They were walking together along the boardwalk. She looked tired and worn out, a few bruises were visible along her arms and legs. Her hair was a deep brown that waved softly to her waist. He was quite a bit taller than her, with dark, almost black, medium length tousled hair. One was a very identifiable handprint. At first glance the picture seemed pretty obvious. Upon observing them something seemed wrong. He seemed to be talking to her so carefully like as if he was afraid that even his words could be too damaging. Someone who treats a girl like that wouldn’t be worrying like that unless perhaps it was a schizophrenia situation. It was intriguing; I followed behind them at a distance too far to hear what they were actually saying, with growing interest as the scene unfolded in front of me, the roles of each becoming clear. After a while something else became apparent the hand shaped bruise on her arm was significantly smaller than his hand. He ran a large hand through his hair leaving a few pieces sticking up. He seemed frustrated. She kept shaking her head weakly. They took a sandy flight of stairs down to the beach. When they reached the waters edge she took off her sandals and swung them between her fingers, her little footprints getting sucked into the foamy waves. Something about the ocean seemed to revitalize her. Even from a distance it was noticeable that she stepped more lightly even skipping a little. As they walked she ventured fractionally deeper into the water. He didn’t follow suit, seeming to prefer to keep his feet dry. She was talking more animatedly now, using her hands to help make her point. Now he was shaking his head. He wasn’t as frustrated as he had been though. Her relaxation and playfulness were rubbing of on him. She put her hands up above her head and spun the water now up to her knees. She was wearing a white cotton skirt that reached to just above her knees and it splayed out well she spun. Her mouth open in laughter, her hair a dark spiraling curtain around her. It would have been a beautiful picture of bliss except for the scattering of bruises covering her. He turned up toward the boardwalk looking out over the town, he was smiling now too. That is at least until something on the boardwalk caught his eye. He froze the smile quickly disappearing. A darker smaller man was frozen on the boardwalk as well. He wasn’t looking at the man though; his eyes were locked in an intense glare at the spinning girl. The man on the beach turned and said something to the girl. She jerked to a stop her eyes catching the dark man. She suddenly took off with fleeting steps out of the ocean and back the way they had come along the beach. The man that had been with her following behind, surprisingly not catching up with her, but falling slowly behind. In an instant the dark man began after them as well. As the dark man ran by me I realized that his smaller hands would easily match the bruises on her arms. The two on the beach had a clear head start. The girl was easily the fastest of the three, the dark man came second. The girl turned up onto the boardwalk and threw herself into a small black car. The man with her just managed to jump into the passenger’s seat as she pealed out onto the road and sped away with a screech of the tires on the pavement. The dark man lashed out and left a dent the size of his foot in one of those old blue, communal mailboxes. He whipped out a thin silver phone and pressed it to his face, his lips pressing more tightly together as time passed. He snapped it shut and began pacing back and forth along the boardwalk. It was a while, but it probably seemed even longer than it was at the time, before he finally stalked away, his face crumpled into a mask of anger.