Does It Hurt? (109)
The fury I kept simmering beneath the surface is now boiling over the edges. All I can think about is what he did to Sawyer—what he almost did to her. Attempting to kidnap her and then tying her up to his bed in hopes he’d keep her here forever. The image of Sawyer with her mouth sewn shut and sad, hollow eyes is charred into my brain as deeply as the burns in the wooden flooring.
I lower myself on top of him, inextinguishable fury polluting my chest and sinking deep into my bones.
His fists fly at me, but he’s nothing more than a weak, old man. He trades between sputtering colorful insults and hacking as soot fills his lungs.
Setting the gun down, I grab his wrists, quickly forcing them down and trapping them between my thighs. I squeeze hard as he wiggles beneath me like a worm on a hook, and deliver a succession of punches into his face. I feel the skin over my knuckles tearing and my bones colliding with his over and over.
Through my haze, I vaguely hear an odd, gurgled scream before I’m knocked to the side, and what feels like arms and legs being wrapped around my torso.
I’m disoriented long enough for Sylvester to get on his knees and grab the gun. Right as he lifts it, Sawyer appears behind him, the chain link between her cuffed wrists looping across his throat and pulling tight.
A war cry leaves her throat as she heaves him back with all her strength, a pained expression on her face as they fall backward together. The shotgun falls from his grip and slides a foot away from them.
“Kacey!” I growl, working on getting her off me. I don’t want to hurt her. She’s conflicted and has been brainwashed for years to protect her father above herself—and in the most brutal of ways. But I won’t let her stop me from killing the man who has inflicted pain and torture on innocent people for years. And especially not after touching my girl.
That will never go unpunished.
I manage to remove myself from Kacey’s grip and am horrified when I see her mouth is splitting open, the stitches ripping the flesh around her lips away. Blood is trailing down her chin, and broken screams are coming from her throat as her mouth widens, revealing blackened teeth and a severed tongue.
I grab her jaw, attempting to keep her from hurting herself any further.
“You don’t have to hurt for him,” I tell her vehemently, my stomach turning from the grotesque feel of her rotting flesh and bodily fluids that I don’t even want to think about, along with the pungent stench from it. “Not anymore.”
She’s both fighting for him and against him.
Love is funny that way. It persists even when you’ve done everything in your power to banish it. It demands its own voice and refuses to be a slave to anyone but its own desires. And despite the power of it, those selfish desires are what make love so weak.
It’s accepting the apologies of a cheating lover.
It’s returning to a raised hand, over and over, until that hand becomes lethal, and home is in the afterlife.
It’s clinging to a mother who never wanted you and hoping she will one day show up on those church steps.
It’s grabbing ahold of a hand that belongs to both a father and an abuser, wailing as they slowly slip away.
It’s falling in love with a liar, a thief, and praying they never hurt you again.
Kacey shakes her head, a pained, sorrowful cry spearing past her stitches and directly into my chest. Sawyer and Sylvester are still struggling, and as much as Kacey needs comfort, I don’t have the fucking time.
Pinning her with one last look—something I pray she interprets as help us help you—I turn to the struggling duo. Sawyer is on the floor with Sylvester on top of her, his back to her front, as she attempts to strangle him with the chain.
Both of their faces are cherry red, and exhaustion is etched into the lines of Sawyer’s face. Her strength is waning, and Sylvester is beginning to free himself from her hold.
Just as I take a step toward them, Sylvester breaks free and lunges for the gun, grabbing it and pointing it directly at me. But my only focus is Sawyer, and if the fucker wants to stop me from getting to her, he better pull that trigger now.
“No!” Sawyer screeches, jumping on his back and causing the gun to swing. He fires off a shot, the sound booming and hitting the ceiling, causing debris to fall over our heads.
“Sawyer,” I snap, and urgency has me rushing toward them. Sylvester bashes his elbow in her face, causing her head to kick back and blood to sprout from her mouth.
My vision goes red, and I feel rather than see something pushing me to the side. I stumble right as another shot goes off, and I wait for the pain to register.
To feel the violent press of a bullet ripping through my body and taking my soul along with it.
Yet, I feel nothing as the scene slowly filters in, and I straighten. Sawyer and Sylvester are staring at me with wide eyes, horror on both of their faces.
But they’re not staring at me at all. What they’re focused on is beside me. It feels like slow motion as I turn my head, finding Kacey standing where I once was, her chin tilted down. My gaze follows hers, discovering the blood gushing from her chest, pooling on the floor beneath her feet.
“NO!” Sylvester shouts fiercely, the veins in his forehead protruding as he struggles to get up and rush toward Kacey.
I catch her as she falls, softening her impact as her body slumps. Sylvester is crawling toward us, the weapon forgotten on the floor. My head is full of static as I try to process that this poor girl has taken a bullet for me.