Perhaps a half an hour later, Willow’s name was called, and I collected the large bag of sandwiches and chips. After wending my way among the tables and those still waiting to order or be seated, I stepped onto the sidewalk again.
Someone ripped the bag from my hands and slammed me against the brick wall.
Brad seized my throat, his smile triumphant. A purple and yellow bruise darkened his forehead over his right eye. That eye was also swollen and puffy underneath, as though he’d been decked by Mike Tyson. As he bared his teeth at me with his nasty smile, I also noticed one of his front teeth was chipped.
“Oh, hi, Brad,” I said. “You’re a mess. Crash your car or something?”
His fingers squeezed. “Bitch. You caused me to crash. It’s your fault.”
He’d cut off half of my breathing, but enough air trickled into my lungs for me to say, “Oh, right. It’s always my fault. It’s my fault when you can’t take a shit in the morning. Try Ex-Lax, bro.”
Brad’s eyes widened. I grinned, then swung my right arm up and outward in a wide arc, connecting with his. His hand flew from my throat as though greased.
“You hit me,” he accused. “You’ll pay for that.”
I saw his punch coming, and jerked my head to the side. Brad’s fist crashed into the brick wall behind me and not my nose as he’d intended. He screeched in pain, grasping his right wrist with his left hand, then paced a step or two back.
“Oh, my God, my hand is broke,” he howled, examining his reddened knuckles. “It’s broken, shit it hurts, Jesus Christ, my hand.”
“Want to know what else his broken?” I asked, my tone sweet.
His head came up. “What?”
“Your balls.”
Before he reacted in self-defense, I kicked him in his crotch.
Brad didn’t howl. He didn’t have the breath. His face turned a sort of purple red shade, while his mouth worked soundlessly. At last, he lowered himself to his knees, clutching his family jewels with both of his hands.
I picked up the dropped deli bag and nudged Brad with my toe. “I’m not your toy anymore. I’m married to a man who can rip your balls out by the roots and feed them to you. Leave me alone, Brad. You won’t be given another warning.”
Passersby eyed Brad as he knelt by the wall, perhaps thinking he prayed to it. I have to admit that it looked exactly like what he did. I walked away, heading back to the office, while pondering my interesting lack of fear. Was that Lanokota’s doing? Or did my marriage to a dragon help me to find my innate courage and ability to fight back against Brad?
I didn’t know.
I hummed under my breath as I walked.
***
“I’m so proud of you!”
Willow embraced me the moment I finished telling both Willow and Alaric about the encounter with Brad. Alaric eyed me with new respect as he unpacked his sandwich and chips.
“Not bad,” he commented. “It wasn’t so very long ago you’d have crumpled like cheap aluminum foil.”
“I don’t know where it came from,” I admitted, unwrapping my own lunch as I sat in the office chair. “I wasn’t scared. I knew exactly what to do.”
“You’re finding yourself, dear,” Willow said. “You’ve always been strong, tough. Your strength was buried so deep you had no idea you had it.”
“I wish I had,” I murmured. “Then maybe I’d have stood up to Roxanne a long time ago.”
“And never let Brad abuse you in the first place,” Willow added. “Do you think he’ll continue to pester you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I may have made him mad enough to keep coming after me just to prove his manhood.”
“Then he’ll deal with me,” Alaric said around a mouthful of his sandwich.
“That’s a great comfort if he kills me.” I stood up with my meal in my hands. “I’ll get back to work. Bertie shouldn’t have to keep answering the phones.”
