Page 110 of Xavier

I turn toward him, square on. I want him to hear every word I’m about to say. “I’m talking about Malynda. I’m talking about you trying to rape her. And I’m talking about how I’m not going to let that happen to any of your students ever again.”

His face is instantly white.

Yes, you motherfucker. Be scared.

I roll up the sleeves of my shirt, slowly, meticulously, up one arm and then the other, feeling his breath grow shallow as he watches and listens.

“Malynda was an eighteen-year-old girl. All she wanted to do was dance and create beauty. She was a light in the world, and because you couldn’t just go home and tug on your own cock one night, you stamped out that light. And despite everything, she managed to make something of her life, and now, now you think you can come back and take it all away from her again? No, not if I have anything to do with it.”

I walk toward him, and he reacts to each of my steps by stumbling one step backwards.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t… I haven’t seen her since that night,” he stutters.

“You’re not ever going to see her again. This ends here.”

I push off from my back leg and lunge toward him. He turns and runs toward the back wall, lined by mirrors. I reach him in three steps, grabbing the back of his wife-beater and pushing him hard against the barre. He braces with his arms, but I'm on him, slamming my body against his, crushing him against the hard-wooden rail.

“Ahhhh,” he grunts, winded.

"Does that feel good, you fuck?" I yell, pushing his face hard against the mirror until it's almost disfigured. "How's it feel to know you can't do anything to get away?"

He struggles under me; he’s strong, but I’m stronger. I press harder against the side of his head, watching his breath fog up the mirror against his face.

Kicking back with his leg, I jump out of reach, letting him go. He takes the chance to tear himself off the mirror and runs toward the middle of the room.

I charge toward him, giving him no time to recover. I swing my fist and it connects with his face. I revel in the crunch of my knuckles against his cheekbone, his whole body feeling the impact as he stumbles to stay upright. I sweep a foot under his leg and he crumples to the ground. I stamp a foot down on his back and he cries out in pain, but I can barely hear it.

All I see is red.

Like a crazed bull charging for the moving cape. All I want is to destroy it.

“You complete and utter piece of shit,” I say, as I deliver another kick to the side of his body, ignoring the hands coming up to shield himself. “What made you think you could put your hands on her, and get away with it?”

“I’m sorry! I… I haven’t! Please! Stop!” he whimpers as I drop to the ground, turning him over to look at his pathetic face.

“Oh, yes. You are going to be very sorry.” I say, slamming my fist down on his face, feeling the skin tear on his mouth as well as my knuckles.

It just urges me on.

I want his pain.

I want to hear him beg.

As if every time he cries, it will erase one of hers. And I’ll keep hurting him until there’s nothing left of him to give, and she can be reborn.

“Stop! Please!” He pleads, the sound gurgling in his chest.

I stand up and pull him to his feet, staring him dead in the eye, ignoring the streak of red across his mouth.

Dragging him by his arm, I slam him against the wall. He sways once and then I push him against it again, so he can stare into his own pupils in the mirror.

“Did you stop when she begged you to?” I snarl against his neck, so he can hear every single word.

“N-n-no.”

“Then what the fuck makes you think I should?” I say, pulling his head back by the hair and then slamming it up against the glass.

It shatters and he falls to the ground, body limp, eyes closed.