Bad to the Bones(66)

“You’re talking about Knoxie? My boyfriend?” I purposefully said “boyfriend” to rile him, I guess. To let him know he hadn’t beaten me down, hadn’t buried me.

Shakti was on a roll now. He didn’t seem to have heard me, just ripped the gauze bandage from his injured eyebrow and cried, “A good f*cking! That glorious, rounded ass is crying out to be penetrated by a superior tool like mine! He doesn’t need any whiny, pale woman. He needs the penetration of a real, virile, potent man like me.”

As he said that, he gripped the sausage tied to his leg. Normally that would’ve been ironic and funny if I wasn’t chained to a headboard. So experimentally—having never done anything slightly like this before—I coiled one leg back and kicked him.

Yes, I kicked him! I kicked The Blessed One right in the stomach!

It wasn’t a hard kick, but it got to him. His eye opened wider, flashing with anger. My kick opened the floodgates. He brandished his crystal wand like a hammer and snarled, “He who beats the master when down is only looking to be dominated!”

Oh God, no. I should have known that anything I could say at that point would be misinterpreted by him. I could see the handcuff key on the nightstand, that was the ultimate frustration. He had just placed it there like I posed no threat to him, but it was my only way out of this mess.

I knew from past experience if I could get him to successfully bond with me and ejaculate, he’d turn into a puddle of goo and might be easily manipulated. I wasn’t so far removed from my Bihari life that I was above doing that now to save my hide, but he was just a limp rag. His tiny penis was coiled up like a mouse in its nest. That must’ve been why he had started tying a kielbasa to his leg.

He fell upon me now with that damned wand. Forcing my legs apart with his knees, he beat me with the thicker end of the wand as though it was a pestle and my head a mortar. Instinctively I thrashed my head from side to side, avoiding about half the blows, but he soon wised up. He began anticipating my sidesteps, bashing me with the wand like I was a whack-a-mole. All the time he yelled bizarre, idiotic stuff, like,

“Women need to be dominated. Women have been crying out for it since the middle ages. You will gain enlightenment through domination, just as your boyfriend wanted to be f*cked in the ass!”

I kicked and twisted, but he seemed immune to my blows. I got my foot up against his chest and shoved with all my might. He was like a marble statue all of a sudden—through all of his holiness, he had suddenly become as solid as the earth. My most violent kick only sent him sprawling back a couple feet on the mattress, and then he was on me again. This time he chased me with the small, pointed end of the quartz wand.

It wasn’t that difficult for him to stab me with it, to penetrate me. I didn’t see the victorious look in his face, but rather heard it in his stupid voice. As he plunged that thing in and out of me, he trilled,

“You must be grateful to me for all I’ve done for you, Asanga. You must love me, not feel responsible toward me. Responsibility is created by sleazy priests and politicians who want to control you in the name of god and country. They are against love because they can’t control it! A man who loves won’t be a solider because there are no nations, no countries, so why fight? A true soldier just wants to be f*cked in the ass like a real man.”

I heard myself suddenly shout. I guess I couldn’t take it any longer without a fight, because I shrieked, “You are godless! You know nothing about enlightenment! You will need to live ten thousand more lives as a pauper in poverty just so you can feel how everyone else lives!”

Then an enormous crash shattered my world.

At first I thought something like, Did my words really have that impact on him? Were my words really that powerful?

It took a few moments for everything to sink in. The window behind Shakti had shattered. Something big had been thrown through it, something about three feet long that now bounced and rolled until it hit the nightstand by my head.

Immediately the assault on me stopped. I realized that whatever had broken through the picture window was something outside of Shakti and I, a third party, an outside force.

And damn, what a force.

The silhouette of a soldier—that’s all I could think about, being the last thing screamed into my head—clambered over the window sash, smashing smithereens of glass with booted feet.

I’ll never forget the sight of Shakti kneeling there clutching that f*cking wand, his mouth hanging wide open. The soldier coming in the window was a superhero. I remember feeling all misty-eyed, even, watching the scene unfold in a very detached way, like I was watching a movie.

The soldier crunched glass under his boots, coming right for Shakti. He was a puffed up monster of a man, just a hulking silhouette as he picked up Shakti in one arm. He held the squirming, kicking master under one arm in a headlock as though about to give him a noogie, like a school bully.

“Where is…the f*cking cuff key,” growled the soldier.

It sounds incredibly dense, but it took me that long to realize it was f*cking Knoxie. The reality of him throwing a thirty gallon drum through a plate glass window was so remote to me, it took me that long to figure it out. The sun lit up the buttes behind the picture window, turning him into a black cardboard cutout, but now my eyes adjusted, and it all sank in.

It was Knoxie. Come to save me. So it was like a movie.

I took this opportunity to bash Shakti in the femur with my foot. “Rot in hell, you f*cker! It’s on the nightstand!”