“Shall we run away together?” she had asked, her long blonde hair flowing in the wind.

We were only seven, but even then I knew that she was sad. I could see it in her eyes. And, of course, I could see the bruises on her skin.

“We can’t,” I said. “My mother will wonder where I’ve gone. She’ll worry.”

“Suit yourself,” she sniffed. She scuffed her shoe in the dust.

“You won’t really leave me, will you?” I asked.

She shrugged and turned away. I dug my fingernails into my palms as I watched her go.

I could still feel the sting as I watched her approach me on the dance floor. I could still taste the dirt in the back of my throat as her hand reached out and gently touched my shoulder.

“I’ve missed you,” I said. I wiped furiously at my eyes, not wanting to cry in the middle of a club.

“I know,” she said. “Twenty years and here we are. Maybe this is where our story really starts?”

The music was too loud so I grabbed her hand and kissed her sweet tasting lips. No need for words after all of this time. This was where I story really started.