Tilly and Jack

He came at me as though to crush me with his very presence. I bobbed, weaved, and slid to my right. As he adjusted his position to catch me he was met with a storm of a dozen punches to eyes and front teeth. He desperately covered his face with his hands effectively denying himself his primary weapons.

My heavy steel-toed shoe connected viciously with his left knee. He dropped hard to the floor, his kneecap broken. He howled in pain. He tried to sit up and reach for the stricken knee and his mouth was met with the toe of the other shoe and its metal spearhead; he lost at least half a dozen teeth in the process.

He fell back only half conscious. My fury would not let me stop. I stomped down hard on this remaining kneecap and it crunched like and overripe cantaloupe. I repeated the process on both of his elbows. The next time he slugged a woman; he'd definitely have something to remember. For any who think I had taken advantage of a helpless and beaten man, fuck off; He'd damn near killed my girl with one punch; frankly I was very near to killing him, but I didn't. Tilly needed me, and I was determined to make sure that I was around when the dust settled on all of this.

I went to Tilly. She didn't recognize me at first and recoiled when I came near. "Tilly," I said. "It's me."

"Jack?"

One of her eyes was completely shut and there was blood, hers, all over her face and blouse. I knew what I had to do. I got her up and we headed out and to her house.

She wimpered all the way home. I had never felt so desperate to help someone in my life, and I was sure I never would again.

Arriving, I helped her up the steps and into her house. I don't know why I didn't take her to the doctor's immediately, she could have a concussion—I knew a lot about those. But, I sensed that she did not want me too. I decided to ask.

"Tilly, we should go to the doctor's," I said. "No! I mean, no, Jack. I'm fine," she said. I had my answer; we weren't going to the clinic. I sat her down on the couch and went to the kitchen to find a towel I could wet and daub at her now swelling face and its bruises.

She winced as I tried to gently clean her face. "I have to clean you up, dear heart, you're covered with blood.

"Okay," she said. She turned aggressive, as aggressive as she could given the circumstances. "How? Why? I told you that we couldn't..."

"Shush," I said. I was asserting myself now. "You didn't think I was going to accept that did you. To never see you again? Not happening, Tilly, I love you and I will marry you no matter what you say. But that said, I am curious. Why did you try to send me away?" She started to sob, then to wail, then she was wracked with loud bawling anguish. I felt like shit. I could not understand why she was so terribly stricken by the thought of marrying me; I was certain that she loved me too. I was going to know everything, and I was going to know it today! I couldn't help her, be there for her, until I knew. And, I was prepared for the worst. The worst is what I got.

She took the towel from my hand with some force. She looked away and then back at me. "Jack, I do love you. But we can't be together. I won't do that to you. I wouldn't..."

I decided to play what I thought was my trump card. "Tilly, I know you're an escort, a call girl," I said. She actually laughed.

"Jack, if that was the only thing—"

"Then what!" I demanded.

Her hands dropped to her sides and rested on the couch beside her. She gazed at me through the fog of her tears and one swollen shut eye. She seemed to calm herself. "Jack—I—I—I have breast cancer. I am scheduled for a—procedure soon. Do you understand?"

In that moment time stood still. I was silent for a long moment. "Tilly, as terrible as that is, it makes not the slightest difference, and you know it. It just means that two of us will be fighting it instead of just you alone. And I'm a pretty good fighter."

Losing her train of thought, she looked at me strangely. "Jack, you beat that man half to death. And, long ago, Rod? What are you, Jack?" "I'm a prize fighter, Tilly. Well, I was, a long time ago. A pretty good one. But, I got a messed up eye in the finals, and..."

"My god that explains a lot. Oh, you have no idea how often it occurred to me that there was something more than luck—oh my you are a piece of work," she said. "How many times did I ask you about your eye, Jack, and all you ever would say was that it was a sport's injury. I never knew. You were fucking the shit outta me and I never knew, never had a clue."

She recovered and remembered what she was going to say. "Jack, I can't let you..."

"Tilly, goddamn it, we are going to be married, and we are going to fight the good fight so help me god. Tilly, even if you lose a breast, it'll make not the slightest difference in my need for you."

At that moment I remembered a couple of things I had been putting off that I had to redress. One was to kick the high holy shirt out of Rod Cameron, not for getting her pregnant, but for making her pull a train and causing her to become a whore for hire; oh yes, Rod and I had a date.

Additionally, I had to give Harry and my dad a call; we would soon be going fishing. She was crying softly now and shaking.

I came to her and held her in my arms and said not a damn thing. I just gently rocked her and loved her and made her feel safe. Tomorrow the battle would begin. Tomorrow, too, we would be going home.

******