de·fend

verb

resist an attack made on (someone or something); protect from harm or danger.

Hands clenched into fists, lips tightened. Jonathan felt a chill run over his entire body, like someone had dumped a bucket of ice over him. He'd seen how many people were seated at the diner counter, all of them against him would not end well. Not for him. But he still turned, realizing what had happened to Emilia -he had an idea before, that one of those men said something to her, but now he knew. Seething, he faced the man and felt slight relief to see that only one of them had left the diner in pursuit of him.

The man held his nose, blood dripping down from his wrist, blood from the nose Emilia had punched. His other hand rose accusingly, he wanted a fight and he was going to get it. Only a few meters away from each other now, the two males strode bravely towards the other. The warm air was dry, making Jonathan's mouth dry. His head was spinning and only the adrenaline was thrusting him forwards.

Having the upper hand, that of Emilia already having done significant damage to the man's nose, Jonathan swung an unexpected left hook and clipped the man's ear. He'd swooped to avoid the punch, but Jonathan still got him. The shouting came then, accusations, calling Emilia words that were not acceptable.

Onlookers gathered as the two fought, no one stepped in to try and stop it. Bystanders at their worst, unable to mind their own business but also uncaring to resolve the situation or defuse it. Dust kicked up where they swung punches and shouts. Emilia stepped into the little tornadoes of dust and gum wrappers, her own voice shouting but her ears were ringing and she couldn't even hear what she was saying. She hoped it was something intelligible.

All sound came rushing back in when Jonathan grabbed the blooded man by his collar, a clear victory in that moment -and not a moment too soon as the sirens could be heard in the background. Emilia watched in angst as Jonathan shoved the man away, collapsing weakly on the ground.

"Apologize to her," Jonathan demanded, his voice shaking only enough that Emilia caught it.

The man spat out blood, but it was impossible to tell if it was from his mouth of his nose at this point. He was seated, legs splayed, hand out behind him to keep him upright. He wiped his nose and winced, agony etched over his face. "Piss off," he muttered.

"Hey!" Emilia heard her voice at last, "If you aren't going to apologize, did you at least learn your lesson?"

He glared at her, then caved, "sorry."

"What was that?" Emilia cocked her head to the side, "I couldn't hear you."

"I'm sorry!" he screamed at her, voice hoarse and cracking.

When Emilia got a better look at him, she pegged his age to be no more than eighteen or nineteen. She wondered who raised him, what his parents were like. Then she remembered that it was no excuse, to blame it on parenting -sure, it had an impact, but she didn't turn out like either of her parents. She didn't stay at home and drink all day until she was blind, stumbling through life. She was not her father.

She didn't remember her mother enough to consider herself like her, either.

"You're lucky," Jonathan spat, his voice like venom, "My girl can defend herself, so I don't have to finish the job."

Jonathan's shaking hand reached out and grabbed Emilia's, and they briskly walked to the car. In his head, Jonathan was trying to figure out how they went from having a nice lunch together, to yet another fight on his record. The sirens were drawing nearer, and he did not want to have to face another cop, another station, another phone call to his mother. There would be no Hopper to let them get away scott-free out here, although Jonathan guessed Hopper would drive all this way if he knew Emilia was in trouble.

They drove down the highway, driving a little too fast, Jonathan's knuckles white on the steering wheel. After a moment, Emilia reached over and touched his forearm, a profound sense of love washing over her. It took a few seconds, but Jonathan's shoulders dropped and he looked at the woman beside him, whom he loved so much more than he thought possible.

"I'm sorry... I didn't... do more," he mumbled.

"Jonathan, you just fought someone for me. As much as I don't want to condone that kind of behaviour," she paused, "I sound like Hopper."

They laughed lightly, and Emilia continued. "It feels good... you know? I don't want to be the kind of girl who needs her boyfriend to fight for her, but it feels good."

He reached his right hand over and held her hand over her lap. He nodded, "It did feel good."

"We're like Bonnie and Clyde," Emilia said as she leaned back against the seat, propping her feet upon the dash and looking out at all the mindless traffic around them. She closed her eyes and thought back to the blur of what just happened, hardly able to believe that he'd gotten in another fight. One a year, she supposed that wasn't too bad.

"I just don't get people like him," Jonathan muttered, still focused on the topic that Emilia thought had been swept away. They were on vacation, so to speak, they didn't need bad blood to follow them everywhere they went.

"There will always be people like him," Emilia felt something tug at her heart.

"I think you broke his nose."

"Good."

Jonathan realized that Emilia wasn't finding any more light to the situation as she had only seconds ago. She'd tensed and frozen, something she used to do a lot before they were a couple, when they were exploring one another piece by piece. Unlocking each other like puzzles that could only be done together.

"You're beautiful," he told her, as he always did.

Looking up from under long lashes, she met his eyes before he had to look back at the road. But he had seen in her eyes what she wanted him to see. She put on a brave face, around the people she was comfortable with she truly felt brave. But out in the world where people questioned her scars -more visible and in-your-face than the ones from the car accident, she felt as though all that bravery disappeared. Maybe she would remain in Hawkins forever, where people thought she'd simply gotten too close to fire in some teenage rebellion, and wrote her off as just another punk.

Emilia reached over and turned on the radio, letting the gentle sounds of commercials, radio DJ's and eventually music calm her. 

So I have officially started a third job, but I promise I will keep up on writing and posting. I have 12 chapters written, so well ahead at the moment. Prime writing time this weekend, too! Drop a comment if you enjoyed, a vote too!

Question of the day: What do you think of the matching covers for "Shutter" and "Shatter"?