I stepped out, unable to fight the feeling that I should help him, as he dropped to the floor, his ability to breathe, gone.
I took a singlestep. The devil down the hall didn't notice me. A bloody smile took over his face, making him appear uglier than usual as he stared at his struggling son.
Hell sat up, rising like he was the son of the devil, because, he really fucking was.
Ville spoke quiet words. I couldn't hear them, but Hell's stance changed as they stood face to face. He became a shadow, following his father into the bedroom.
Dread's heavy hands wrapped around me. They pulled me forward. A silent request to Hell fell from my tongue.
But he didn't sense it.
It took me some time to make it down the hallway. I stopped at Nessie's door. It was closed; she wouldn't like that.
My fingers reached for the doorknob, but paused, hearing muffled sounds from the inside.
Fearing it was Wynter, I continued to hobble down the hallway, clutching my towel at my breasts. I stopped outside the room belonging to Woodrow's parents. I didn't have the courage to press my ear to the door, just in case it opened. I shuffled painfully into Woodrow's room and opted to forage his drawers for the clothes he'd promised me earlier. I'd slipped from the shower without grabbing his t-shirt when fear guided me down the corridor. I found a clean top and a pair of sweats that were now as baggy on me, as they were on him.
I shimmied to the bed, sitting before realizing I should have grabbed a pair of socks for my cold feet.
Voices went to war across the hall. The closed door did nothing to muffle the aggression each one possessed.
Three different mouths all screamed over one another, preventing me from hearing the details of a conversation I’d be grateful not to hear.
I jumped from the bed to the sound of something smashing across the hall. Ville was screaming. Each word leaving his mouth was laced in equal amounts of anger and pain.
Wynter was no longer screaming. Herwhiny voice had been suddenly cut off.
My shambling feet moved, my senses following behind, fully on alert. I loitered in the doorway after opening it wide. My hands clutched the wooden frame, fear holding me back from taking the final step that would put me in the hallway.
My stomach cramped, and my hand instantly shifted from the wood, nursing nothing but my pain. I looked down. A drizzle of blood slowly moved down my leg, but the pants covering my legs hid the painful sight.
The stain got lost in the dirty carpet, finally clawing its way from my foot. I pushed myself forward, not taking a glance back to the memories that haunted the room.
My toes struggled, my weight too heavy for my body's poor condition. I hobbled to the stairs, walking backwards to keep my eyes on the door. I froze, grateful to the banister for its support.
The closed door was yanked open, pulling too deep a breath from my lungs. Hell let go of the knob as it swung into the wall, denting the plaster.
I took a step back, the drop from the top step causing me to wobble.
I regained some purchase, watching as Hell and his violent temper spilled from his parent's room. His father was on his back, literally, causing a strain his legs barely handled.
I trudged towards him. Only a single step closer, when he flipped Ville from his back.
I stopped dead, anger and dread swirling in my stomach as I looked at the mass of evil writhing on the ground.
His stained wife-beater was tucked into his shorts, the baggy kind, still tight around his hairy legs.
He loomed to his feet, and it sent me back a step. He grabbed onto Hell, squeezing at his throat as he grappled to get him to the floor. . . but Hell, like a demon from his namesake, wouldn't stay down.
Ville was screaming. His fury over his injured wife came out in loud words and violent punches.
The first was blocked. Hell's skinny arm turned red as he blocked the impact. The second hit was blocked, too, caught in his big palm before it ruined his nose. The third hit came quickly, catching him offguard as it blasted the side of his temple. His head hit his doorframe, his other temple bruising as he went down.
The hard floor held him in place as Ville drove his yellowing toenails into Hell's stomach. I jumped, but Hell didn't make a sound. No evidence of pain lay on his blank expression. Another kick knocked him back. Ville's thick and sharp toenails punctured his skin, creating a gash down his cheekbone that would scar. I stepped forward again, wanting to help but not sure how to.
I knew Hell would choose me. Save me. So, I used myself as bait, taunting Ville with each step.
His big bug eyes moved to me for only a second. A second that had Hell thrusting him into the wall, the force so hard, they almost fell through. Hell delivered punch after punch to Ville's face. Bruises multiplied beneath his knuckles as Ville's greasy skin broke open.
