..::.. Chapter 37 - Edward's Blade ..::..

Young - High School, Continued ...

Dad blissfully and ignorantly smiles in surprise when he sees Mom. He steps out of the shop, the large garage door is up revealing all the shiny new lifts, tool cabinets, and equipment lining the walls. Immobile cars, high on lifts, are being repaired. The floors are filthy, but that's as far as grease goes in this place.

Dad has done more than well for himself. His beautiful wife included. He leans into the car, through her open window, and kisses her. I know he'll ask why she's been crying. I know she'll probably tell him it was the onions.

I want to shake him, yell at him to wake up, but all I do is sit behind the desk and pile up paperwork and organize them by payments and date. Heidi's work is suffering. It's definitely her sleep-deprived, new mom stage. Postpartum is a real thing, Mom explained. So, I do the work and tell no one about the mess.

I watch as Dad hops into the passenger seat of Mom's car, leaving his behind. He decides to head home. It's almost his time anyway. I glare from my spot behind the windows. He just smiles and waves.

Awesome.

"Hey gorgeous," says Harry from the office entry. I grumble. The bane of my existence. He's the employee who gets too friendly when Dad isn't around.

Seth whistles from afar, and Harry is distracted. Thank Christ. Seth winks at me from where he stands. Saved by The Seth, like always. I wave. He's always watching out for me. The problem is, his shift is almost up, too. That would make Harry and John stay back until nine at night.

John is a slacker. He's young and cares only for beers and stepping out to grab dinner for an hour and a half on these nights. That leaves Harry hanging out alone in the shop.

Best day of my life continues.

I pray he slacks tonight and disappears the way he sometimes does. How the fuck does Heidi deal with this? I make a point to tell Dad to hire another receptionist for the few late hours left for the shop to close its office, and a male one at that. No woman should be exposed to this bullshit.

The garage door slams shut. I look up. I guess my luck has turned for the best. They both aren't around at their workstations. I tap a few more bills into the system and sigh with relief. I'm done with that task, so I might as well organize the supply cabinet out back and put away the new stuff that arrived.

The lights are on and beaming brightly on all the shiny, clean cars. It always smells of grease and gasoline, but I'm so used to being around this since I was a kid ... it's the smell of home.

The problem is, the door doesn't usually shut. Only when the shop closes. I realize this as I'm reaching up to place a roll of electrical tape on a shelf. My arms stay suspended as I think of the last time this has happened.

Never.

The echo of boots slowly making their way across the shop are imminent. So is the pounding of my heart.

I tense; my spine to the tip of my toes.

Think.

Metal is in abundance around here. I scan my area.

I reach for that piece of exhaust pipe leaning by the shelf, placed there by a sloppy mechanic who's made my speeding heart skip with hope.

If my mother has been fearless for years, I could be fearless for a moment. My speeding heart tells me I'll have to be more than that now.

I turn my head and nonchalantly say, "Harry, stop fucking around. I'll tell Charlie." But my fist is finding purchase on the narrow end of the pipe at my side. A good death grip for the swing.

Whoever it is, stops dead center behind me. "Harry stepped out for the night," the voice says.

I turn. I don't know who he is. He looks calm. I play along. I grab the box, slip the pipe inside of it and walk to the office. "What, you're his parole officer?"

He chuckles. He looks around and strides to the office alongside me. His hands visible, empty. He stuffs them in his pant pockets.

"No."

"So, you must need an oil change," I suggest. He stays at the door to the office. He acts bashful.

"Ah, something like that." He looks up at me with a grin.

He turns, and someone else is out there. He nods briefly. My stomach whirls. I try to calm my breathing.

"It's actually my buddy here," he says pointing over his shoulder. "Bad night at a bar. You know how it is."

"I don't, actually. Please keep your feet outside my office." I point out. He looks down and adjusts his toes just behind the line. He smiles this time.

I grab the receiver off the desk. "Have to call in for backup since Harry left for the night," I say. "You know how it is."

He chuckles again. He's dirty blonde, cut short, scars of puberty on his face, but he's in his twenties; not much older than Edward. He occupies himself talking loudly to his buddy outside. I hurry to punch in the house phone. My hands tremble.

It rings and rings and nothing. "Fuck." I look up, and he's watching. His smile is still intact, but his eyes have darkened where he leans at the door.

I punch Edward's house number next. I haven't had to call it for years, maybe since elementary school, and I don't know how I remember it. Adrenaline surges through me.

"Cullen," says a voice on the other end. Then the call is dropped. The door to the office is vacant now, and the receiver is plugged with an index finger.

The dirty blonde tsks at the end of the desk. "You're only allowed one," he says, waving a finger.

He snatches my arm.

I swing with the other.

The bang is loud against his temple. The pipe barely stays in my hand. I grip and lift it. One hit, two. By the third, I'm jostled. My legs leave the floor. I'm pulled over the desk from behind. Papers shift, supplies and the phone fall to the floor.

I kick. I scream.

I take hold of a head of hair from behind me, but I can't slip out of the tight hold.

Think.

I curl my legs and push hard against the desk. We go tumbling to the floor. A grunt behind me. I scurry off him. He's the buddy from outside.

His knee pops up. My jaw is on fire. The blow to my face was sloppy but sharp. I tumble over his legs. I blink.

The pipe. I see it. A blur through the pain.

I crawl to it. My fingers are just shy of reaching it when he pulls my hair back. The yank is so hard I find my footing.

"Not gonna happen," he says, a heavy warm breath by my ear. I pant, and pant and a cry makes it out of my chest.

Think.

I suck up all the fear and think of my mother. Her furious eyes. The barrel of the gun in her hand. I think of Edward's chokehold that one time in middle school, when he did the same. Showing me, teaching me to have the guts.

Rage swells through my every bone. He pins me to him, and Dirty Blonde is the coward who comes at me.

Bella, anything.

Use anything.

Think.

I grab Buddy's head from above and lift my legs. I grunt loudly with the kick. Dirty Blonde's mouth bursts open. Blood spews. He lands on the desk, chest first.

I twist around, but I'm cemented. A snarl is loud by my cheek. I turn my head and bite down on his ear.

A guttural growl vibrates against my back. But as soon as I yank my mouth away, I get a blow to my stomach, then my face. I double over and fall to the floor. Pain like I've never felt before surges its way through my skull.

I'm trying to find my breath when a kick delves into my side.

I gasp for air. My lungs burn. He doesn't stop.

"Fuck!" Buddy shouts. The other looks over his shoulder from above me. Blood is trickling down Buddy's neck from his ear. He frantically palms it and looks down at his hand, only to find blood and half an ear. I spit out the rest.

With trembling hands, I search inside my bra and pull it out. One click, and it's long and sharp in my palm.

I drive Edward's blade right into Dirty's thigh and twist. His leg goes limp. That knee touches the floor, and we're face to face. His mouth is gaping as he looks. I drive it through his cheek next. Edward's blade fills his mouth copiously, slicing over his tongue.

Buddy's eyes grow wide. He stumbles back. And that pipe rolls fortuitously toward me with a kick of his boot.

I get a good grip.

The pipe steadily connects to that mangled ear. He goes silent with the pain, eyes rolling up into his sockets. So, I turn on the other, and he's writhing and holding his split cheek. I don't stop until my arms burn.

The last swing sends me to the floor, spent and heaving. I crawl over, grab Edward's blade and pull it out.

It's like he's here with me.

The last split goes around Buddy's neck who begins to stir. It's clean and precise, below where his ear used to be.

The gurgling noises coming out of him are soft. I walk out of the office, and I don't hear them anymore.

I clean the blade off with Harry's grease cloth. I wait as the heavy garage door slowly rises, and I unlock Dad's Firebird left up front.

I slide in, rev the engine, and drive toward home.

….