He shook his head, mouth finally able to form the word "Shit", tears beginning to prick at the corner of his eyes, so nauseous he thought he was about to puke, so dizzy it made the backs of his eyes ache. He cracked his lids open, unaware of how his feet were moving, seeing the girl having propped him up and dragging him up concrete stairs. Beneath the stairs he saw rows of cars, lamps that actually worked, symmetrically planted trees and rocks around walkways. Even the most minimal ray of artificial light was painful, his eyes squeezing shut as he tried to take a breath.
He could hear the wheezing from his throat, the noise that came from his chest provoked by the achingly fresh pain through his shoulder. He felt the stairway end and his feet dragging against the ground again, back resting against a door as he heard her fumble for her keys, moving him slightly so she could unlock the door and let him in. Hooking her arm around his body again, she swung him inside, shutting and locking the door behind him, pulling him to the couch where she gently lie him down before running into the opposite room.
He couldn't take a breath without pain burning through him, his lips shaking, unsure of what name rest in his mouth, waiting to call out for the girl who had left him here but having no idea what he should say. Before he could make a sound she had returned, towels in her hand as she dropped them to the floor in front of him, shoving one between him and the couch before starting to unfasten the buttons of his vest until it opened, digging her fingers between layers of fabric and tearing apart his shirt, buttons ripping from their strings scattering to his sides.
Sweat was beading on her forehead, her hands pressed to the wound that had finally stopped bleeding, a small, wetted cloth in her hands starting to clean the area. He was taking extremely shallow breaths, eyes still shut, mouth open, hand suddenly reaching up and grabbing her arm.
"Hey, hey, this isn't… first time I've had some jackass… try to shoot me," he said, opening his eyes, not able to see much past the first few inches from his face. "Just… never been shot in the chest."
She nodded. "Luckily he wasn't a good shot." The bullet hadn't hit anything vital, just was embedded at an angle in his shoulder.
He grinned. "Guess not… but you are."
She grimaced. Shit, she'd almost forgotten about that.
Trying to focus his vision on the face above him, he raised his had, her fingers releasing the cloth in her hand and pressing against his chest, back to the couch cushion.
"Stay down, just rest, I think you'll be okay…" she said, picking up the cloth and continuing to wipe away the blood.
He nodded. "I'll be just fine, just need to lie low… won't be much of a stretch, eh?"
She grinned. "Yeah."
He sighed, ache still present as he arched his back. "So… I think, I owe you. Big time?"
The smile on her face widened, eyes breaking from his and cast across the room as she laughed, slightly biting her lip. "Just a little bit."
That laugh just down right warmed his fucking heart. "Sorry to prolong my bullshit, honestly didn't have any intention of… getting shot tonight," he muttered.
"I didn't think so," she replied.
He shook his head. "Just seems it's… always something, you know?"
She nodded. "It always is," she said, pressing the cloth hard to his skin, pulling a wince out of him when she cleaned near the wound.
He mumbled something she didn't catch. When she didn't respond, he asked, "You think I'll be alright?"
She nodded again. "Yeah, that guy wasn't a good shot, he got you in the shoulder but it's nothing I can't take care of here."
He grinned again. "You an old hand at this sort of thing?"
"Nah, I just have some basic medical training. I work in a pharmacy, lots of old folks come through, better be prepared," she said, the sound of a smile coming out with her voice. He laughed a little. "I can't imagine this wound is different than another puncture injury, I should be able to figure it out."
He shook his head, closing his eyes as he lowered the back of his head to the armrest. "It's fine, I'll take care of it. Just give me… a few minutes, my entire fucking body is sore."
"Well, yeah, you just got shot, you'll be feeling pretty lousy for awhile."
"'Lousy.' Again, such a stretch for me," he said quietly, eyes opening and flittering towards the door he'd been pulled through, taking a second to look around.
The walls were plain white, the couch they were on accompanied by a recliner on the opposite wall, that recliner next to a small table with a lamp on it, another table in front of the couch coming into focus as his eyes extended further into the room. There was a medium sized television up against the wall across from them, dark screen framed with silver faced in their direction.
Seeming to realize at the same he did that the room remained dark, she extended her arm over him, his hand releasing from around it, the wet cloth left on his chest as she reached past the armrest to turn the switch of a light behind him. It blinked on, the amber bulb in it casting a dim, easy on the eyes light, bringing into pitch focus the color absorbed on her pale skin, noticing for the first time she had black rubbed around the corners of her eyes, a few lines extending down from the corners. Her hand returned over the cloth, squeezing it slightly to get water out, again starting to wash off flaking blood.
She looked down on him, his face a more true shade of pale than she'd seen when it was covered with makeup, scars looking worse in contrast, his hair only looking to be a mess of brown rather than the multi toned one she remembered. The corners of his eyes were still black, color unvarying from the shade on his irises that were returning the stare. Freckles still stood out from beneath the remainder of smudged makeup stained beneath his eyes.
He felt the wave of exhaustion pass over him suddenly, getting unwanted tiredness creeping up his back as he looked at her, his shoulders sinking down into the cushion. She broke the contact to look at the wound, hand resting the cloth on the opposite side of his chest as she leaned closer for a better look.
After a few seconds, she nodded. "It doesn't look that bad. I mean, going to the hospital would be ideal, but it's not a life or death situation." She let out a relieved sigh. "Good shit."
He nodded. "Last time I was shot they got me in the leg, quite a bit different than this."
"Yeah, much farther away from your heart than this current bullet," she said, eyes returning back to his.
"Agreed," he mumbled.
She stood up, leaving the wet cloth on his chest as she walked to the opposite side of the room, walking through a small doorway near the television, turning a corner and appearing on the opposite side of a window, opening up a cabinet and pulling down a white box. Right in his assumption that it was a first aid kit, he watched her place it on the table in front of the couch, taking another few steps forward until she stood above him, a dry cloth in her hand as she took the wet one from his chest and tossed it onto the ground. She bent down, starting to wipe away the water diluted blood off of him, eyes focused on the wound.
"I think you've got your basic tools to bandage that wound up in that kit there," she said, pointing her elbow in the direction of the box, flattening her hand over the cloth and moving it in a slow, circle motion. A small noise came from his throat as he nodded. "You need to rest for awhile. Do you mind if I take a shower?"
"Go ahead." He kept his eyes on her. "I won't bother you."
"I won't be that long, I just feel gross. Need to change my clothes and all that," she said, making a point of pulling a corner of her mouth into a grin, trying to be as reassuring as possible.
He nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."
She looked at the shirt and vest pulled to his side, blood poured out over the blue shirt, beginning to soak through to the other side of the vest, bruised and broken skin over his chest and ribs still tinted from the blood she'd tried her best to wipe away. Luckily his pants were dark, the stains not showing so vividly above that fabric.
"Definitely need to invest in another blue shirt," she said, looking him in the eye, trying to get him to laugh.
She succeeded in getting a small grin. "Definitely."
"I'll be back in a few minutes, alright?"
He nodded. "I'll be here," he said, closing his eyes, resting his head down again.
Picking up the towels she'd used to clean the wound, she carried them with her to the opposite side of the room, opening the door to hers and tossing the bloody fabric into the hamper by her bed. Switching on the light there, she went through her drawers, grabbing a pair of tan denim pants and a plain black t-shirt before going into the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible as she locked the door. Not like it matters if I lock the door or not, this flimsy shit wouldn't stand up against a firm kick.
He heard the faucet kick over, water running through the pipes in the walls towards the room he'd seen her enter, the sound proving to be a comfortable, dull rhythm to drift off too, his breathing steadying, becoming deeper over time. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed until he heard the water shut off and the door eventually open, eyes opening to watch as the girl came through the doorway dressed much different than how he'd met her, her long hair damp, brushed and hanging on her shoulders.
"How are you feeling?" she asked, crossing the room and sitting back down on the edge of the couch.
"Better," he said quietly.
"Do you want anything?"
He looked over towards the door she'd just come from. "I was thinking of copying you, taking a shower too. The heat would probably loosen up the bullet."
She nodded. "Yeah, true. I have another clean towel on the counter in there, feel free."
He sighed. "I don't even want to attempt trying to get up without help, would you mind?"
"Yeah, sure," she said, standing up and again bending over her, sliding her hand between the cushion and his back.
He stiffened his arms out to his side, pushing himself upwards, the girl keeping him steady. He swung his legs over the side of the couch, feet against the ground as he tried to stand himself up, a stabbing pain in his chest as he took a deep breath. He stood up, trying to walk but failing miserably at hit when he stumbled towards her, only irritating the wound more and pulling an angry cry from his mouth.
"Who the fuck just shoots somebody," he muttered, having to balance on her outstretched arm.
"I know, that was pretty rude," she said, pulling him along as she had out of the car and up the stairs, curving around the table and heading towards the door to her room.
She turned on the faucet, steam still on the mirror as water showered down into the tub, pushing back the curtain as she looked back to him. He had almost folded an arm across his chest, trying to pull the bloodstained clothing off of him but stopped by the pain that stung through his body with every small movement he made. She stepped in front of him, casually taking his arm and pulling it towards her, flipping his wrist until the underside shown up to her, fingers again unfastening the row of buttons aligned there. When the fabric released, she moved to his other arm, repeating the steps until she could see the trail of another deep scar down his wrist.
He saw her notice that one, but she passed over it like she hadn't, her hands trailing up his arms and beginning to pull down the shirt, one hand moving to the collar and pulling it down. The steam from the shower filled the small space quickly, pressing against his back as he felt the shirt separate from his body, sliding off his arms and onto the ground, revealing the last remaining flecks of blood that clung to his body before he then felt the girl's hands toying with the button of his pants.
He started to laugh. "Thank you, but, I've got it from here," he said, words slipping between his curved lips as he put his hands on top of hers, pushing them away.
She started to blush, and he wanted to laugh again. Before she had taken more than a step away from him, he caught her on the arm, hand resting on the curve of her elbow.
"Thank you," he said, looking her in the eye, not letting go until she looked back.
She nodded her head, pulling away and walking out the door, shutting it behind her before she walked back into the main room, switching on the overhead light before hitting the button on the television, figuring she'd catch up on the news she'd seen him trying to follow over the day.
…
Kicking his shoes off and bending down painfully to pull off his socks before unfastening the second button on his pants, he unzipped the fly and pushed both the fabric of his pants and underwear down his legs before stepping out. Lifting one shaking leg before getting into the tub, he carefully put his weight down, feet joining each other in the small puddle of water that gathered by the drain. He pulled the curtain shut before aiming his face upwards, letting the water spray onto his face, down his neck and over his stinging chest.
He put his head under the stream of water, droplets rolling across his scalp and into his hair, warmer and cleaner than any of the water he'd gotten out of that shower in the shithole he called home, taking the time to rub the bar of soap pinned between his hand and chest hard. The hot water helped with the lather, getting a good amount of it in his hands before he started to scrub behind his neck and over his ears where the girl had tried to clean earlier. He grinned again, the randomness of that whole little thing still amusing to him, putting his head under the water again and letting it run down his back.
He grabbed the bottle of shampoo she'd left in the tub, opening it and squeezing out a fair amount before rubbing it between his hands and over his scalp, the last time he'd used anything but some dollar store crap been quite too long ago to remember. Taking the bar of soap and scrubbing it over his skin again, paying special attention to the wound, he rinsed under the water again, hand cranking the faucet to turn the water hotter. Heat began to sear down his skin, feeling surprisingly good as he began to scrub his face, knowing he hadn't done that superb of a job earlier in getting all the makeup off his face. He rubbed another handful of shampoo into his hair again, washing and rinsing it again before he turned the handle downwards, water shutting off as he pushed the curtain back and reached for the towel waiting for him on the counter.
Draping the towel over his head and vigorously rubbing his hair between the rough material, he dried his hair before moving down his neck, over his shoulders and down the side of his body blood had been dried to only minutes ago. Painfully bending his body to reach and slide on his pants, he again fastened the buttons, taking the towel in his hand and wiping away the steam on the window so he could take another look at the wound in his chest. The skin around the wound was a bright pink, turning red and concave in the center. He sighed, bringing his thumb and index finger up to the wound, poking the tip of his index into the wound, pain fresh and stinging through to his lungs as his body winced inwards, shoulders curling and bending him in half.
She heard a loud cry come from the bathroom, eyes ripped from the screen that broadcast images of the late Harvey Dent and thrown towards her bedroom, startled as she got up and rushed to the bathroom door. Pressing her ear against the door, she heard him yell again, hand wrapping around the door handle and cracking space between the wood, peaking in to see him throwing his hand down, a loud metal clink hitting the inside of the sink before he grabbed a roll of toilet paper and ripped off multiple sheets. He pressed the wad of tissue to his chest, a small circle of blood seeping through before his eyes were cast to the mirror again, visibly moving from his reflection to that of the opening door behind him, catching her eyes that she tried to remain hidden.
"Hi," he muttered, not breaking eye contact.
"Hi," she replied, peaking her head farther in, eyes momentarily drawn to the deep blotches over his back, bruises seeming to cover more of his body than his skin did. His pants were snug around his waist, bloodstains invisible in the dark fabric. She focused back on the face in the mirror. "Are you okay?"
He continued to look at the girl behind him without ever moving his head. "Yeah, just dug the goddamn bullet out… hurt like hell."
She pressed through the gap she'd made between the door and frame, his body turning in her direction as she stepped into the bathroom.
"Are you okay?" she asked, keeping her distance, unsure of what his answer would be.
He looked back at the mirror, taking another long stare at the wound on his chest, lifting up the wad of tissue to see how much had blood had picked up, another bit of relief going through him when the blotch left behind was smaller than he'd expected.
He nodded. "Yeah, just need to properly dress this and I'll go," he said, slowly leaning down to pick up his bloody clothes from the ground before facing her.
She didn't respond. Unsure of what he should do, he stood still, looking back at her.
"You don't have to leave," she said.
He shook his head. "No, I've caused you enough trouble, I need to go."
Hers shook as well. "No, it's not a good idea, they're looking for you… I don't even know what's going to happen when those men are found," she said quietly.
He licked his lips. "Mm, they were quite unpopular, that neighborhood seems to be infested with less than honorable characters. If cops come out for more than anything but the bodies, they'd never assume some pharmacist was responsible."
Her irises wavered between his. "It's just risky. You're already hurt, you should try to keep it down to one gaping wound."
A laugh came up his throat. "Hah, yeah, speaking of which, that first aid kit does include a Band-Aid or two, yes?"
She grinned. "I'm sure. Let's check," she said, turning and scooting past the floor, him following her out, reaching his hand back to flip the light switch off before completely out of the room.
She lead him back to the couch, the room fully illuminated when they reentered, the bare walls paler than the dark had made them to look. He sat down, leaning gently back onto the sofa, eyes drawn to the flashing pictures on the television he hadn't noticed was on.
Sitting down next to him before opening the first aid kit, she took out a large bandage from the pack, handing it to him. "Here, this should be okay," she said.
He pealed off the adhesive strips of the bandage, preparing to lay it over the wound. "You think it needs any rubbing alcohol or something?"
She shook her head. "No, I think you're okay. You washed over it when you were in the shower, right?"
He nodded. "With soap."
"You're okay then, I think anything else but just soap and water would irritate the hell out of it."
He grinned, pressing the bandage over the wound. "Sounds good," he said, flattening his palm against the dressing, adhesive sticking further tight onto his skin, eyes falling back on the television.
"You hear about Harvey Dent?" he asked.
She nodded. I have no idea where he's about to go with this… didn't he try to kill him? Or was that one of the other criminals he went after?
His tongue dragged across the scar on his lower lip. "Too bad about him. He seemed alright."
"Yeah. Do you know what happened?"
"News said he fell a few stories. Apparently Batman's a murderer now."
He never did kill anyone, now that she thought about it. Sometimes they were bloodied up, but it always ended with their hands tied behind their backs, waiting for the proper authorities to deal with them. She sighed. "That's crazy."
"You're telling me. I just had the man grab me from falling to my death and now they're trying to pin his biggest fan as a victim?" he scoffed. "No, no."
"Yeah, I don't really think he would kill somebody. He's never been the type."
I guess now would be the time to tell him about the ferries.
"Did you hear about the ferries?"
He looked at her. "What, that they didn't go up?"
She returned the gaze. "They did."
He stared at her silently, brows furrowing when the weight of those words settled. "What?" he asked, wanting to be sure he'd heard her right.
She nodded, images of the broadcast she'd seen minutes earlier stuck in her head, scraps of metal strewn out through the water and washing up on the shore. "They did. Both of them."
His jaw nearly hit the ground. "Are you fucking with me?"
"No! It'll probably be on the news again soon. They went up. How would you not know? You were there."
He again scoffed. "I got the fucking detonator knocked out of my hands before I got tossed off that building, didn't exactly have any time to press any button."
Her eyes widened. "Then… who the hell did?"
He felt a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Oh, believe me, I wish I knew."
The two sat silently for a few seconds, both thinking over what the other had just said.
He began to laugh. "Now, that is just fucking epic. That is just beautiful." Must've been a cop accidentally stepping on it and triggering the bombs. If it had been one of the boats making a decision, there would've been some survivors still afloat.
He couldn't help but laugh again. "Mm, fantastic. Did the news say it was me?" he asked, eyes back on hers.
She nodded. Of course.
"Well, wouldn't be the first shit the media's lied about today," he muttered, pressing his palm against the bandage again, double checking to see if it stayed sealed. "You care if we share the bed again?"
She felt the grin that wanted to curve the corners of her mouth, but she kept it silenced, along with the laugh at how quickly he'd changed the subject. "Yeah, that's fine."
He nodded his head along with some inaudible rhythm again. "Cool. Do you mind if I crash, then?"
She shook hers. "Not at all. I was thinking of doing the same thing, after washing those clothes," she said, pointing to the bloody fabric that was bunched up on his knees.
He nibbled on the skin of his lip. "What about the towels?"
"Separately. I'm not trying to ruin your stuff."
He laughed, looking back down to the stained clothes in his lap. "It's fine, you couldn't fuck these clothes up more if you tried." He extended his arm out to her, carrying with it the dirty clothes. "I'm sorry I've pretty much made you wait on me."
She stood up, again shaking her head as she took the clothes from his hand. "It's okay, you're not. I wouldn't offer if I didn't want to."
He joined her in standing. "True. Thank you, though."
"No problem," she said, body turning towards the shut door in the corner of the room closest to them.
He caught her arm. "No, it is. Thank you."
She looked up at him. "It's fine."
He didn't want to try convincing her he meant what he said again. "Okay."
Releasing his fingers from around her arm, he moved around the table in the opposite direction, very slowly walking himself towards the room he'd just come from, not watching as she continued towards the shut door in front of her and opened up the washing machine that lie past it. When he'd managed to find a comfortable position to lie in, he heard the sound of water rushing, the lid shutting as he watched as lights in the adjoining room flipped off one by one.
She walked in, flipping down the switch of the light in that room as well, room still visible in the light cast from the lamp attached to the building. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight on the bed shift as she crawled in, lying down next to him and readjusting the pillow under her head.
Ahh, man. Much better than the floor…
His eyes opened, mind fully awake, the sound of something he couldn't remember hearing echoing in his ears. Holding his breath, he strained to hear past the sound of someone next to him shifting on the sheets on the bed he lie on, almost convinced he could hear multiple thuds in the wall.
"Honey?"
He heard it again, this time in four distinct knocks. Someone had started banging on the door. Lifting his heavy head and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he felt her hand rest on his shoulder.
"I'll go get it," she said.
"No… I don't know who it is, I'm not risking you going out there," he said, opening the drawer of the nightstand next to him, picking up the blade he kept hidden underneath the phonebook. He stood himself up, sliding up the pants he'd dressed down from and slowly approaching their closed bedroom door. He heard the sound of pounding on the door again.
He opened their bedroom door, stepping out carefully into the hallway and inching down it, blade slid into his pocket as he pressed his eye to the small circle in the wood.
He could see the figure of a man in a beat up leather jacket leaning against the door, balding head pointed down, the overhead light above the door casting a little glare off of the bare skin on the center of his scalp. The man looked up, his scruffy beard and the scar on the bridge of his nose confirming it was indeed Raymond. Raymond again knocked on the door, vision suddenly drawn to something he couldn't see from the opposite side of the door, fists banging against the door as he leaned in, mouth coming close to the wood.
"White, open the fucking door!" he heard Raymond yell, very briefly looking over his shoulder to see his wife standing behind him, hands reaching out to hold his arm.
"Who is it?" she whispered.
"Raymond," he said, looking through the hole in the door to see him now leaning against the door again, hand folding into a fist that rocked the door as it came down several times, her eyes going wide in the recognition of the name.
"Raymond? What's he want?"
He grimaced. "First half of the month's rent… shit, I knew it was supposed to be ready today."
She shook her head. "Just open the door, he's just going to bitch at you for being late before going away, he sounds like he's drunk again anyways."
He shrugged. "I guess. Go check on the boy, alright?" he said, motioning his hand to the end of the hallway they stood opposite from, finger pointed to the room that sat to the left of their bedroom. "Don't want him to wake up when he starts going crazy," he muttered, other hand now pointed to the door he prepared to open.
He waited until the overhead bulb in their son's room switched on, the door slowly closing shut blocking all but a thin line of light from casting on the wall across from it. He sighed, unlocking the dead bolt and switch on the handle before he opened the door, Raymond nearly falling forward when the door came out from under his arms.
"Hey," he said, smiling so he didn't seem angry he was woken up at one in the morning when he had to get up in five hours for work.
Raymond stared blankly at him, his brows furrowed, his eyes starting to beam off anger as he straightened his posture. "What the hell took you so long."
"I was asleep, I'm sorry. What is it?"
He scoffed. "'Asleep'? With the wife?"
He nodded. "What can I do for you?"
"Well," he said, extending his arm and folding it so he could lean against the doorway, "you can start by explaining why there wasn't any rent in my mailbox today."
He sighed. "Yeah, I know, I'm sorry. I had to take the kid to the hospital. He was screaming and crying all last night and I ended up sitting in a clinic all day to get seen for five minutes. I missed work too, I gotta go in this morning and try to work things out with them."
Raymond shook his head, eyes closing as an aggravated growl came from him.
"I see. And, ah, the wife?"
He blinked. "What about her?"
He grinned. "So, she's doing it behind your back again."
"The hell are you talking about."
He laughed. "Sweetheart owes me some money, too. She lost two hundred gambling with my fucking cash."
He sighed, eyes rolling as he shook his head. Goddamn it, not again with the fucking gambling. She'd already gotten them so far in debt with that shit and the last thing he needed was for her to be losing his landlord's cash.
He frowned. "Shit, I didn't know. If it makes any difference, I'm about to start working quite a bit of overtime, I can get it back to you by next month if all goes right."
Raymond laughed again. "No, it doesn't." He lowered his head again, this time raising it with a look in his eye he'd never seen before. His blue eyes shown out over the blood red the whites had become, mouth curving into a smile as he opened his palm, smacking it against the door and pushing it farther open.
"You mind if I come in for a minute? I need to talk to her."
He felt his blood beginning to boil. He didn't know what the fuck Raymond was on, but whatever he was trying to pull, shit was going no further than here. "No, she's sleeping."
He used the full weight of his body to push past the door, knocking him against the wall as Raymond barged in, slamming the door behind him and locking it, grin pulling across his face.
"It'll just be a minute, I'll go slow," he muttered, flipping the hallway light on, his eyes set upon the closed door at the corner, shoving him against the wall with both hands as he stepped forward.
He pulled the blade out from behind his back, throwing a right cross into Raymond's face, knocking him against the wall.
"You listen to me, you son of a bitch," he hissed, knife aimed at Raymond. "I told you what the fuck's going on, you know I always get our bills paid, you don't come into my house at one o'clock in the fucking morning and threaten my wife."
He smiled, sending a left hook into his jaw, knocking him against the wall behind him and grabbing the blade that fell to the ground. He grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, hands wrapping around his as Raymond lifted him up to the point where his feet dangled, nearly choking as words were barked into his face.
"The cunt owes me two hundred, she doesn't need you to fight her battles, son," he said, laughing as he released him, shoved off balance as Raymond threw a fist into his shoulder. "It's noble of ya and everything but it makes you look like a pussy."
The sound of a door cracking open caught both men's attention, seeing as his wife stood peaking out, her eyes wide as she stared at his fallen figure, jaw dropping as she made eye contact with Raymond before running across the hallway and into the kitchen.
He looked up to see the frown that sunk into Raymond's face, his eyes burning again with rage as he called out her name.
"What are you doing, bitch?!" he growled, stepping over his tenant and stomping into the kitchen, the sound of a drawer opening and contents being scattered making his heart skip a beat as he raced to his feet.
The sound of the infant crying in the next room only moving his feet faster, he threw himself into the kitchen, the scream that tore out from his wife heard before he saw her cornered behind the kitchen table. He saw she held a kitchen knife in her hands, aimed towards Raymond as he continued to approach her.
Oh, Christ. Big fucking mistake…Raymond would easily snap her neck if she took any sort of swing at him.
He was right. Watching as she made one fast, jagged motion with the tip of the knife aiming for his chest, Raymond screamed at her, grabbing her wrist, the knife in her hand dropping to the floor. Before Raymond could reach down for the knife, he ran across the room, leaping onto the larger man and pulling him backwards, nearly down to the floor as he scraped at his leather jacket, fingernails ripping lines in it as he slammed another fist across Raymond's face.
He knew this was a stupid idea, to try and fight against Raymond; he had at least fifty pounds on him, but he'd crossed the line. His thoughts validated, he felt as Raymond balled up the fabric of his shirt again, grabbing him and turning him in the direction of the closest wall, bending his body as he hurled him towards it, head and neck cracking as he hit the wall. The pain that shot through him was so great it choked the scream that had jumped up from his lungs, the world becoming dark as he lost his balance, body slamming roughly against the ground as he heard his wife scream again.
Eyes cracking open, the light on in the hallway casting a dim glow into the kitchen that seemed searing white as his vision returned, the blurred view of Raymond again cornering his wife coming into blinding focus as he felt his muscles jolt, trying desperately to pull himself from the ground. He could barely put his hands to the ground, the burning heat that started to engulf his head stifling even the most basic of breaths, limbs twitching violently as he tried to scream.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" he screamed, the kitchen knife she'd dropped now in his hands and at her throat.
The crying child became louder in his aching head, body again trying desperately to push itself up.
He could hear the tears in her voice. "I'm so sorry, please don't hurt him, please don't…" her shaking voice tearing a hole through his chest, teeth grinding together as the throbbing in his head began to extend to his neck and shoulders.
Raymond laughed. "'Please don't' what?" he mocked into her face.
"Please don't hurt us, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry just please don't hurt him," she cried, his fading vision able to see the shining specks falling down her cheeks.
"We're past that point, bitch. He thinks he needs to fight for you. You can't take care of yourself? How old are you now?"
She continued to cry. "Please don't," she repeated, eyes pouring tears, voice shaking with every plea.
Another goddamn laugh, the sound of the crying infant finally reaching his ears as he repositioned the blade on her face, digging deeply into her flesh before dragging the jagged kitchen knife across her cheeks as she screamed.
The sound that came from her then fell farther past his ears, that pitch alone bringing him out of the fog of the shrieking pain coursing through his body, a cry passing through his lips as tears began to boil in the corner of his eyes, mouth nearly biting the ground as he watch Raymond make gash after gash over her face. Each slice pulled a terrifying scream from her, the baby only more frightened and crying louder as the burning tears spilled out onto his cheeks, the blood that began to pour from her bringing into focus his that was smudged over the ground he lie on.
Heart stopping as his wife fell momentarily silent, her sob wrenched through him as he watched her curl up into a ball, another cry ripping out her throat as she lie on the same ground he did, the laughter that came from Raymond finally audible to his ears. Eyes lifting from his wife to Raymond, he watched as he turned around, making eye contact with the fallen tenant as another smile spread across his face, the bloody knife still held tightly in his hands, the red drops that fell to the ground reminiscent of the tears that still slid down his cheeks.
His eyes widened. "Why so serious?"
He stared wordlessly, another sob from his cut up wife piercing through him.
He took steps towards him, knife pointing towards him as he raised his brows. "Why so serious?"
Watching as he knelt down next to him, his hooked fingers yanked his jaw open, the blade now digging deep into his cheek, already feeling the teeth breaking his skin.
"Let's put a smile on that face."
His eyes snapped open, breath caught in his chest, the phantom sting that still hung in the pattern of his scars ringing fresh as ever. His irises darted frantically around the room, lit by the pale, blue light of the morning that sunk in from outside, more of the room having a small glow to it than not. He turned his head to the side, seeing the frame of the girl curled away from him, asleep on her side beneath the comforter he rest above, a thick, white blanket pulled up to his chin. Turning his head back towards the blue lines let in across the window, he squinted to see a chair that had been pulled up close to his side of the bed, like someone had been sitting it in and talking to him.
The way his heart sped up tensed the still sensitive wound in his chest, a small pain squeezing it's way through his shoulder as he looked closer, curious to see what looked like a pile of clothing. He reached his hand out, fingertips brushing against thin plastic over what felt like starch fabric, the familiar fabric like several of his shirts. Easing the pile into the curve of his hand, he lifted it and brought it to his chest, resting all but one article of clothing in the space between the girl and him.
He'd been right in thinking it was a shirt. He held a blue button up in his hands, still wrapped in plastic from wherever it'd been bought, a cardboard lining still around the collar that he could easily of removed with the flick of his fingers. Looking at the shirt's small patterns, he grinned when he saw the shapes formed over this fabric were nearly identical to the one he'd bled into earlier. Resting the wrapped blue shirt down, he saw under it had been his green vest, surprisingly no bloodstain visible on the outside of it. His socks were folded there too.
Well, shit. Someone wasn't tired.
alright, I kept this chapter from being ridiculously long.. just keep chugging along, glad to hear you guys are enjoying the story, it definitely makes me want to write it more. -p.
