." She shrugged nervously, lifted herself cautiously out of the cab, moving like an elderly woman, grappling with another hot bolt of pain protesting the movement.

"Lady?" the kid called out to her. She turned back. His expression was pensive, he was nervously biting his lip. "Er, I've not taken you back to the place where-" he gestured towards her face. "that happened, have I?"

Pam shuffled backwards a few steps before speaking quietly. "No. No you haven't."

She headed blearily up the quiet drive towards the house. Distantly a dog was barking inside a house further up, otherwise the street was peaceful, empty. At the front door, she lifted an icy finger to the bell, but hesitated. She didn't know if she was doing the right thing or not. Was there a right thing? She was tired and desperate. What if no one was home? What would she do then – she was terrified – it would be such an easy answer to just get in the cab and go back to Roy, life as she knew it, where she wouldn't be an inconvenience to anyone other than Roy. At home she knew what to expect, when to expect him, she had some control over him – she could successfully soothe his anger when she tried hard enough, she knew she could.

A cold wash of panic swelled over her. She was insane to think she could do this and start her life over. Her paper thin resolve so easily crumbled. She was weak, she knew this too.

"Pam? Pam?"

Footsteps scraped up the drive behind her. She panicked, closed her eyes. Roy was coming for her, he had found her already and he would make her go back with him and… and… her heart was striking painfully against her rib cage, her breathing short and ragged. She braced, rooted to the spot in front of the doorway, finger still tentatively brushing the doorbell.

"Pam?" The voice behind her was kind, yet anxious. Most of all, it was familiar and it was friendly. After a pause, she turned back.

"Oh my god," Jim breathed out loudly taking in the woman shivering violently in front of him. "Oh my god, what happened?"

Pam stood in front of him weakly, looking down at her sneakers, shoulders slumped.

"Roy did this." Jim said. It wasn't a question.

Behind them, a cab horn beeped impatiently into the night.

- TO-

Jim took charge, seeing Pam safely inside first and then dashing back down to pay the cab driver, handing over a huge tip to the young man, whose eyes lit up greedily at the money.

"Thanks, guy!" he exclaimed happily. Jim shrugged. It was a small price to part with for the driver who had brought Pam there safely.

Inside, Pam was shivering in the hallway, huddled into herself with her arms folded. Jim hurried through the door over to her. Gently he put a hand on her back and led her over to the couch in the living room, sitting her down. Kneeling down beside her, he took hold of her hand.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked. He glanced down, rubbing her hand. "God, Pam, you're freezing!" Jim got up and dashed out of the room. Returning seconds later he carried his black sweater over to her. Pam lifted her arms, letting out a strangled cry as pain seized her shoulder. Jim grimaced.

"Beesly, we need to get you to the hospital." he said, keeping his tone light. "Not to mention getting the police." Her eyes flew wide open, she jerked her hands away from him dismissively. Jim studied her indecisively, her chest heaving up and down, head hung low. She was a mess. The sight of her, clothes torn, face bloodied, swollen, her fingernails ripped down to the quick filled him with a furious rage unlike anything he'd experienced before, but it was her, Pam sitting so defeated, so broken that brought the sudden sting of tears to his eyes. What the hell had Roy done to her? Nobody deserved to be left sitting desolately on a friend's couch, dried blood under her nose and on her lips, ashen faced, cuts, scrapes and gashes of the beating she had received littered over her skin like chicken pox.

But Pam, she was so special – she had such a good heart, underneath all the walls around it – walls that Roy had undoubtedly helped build. She was kind, and funny and she would hurt herself first before she would ever hurt another person. Jim felt such a rush of affection for her at that moment, he resolved to do his very best to help her from ever feeling one more moment of pain at another persons hand. He touched her shoulder lightly, mirroring her as she winced.

"It's okay," he carefully rubbed her shoulder. "Let me help you." he lifted himself off the floor and disappeared out into the hallway. He came back a few moments later, a fluffy blue blanket thrown over his arm, loaded down with towels. He draped the blanket around her shivering shoulders uncertainly, unsure exactly where she was injured and not wanting to cause her any further pain. He headed out again, this time to the kitchen.

Jim carried a glass of water over to her and put it on the side next to her. He picked up the towels and held one out to her.

"Ice." he explained. "For your cheek." Obediently Pam held the towel to her face, gratefully feeling the cool refresh of the ice inside. Jim picked up the other towel and began to dab at the dried blood under her nose.

The situation was surreal. What was he supposed to do here – was there a blueprint for how to help a friend who comes to your doorstep looking like they had been thrown bare knuckled into a boxing ring? Her refusal to get the police, or see a doctor concerned him.

"I was so worried about you, earlier when you disappeared." he told her, gently patting away the red streaks on her face. He cupped the side of her neck gently to hold her head still. Pam flinched, but didn't object. "I'm sorry, so sorry." He said quietly, with such genuine feeling that Pam looked up.

Jim lowered his hand and began to work on removing the blood from her lips, when he felt light, thin fingers grip tentatively on his wrist, pulling his arm down.

"Sorry?" Pam's forehead creased, her green eyes questioning. Jim sighed and got up from the floor, sitting next to her.

He shook his head. "I'm sorry I didn't find you earlier. I looked everywhere. If I had, this wouldn't have happened."

"This is not your fault, Jim."

"It's not yours either." he said firmly, looking at her directly. Pam shrugged a little. An unpleasant feeling swept through her, causing her to shudder.

"What if- What if … he… comes here?" she gestured to the front door. Jim sat up straight, feeling her tense even tighter next to him.

"What if he does?" he said carelessly. "We'll call the police. I'll go out there with my baseball bat or I'll get you away from here, to somewhere safe if it comes to it, but I swear, we will handle it. It will be okay, I promise. He isn't coming in here, and he isn't going to so much as breathe near you again. Okay?" She nodded, but he could see she didn't feel very reassured.

He didn't feel too assured himself – truthfully her refusal to get the police involved so far was weighing on his mind. Especially if she thought Roy might come looking for her.

"Where is Roy?" he questioned. "What happened-how did you get away?" for the first time that evening a flush brought a small amount of colour into her face.

"It was my fault-" she began. Jim put a hand up, raising his eyebrows.

"Stop." he said firmly. "I don't want to hear you say that. We've been friends for years, Pam. I knew something was going on, I just knew. I blame myself for that. But you know, deep down, that the responsibility lies with Roy, and Roy alone. For every single time he ever caused you any physical pain. It is not your fault."

"I just.. he was mad that I was leaving. I was so stupid!" she cried out. "I was so stupid I went back to the house to get my things and to end it… I was so dumb ! I shouldn't have gone back, I should have just left!"

"It wasn't your fault!" he repeated, frustrated. "Yeah he was mad. Roy's a mad guy! That doctor in england – that one that killed all those patients? He said he killed some of them because they annoyed him! Is that their fault that they were murdered by someone they held in a position of trust?"

Pam exhaled shakily. "I just…. I don't know. I don't know. Roy was furious, more furious than I've ever seen him. I- I managed to get away from him…. I'm not sure he would have… stopped if I hadn't." she said, her breath hitching. Jim's stomach clenched at the meaning in her words. He felt such a burning hatred for Roy, realising that Pam had escaped with nothing, but literally her life. Rubbing her back gently, unsure of what to say, he again began whispering apologies to her, and reassuring her she would be okay.

"Are you sure you won't go to the hospital? Or… the police?" he asked her. She sniffed and close her eyes wearily.

"I can't." her voice broke. "I can't take any more tonight. Please, Jim."

She fell against him, letting her tears fall. Jim held her against his chest a long time, her small, wrecked body racked with heart wrenching sobs. Jim comforted her, as best as he could, wrapping the blanket around her, rubbing her back. She was clinging to him so desperately, he hated seeing her so vulnerable. He would have to get her to the hospital tomorrow. She was exhausted, shaking with emotion and fear. He repeated reassuringly that she was safe, and she wouldn't be hurt any more. Mostly, he let her cry it out, extremely grateful to have her safe in front of him.

After a while her sobbing tapered off and she lay quietly with her head on his chest, neither of them speaking.

He was deciding to offer her something to eat, and as he moved to nudge her slightly he noticed she had closed her eyes. Her breathing was steady and regular. Jim smiled a little with relief at seeing her peaceful after all that she had gone through that night.

He stayed there with her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders as the woman he loved- more than a friend should- slept on, her head nuzzled into his chest, just over his heartbeat. He would willingly stay there all night if he had to. She was there, and safe. She had come to him for help, she trusted him, she was safe and that was all that mattered.