(photo by John Shireman)

Someone I know is hurting.

You ever burn a dead leaf with a magnifying glass? The hole, smoldering and burning from the middle out. That’s what my heart is doing right now.

A friend of mine started a new relationship about a year ago. She was over the moon over this guy. I was happy for her.

Now? I was told by this friend that things have turned violent. He didn’t just put his hands on her. He beat her.

He. BEAT. Her.

Here’s the thing.

I am a smart ass, sensitive (to a fault), writer and peaceful bookworm. I don’t look for trouble, and I will push reason and patience before me always.

But…

There is the side of me that didn’t hesitate to pull Google Maps.

That looked up how feasible the three hour drive would be.

To see if I could get the day off in a pinch. Trying to remember where at home the baseball bat is. And believe me. I didn’t really need or looked for her blessing. But I was made a promise.

A promise that she was gone for good. That he wouldn’t hurt her again. That she wasn’t interested in the remorse, or the beauty of the past. She was out. I simply told her that if he caused her an ounce of fear in any capacity, ever again, to make sure I knew about it. Period. I can take care of that part RIGHT quick.

Now. Here’s the part where I need help. If you made it this far reading this, thank you for reminding me why I love you so:

I have convinced her to admit she needs help in the aspect of replacing things broken. Things that he took from her. Not just memories or some priceless antique. Things that she cannot do without and damn if he didn’t know that when he broke them. Does she have the money to replace it. No. She does not. This? This is the limited control he has over her. The body heals, the mind slowly follows. But he took the things she needs to make it easier to leave and I am here to fulfill my promise to help where and when I can.

Yes. I am starting a Pledgie.

No. I cannot give you more details more than this. This is someone a lot of us love already. This is one of us. Does that, should that matter? No. But collecting money with so little to vague info is difficult. I don’t expect to raise much. But she doesn’t need much. She just needs enough.

I hear women’s stories of being abused, and I picture my daughter. I picture her sweet face damaged by another person. for the last six years I have always pictured her face. I picture it’s her trying to tell me it was her fault. I try to picture telling me she had it coming. I picture her tearfully begging me not to do anything, and I see her hating me, possibly, for a period, after I show him how tough he is.

I see her face and so help me I will not sit here helpless if I can do something, anything.

Want to help me? Fantastic. Click THIS and reblog it. 

Anything. Something. A dollar. Five.

Do you want to know who it is before donating? Send me a private email or message? Remind me how good friends we are and I can trust you with this info? Sorry. THAT is not happening. This is a big exercise in trust. I know. But I have to do this.

Oh, and douchebag? Don’t even blink at her funny. An ocean won’t stop me.