My thirteen-year-old fist connected with Michael’s drunk dad’s jaw. I wasn’t sure if it was the force and anger behind my fist that had knocked his dad backward, or if it was the shock of it all. His dad toppled over their wooden coffee table.
I’d absolutely had it with this piece of shit. I’d learned today that Michael was being sexually abused by his father and it had been going on for years. Instead of going to my parents for help, I took matters into my own hands. When I came back into the living room from the bathroom, I saw it with my own eyes.
And I was ready to kill the fucking asshole.
His dad rolled off the coffee table, knocking things over and causing books and a vase to fall onto the floor. I straddled his abdomen and relentlessly started punching him. I became uncontrollable in my fury the more I punched and struck him. Seeing him hurt gave me courage to keep going. With all the adrenaline in the world pumping through my fists, I felt no pain.
I grabbed hold of his ear and what little hair he had left and slammed his head against the corner of the coffee table.
Over.
And over.
And over.
When his body was still and lifeless, then I got off him. Justice had been served.
I woke with a jolt and a tingle in my right hand. I looked up and saw Jensen was looking up at me. He held out a small package of Oreos toward me.
“You were making noise in your sleep,” he said.
“It was just a dream,” I replied.
He shook the cookie bag at me.
“Want one?”
I nodded and took one from the bag, noticing that I still needed to clean up.
“Was it a good dream?” he asked.
“Yes, it was a very good one,” I said.
Too bad it was just a dream.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
Sawyer
Istood from my seat and glanced down at Taylor. I held up my hands that were still dirty and gestured with my head toward the bedroom at the back of the jet.
“I’m going to go clean up. I’ll be back in a few,” I said. She nodded and went back to looking at her cell phone.
As I walked through the bedroom on my way to the bathroom, I pulled off my sweatshirt and the white t-shirt I had on under it. For the most part, the undershirt was clean, but it had some spots of blood that had seeped through the sweatshirt. I set the sweatshirt and t-shirt on the bathroom counter and flipped the faucet on. I bent over and rested my forearms on the counter and put my hands under the cool water. My eyes assessed the damage to my hands from the two cowards I’d killed.
I had a number of cuts on the backs of my hands, on a few fingers, and on my right forearm. But my injuries were completely mild compared to what I did to them. The cool water felt soothing on my hands, so I allowed my mind to wander a bit. I turned my wrists over and let the water cascade around my palms as I stared at the lines on my hands. I smirked as I moved my fingers under the water.
Yeah, I definitely ended up better than those fuckers. Still had all my fingers, limbs, and my life.
“You know, soap would probably help.” I turned my head to the doorway and smiled when I saw Taylor leaning against the doorjamb. I nodded and stood upright.
“Ah, yeah, soap. I knew I was forgetting something,” I said, pretending that the soap had totally escaped me. Taylor stepped into the bathroom as I put my hand under the soap pump and squirted some into my palm. I lathered my hands together and then ran them under the water. “I’m so glad you told me about this soap stuff,” I said sarcastically.
I looked at her in the mirror, and she rolled her eyes and sighed. Taylor stepped into the bathroom and picked up a washcloth from the corner of the counter.
“Move your hands and I’ll help you,” she said as she stepped closer to me with the washcloth in her hand.
I kept my hands in the sink but moved them out from under the spray of water.
