by A. R. Breck
"What the -" Corey cries, but doesn't finish his sentence before I stick my fist in his face. Not once, not twice, but repeatedly. He cries fall to groans, which fall to grunts, and eventually, a small whimper.
I can't stop, though. My anger is too much. I grab him by the front of his face and slam that back of his head over and over into the pavement, creating a bloody pool behind his head.
His shallow breaths only make me angrier.
This fucker does not deserve to live another breath.
I slip my glock from the back of my jeans and release the safety, cock it, and pull the trigger. I have no sense of right or wrong, or getting caught as I cock and pull, bullet after bullet releasing into this fucker's skull until and empty click is the only thing that speaks back to me.
"Shit. Easton!" My shoulder is grabbed, but I'm too much in a trance to comprehend who is speaking to me.
"Fuck!" Logan's voice muffles behind me, and I turn around, seeing that my elbow went straight into his nose, which is now flowing blood like the Hoover Dam.
Seeing Logan, and a stunned Jackson taking in the scene around him, snaps me out of my state.
"Rose!" I leap to my feet and walk over to her where she is still laying down and staring at the sky, eyes as wide as saucers. "Rose, talk to me babe." I rip my shirt off and place it over her naked form. "Rose, say something!" I turn to Jackson. "Go get the truck. Now!" Jackson takes off into a sprint as I look towards Logan. "Go inside and make sure no one comes back here." Logan nods and walks back inside.
"Oh, shit, Rose. Fuck, babe, I'm so sorry. Please speak to me, say something." The only reason I can tell she is alive is her breathing.
But what breaks my heart is the slow blink she makes, releasing a lone tear as it tracks down her face. Drops of water falls on my upper lip, and I look up to the sky and see a clear night. That's when I realize that I'm crying, too.
"Shit." I wipe my tears quickly. I don't remember a time when I have ever cried in my life, ever. It only makes me want to go to that dead fuck ten feet away and bust another clip into his brain.
The rumbling of the truck blares down the alleyway and soon makes its appearance. I'm cradling Rose in my arms, whispering promises to anyone who is listening to make this go away.
This pain. This brutal, overwhelming pain that is throbbing throughout my entire body.
It feels a lot like despair.
I don't know how I'm supposed to make things right, but fucking hell I'm going to try.
"Please wake up. Fuck, please let this be a dream." My wishes go unanswered when I glance down and see a still catatonic Rose looking towards the sky. Except, she's not really looking at the sky. Her eyes are completely empty.
Jackson slams on the breaks moments before Logan comes barreling out of the back door. Both look equal parts distraught and murderous. I can't blame them, because that is only an inkling on what's going inside of me.
"What the fuck are we supposed to do? We need to go to the hospital, bro." Logan stresses while yanking at his hair.
"No, we are not going to the fucking hospital!" I bark out. "Bring us to my place, and fucking hurry." I lift Rose into the car and curl her up against me, watching for her blank eyes to make any kind of movement.
Nothing.
"Why isn't she waking up?" Jackson barks in a worried tone after getting into the car.
Logan shuts the trunk door, having just thrown Corey back there. Not sure what we're going to do with him.
"I don't know! Rose? Rose! She hasn't acknowledged that we're even here, at all. I don't know what the fuck to do." I give her a little shake, but her body just wobbles like a dead corpse. I check her pulse again, letting out a relieved breath to feel it still beating.
She just won't wake up.
"Rose, wake the fuck up!"
Speeding through the night, the glow of the street lights flickers in through the windows and casts a glow on Rose's face every few moments. I trace her features, memorizing every curve and feature there is to know about her face.
"I'm not sure what happened tonight or how it came to be, but I can assure you one thing, my little Rose." I grumble into her ear. "Everyone is going to fucking pay."
To be continued...
Don't be afraid to report abuse. It will save someone.
Domestic Abuse Hotline: 1 (800) 799 – 7233
Sexual Abuse Hotline: 1 (800) 656-4673
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A.R. Breck lives in Minnesota with her husband, two children and two dogs. She enjoys reading, writing and sharing her stories with the world. When she isn’t working, A.R. Breck loves to watch horror movies, road trip around the country and read forbidden romance novels.
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