Brutally Beautiful(2)

“Well…you look like first degree murder, and me, I look like an assault with a deadly weapon. What the hell do you think we LOOK LIKE?” She rubbed her fingers over her face and smeared a streak of blood across her tanned cheeks. Oh my…Oh my God, there’s a lot of blood. What the hell did I do? “Just pull over, Sam. You’re going to freaking bleed out while driving. You’re leaking like a sieve.”

I gave her a little snort, “Don’t worry, okay? They’re just flesh wounds; nothing is internally bleeding. I’m just…I think we’re in shock…that’s all. And I don’t think most of the blood is mine.” I ran my hand through my auburn strands of hair and my fingers came away bloodier. Suddenly, I developed an acute case of Tourette’s syndrome, “Fuck! That f*cking-shit-son-of-an-ass-monkey-dick-weasel!” I didn’t remember getting hit in the head. “I should have ripped his dick off!”

Shit! Shit. Shit, just apply pressure…

With almost seven straight hours of non-stop-adrenaline-fueled driving behind me, I pulled into the parking area of the first and only thing open on the long, empty stretch of road I found myself on.

Of course, it was a bar. God must have forgiven me already for my sins, since he was so kindly answering my prayers for a stiff drink. Although an all-night drug dealer with a special sale on Vicodin would have been more useful. But I wasn’t going to complain. Alcohol was good enough.

“Oh, really? Samantha, this is a strip bar,” she said, pointing her grimy finger towards my windshield. “That is a goddamn stripper club in the middle of a dark empty country road in the middle of North-Bumble-Fuck-Nowhere-New York; how much more horror movie cliché can we get? I’m not stepping foot in that shithole.” My expression didn’t change. “Come on, Sam. Let’s not dive right into an episode of some B-rated slasher show, please?”

Shoving my gearshift into park, I clicked the interior light on. Seven hours away. Seven hours away is good enough for now. Besides, I had to pee. Sharp pains spiked all over my beaten body, as I climbed into the small back seat, streaking blood across the white leather interior of my last birthday present to myself, my gunmetal gray Porsche Panamera. “Ughh…aghh…I almost killed myself doing that. Can you get my first aid kit out of the trunk for me?”

“Crap, Sam, you’re serious? You’re going to walk into that bar looking like that? Someone is going to ask questions.” With the new brightness of the dome light above us, I could see just how bad the bruises were that blossomed over her cheekbone. Just below her left eye, a deep purple and red discoloring from the ruptured capillaries beneath her skin fanned out, and the corner of her lip was a fat bloodied mess.

Thudding my head against the cool leather, I squeezed my swollen eyes tightly and tried hard to fight the tears that stung at their lids. I am stronger than this. I am stronger than HIM. I didn’t want to waste tears on the pain, or the reasons for it. I should just be happy still to be alive. That both of us were still alive. “Jen, I need either a depressant or a potent analgesic so I can focus better. The pain is starting to scream at me. And, I need to clean out my wounds. Too many hours have passed, but it was more important to put miles between us and that hell.”

The car door clicked and before I opened my eyes, the nearly muted thump of the trunk opening and slamming shut filled my ears. Then her soft whispers, “I got the bag with the clean clothes out, too. But, I swear, if any of those horny-ass bastards from that bar come stumbling on us changing in the car, we’re going to have more blood on our hands, Sam.”