Tears

by Francine Pascal

  “Stop it!” she shrieked, squirming. “Stop—”

  “Shut up and stay still! You’re just making it worse.”

  No, you are, Gaia retorted silently. She threw the full weight of her body against him, grabbing his shoulder with one hand, spinning, tearing him away from his victim.

  “What the hell?” he shouted, eyes blazing.

  His gaze locked with Gaia’s. For a moment he just gaped at her, breathing hard. Then he smiled.

  “Cool,” he muttered. “A threesome.”

  This poor man. Gaia almost smiled again. He was still living under the delusion that he had control over his life—control over Gaia, control over this other woman. He still believed that he could force his will upon the world. Another hopeless sap, a sagging mountain of testosterone gone awry. Was the old cliché really true, that men were really all the same? Certainly the men in her life didn’t rate much higher than Pudgy Jogging Suit here. Sure, they weren’t brutal rapists. But they had other faults going for them. Unreliability. Dishonesty. Cruelty.

  Kicking this guy’s ass would be a pleasure. A way to take revenge upon all the slimeballs who made the world a more foul place, her father included. Yes, maybe this was her purpose in life: to teach the men of the world a lesson—that they were all swine, each in their own unique fashion.

  Gaia’s eyes flashed to the guy’s victim. She was frozen, eyes wide, uncomprehending.

  He took a step forward. “Come and get some, sweetheart,” he whispered.

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Gaia said. She grabbed his wrist, yanking him off balance. His eyes widened. Before he could react, she’d used the momentum of his fall against him, whirling and flipping him on his backside. All two hundred and fifty pounds of flesh slammed to the pavement, hitting with a smack.

  “Shit!” he howled. “What the—”

  A swift kick to the ribs silenced him. He writhed helplessly on the sidewalk, looking less like a human and more like some kind of animal, a giant seal, maybe. She kicked him again.

  “Help!” he gasped.

  Normally Gaia took the minimalist approach to a battle, just as her father had trained her. It was a lesson from the Go Rin No Sho: Strike only where and when necessary. Defend yourself, but do no more. Put an end to the struggle—and your opponent will think twice before he attacks again. But tonight there was another feeling creeping up on her, an added and unexpected impulse...one that commanded her to increase the pain, even though the competition was a joke. She had just a little less control. . .

  She stared down at him in a fighting stance. She barely noticed the woman in the red dress running away down the street. The second kick definitely wasn’t called for. He was terrified now, struggling to crawl away from her on all fours. Why had she given him more than necessary? He was a total nonthreat. Kid stuff. Maybe it was her new philosophy? That nothing mattered at all—that there was no sense to any of it, no point to any of it, so why not give them everything you’ve got? No mercy.

  Maybe...

  But the feeling ran deeper than that.

  Gaia’s legs began to go wobbly. It was expected, yet another phenomenon she did not understand—utter exhaustion after a battle. Given the brief and effortless nature of this particular fight, however, Gaia was confident she could make it home without actually fainting. Yes. Already she could feel strength returning. She blinked a few times, then turned and strode down the street, back in the direction of her apartment. The sun finally began to creep up from behind the projects lining the East River—marking the official end to another sleepless night of wandering and makeshift justice.

  Not surprisingly, she didn’t feel any better.