is not just going to hurt me, he intends to destroy me for whatever agenda that will appease him, but I won’t stand around like a hopeless damsel.
“Do you honestly think that I’m just going to stand back in the great shadows of Westbrook Blues and watch you shit all over my hard work? I’ve worked so fucking hard for this town. I’ve done so many things for that despicable bastard that calls himself king over this town,” the man shouts.
In my groans and moans of pain, I allow him to go on with his mad-man rant, my gaze now trained on a lamp that sits on top of a table by the door. If only I can get to that…
“After all the groundwork I laid, fucking a cold bitch like Denise, all of that, and he thinks he can just use me and it’ll all be over? I don’t fucking think so.” He growls the words out loud, like a possessed demon. He grunts, his focus not on me, probably because he thinks I’m useless and have no fight in me at this point.
So, as he starts pacing with long strides back and forth across the small room, I make my move. With every ounce of strength I have in my body, I quickly stand up and leap, literally leap, for the lamp. I grab it, and in one fell swoop, I do a one-eighty and bash his head with it as hard as I can. Shards of broken glass fall all over the floor as the man howls in pain.
“You fucking bitch! I’m going to make you pay!”
But I don’t stay to listen. I turn, and with a burst of adrenaline, I throw open the door with so much force it’s probably off one of the hinges, and then, I’m running. I scream as I run through the dark hallways, not stopping for anything.
His pounding feet are behind me. He’s gaining on me, getting closer, but I scream anyway, hoping that someone, anyone at all, can hear me.
As I run at top speed down the hall, my left leg missteps, and I land on my ankle with such force and briskness that the pain is instant and intense. A broken gasp leaves my lips, but I bite my tongue. No crying. No screaming. No pain.
But there is pain, and the intense feeling of it breaks a part of my spirit because a part of me knows…I’m not going to make it out the front door.
No. I will. The rest of me is still fighting; a twisted ankle won’t stop me. Ignoring my ankle altogether, I run toward the staircase that will lead me to my escape. If I can just make it out the door…
“You can’t run. I’ve waited long enough for you,” he shouts and then starts laughing as if taunting his prey.
But I run.
I reach the stairs as quickly as I can with a sprained ankle. I wobble, jump, and wobble again down the stairs as fast as I can.
My mind is racing. I can taste the tangy metallic taste of blood in my mouth from biting my tongue, but that doesn’t matter. Shivers and goose bumps are all over my skin, and I can see my life flash right before my eyes in the dark.
I have to escape.
I have to run.
I have to get help.
I need my brother.
I need my protector.
I need Ace.
As I wobble down the stairs, I look over my shoulder. The man isn’t there anymore, and that makes my stomach drop like a bag of cement. My heart pounds even faster as dread moves through my system. Where is he?
My eyes are wide-open and getting dry as I frantically look around, hardly able to blink for even a split second. I know he’s somewhere, but I’m not staying to find out where.
Or to find out who he is or what he wants to do to me.
So, I run. The front door is right in front of me. I’m almost there.
I get to the last step and turn for the front door. I have no idea where he comes from, but he tackles me, actually tackles me like it’s a football game, and it’s rougher than anything I’ve ever felt. I scream in pain as I land on my hip, my body slamming into the hard floor. My hip is definitely bruised and sore now, making it difficult to fight, but I won’t stop.
“You have fire in you that sparkles in your eyes.