Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“I’ve made many mistakes in my life.”
“No, no, no,” I say, my chest tight, my head swimming. It’s so bad that it’s almost good, this new rush of chemicals. “You didn’t make mistakes. You were a manipulative bully. That’s all this is. Except you’re using your weakness because you’re pathetic now, Ambrose, a real lowlife. I could tie one hand behind my back and choke you out, you loser. You were pathetic. You always were.”
“You shut your fucking mouth!” Dad explodes, and I laugh, and it feels so good. I don’t know why.
“Ah, Dad, nice to talk to you again.”
“I-I…” Dad sputters. “I’m trying here, son.”
“I listened to you break my mother’s teeth,” I tell him. “And if I could go back, I’d kill you in your sleep. I mean that. I’d slit your throat.”
I hang up, rubbing my eyes. My eyes. There are fucking tears in them. I’m not crying, not sobbing, but they’re there. I’ve never let myself care about Dad before. It doesn’t matter. Let him think he’s redeemed or suddenly some good guy, but ever since Mary…
What the hell did she do to me? It’s like we’re in some fucked-up fairy tale, and spending one night with her has melted the ice around my heart. I never saw it as ice before. Just nothing. A black hole. She’s ignited the darkness, lighting it up with her smile, body, laugh, soul, everything.
That night…
I drag my mind away from there, jogging across the bridge, past a dumpster with several men huddled around it, a fire lit. The nights are beginning to cool. None of them acknowledge me as I keep running, focusing on the movements, nothing else, not the look in Mary’s eyes when she realized how good it felt. Not the pain that separated us after I inked her skin and then left.
A storm, but she never has to be afraid again. I keep running until I hear it. A woman lets out a scream. How many times did I hear Mom scream like that? How many times did I have to listen to her comforting him after he hurt her? Fuck this. Fuck the world.
I run toward the screaming. Another one. A man’s voice. “Shut up, you whore.”
Turning a corner, I see a very drunk woman walking away from a dingy bar, looking like she’s going to fall over in her heels any moment. A few men stand outside the bar, wearing leather jackets and smoking cigarettes. A man chases after the woman. Tall. Big. Damn, he’s a giant, even taller than me. He wears a leather vest with his arms showing and clumsy tattoos all over his thick limbs.
The woman comes to a stop when she sees me. She’s got blood on her nose, and her eyes are hazy and drugged up. The man looks about forty. She looks about twenty. I find myself shocked at the age gap, and then I remember. Jesus Christ.
Even in her drugged-up state, the woman looks like she recognizes me, but she’s not sure where from.
“Evening, fella,” the man says, reaching for the woman’s wrist. She has a placated stare, just like Mom used to have. She knew deep down there was nothing she could ever do to stop it.
“Touch her, and I’ll snap your arm in half.”
The man glares at me. He’s not an idiot. He’s six-six. I’m six-four. He’s not used to men my size standing up to him like I am. Then his arrogance gets the better of him. He sneers at me and wraps his hand around her wrist.
I hit him with a clean, quick jab to the nose, wishing it was Dad, feeling his bones crumple. He yelps like a shocked amateur and stumbles back, not even trying to keep a fighting stance. I trip his leg and then scan the bar’s exterior. Nobody is moving yet. They’re too shocked. As I mount the creep, the men start to move toward me.
I spin around, going for an armbar like I promised the prick, but it would take too long. Quickly, I stand up, hands raised, dancing backward in a fighting stance. Two of them are rushing me. Instinct makes me slip the clumsy hook and fire an uppercut into the first man’s jaw, then another. I spin, catch the second man with an elbow, and dance away at an angle.
Nobody wants to fight anymore. They stand in an awkward, injured circle. I keep my head on a swivel, as I always have during street fights. The last thing I need is some scumbag friend catching me unawares.
“Are you fucking done?” I snap.
“This is none of your business, man,” the first one says, reaching for his pocket.
“If you pull out a weapon, I will murder you,” I say coldly. “There’s only ten feet between us. You won’t be able to stop me. Put your hand in that pocket, and I will execute you.”