Page 146 of Unlock My Heart

“You don’t have to understand. But I bet your body will. Where’s the harm in letting it out?”

Swallowing that annoying lump, I walk the length of the table, examining my options. Guns. Knives. Blow torches. Baseball bats. “Is that a flamethrower?” I pause at the intimidating-looking piece of equipment.

“All I ask is you not burn down the warehouse, and if you use a gun, we both put on ear protection,” Fabien answers, shrugging out of his jacket before he grabs a pair of brass knuckles. I’m about to ask what he’s doing, and that’s when I see the training dummy with a picture of his father’s face. Fabien throws a punch, knocking the head off, and it skitters across the floor.

“Hey, wait for me,” I grumble, choosing a baseball bat. I march to the dummy next to the now headless one, where a picture of Fabien’s mother is pinned to the face. “Judgmental bitch,” I spit, swinging the bat with all my might. It connects with the dummy’s stomach, and I scream as I swing over and over, until my arms are the ones screaming.

“That’s my girl.” Fabien laughs, his ice pick now in his hand as he stabs it through the headless dummy’s thigh.

With a sort of punch-drunk delirium, I take a tour through my own personal house of horrors. My mom. My dad. The bishop from my old church. But what gets my feet to halt is Michele.

A manic laugh propels me to the weapons table, where I select a scalpel. Returning to my darling former husband’s side, I tell him, “How’s this for a penis enhancement?” The blade is jammed between the dummy’s legs, and I grit my teeth as I twist, leaving it embedded.

Nic is next on my hit list, and I grab a hammer, returning to his dummy. “Things alright at home?” I ask in a patronizing tone, whacking him in the face.

Sprinting to the table, I select a gun, calling to Fabien, who’s unleashing his fist on his brother’s dummy. “Ear protection!”

He pauses the assault, hustling over and grabbing a smaller pair of headphones, placing them gently over my ear. His knuckles are busted, and I grab his hand, stemming the blood with the hem of my T-shirt.

Crimson bleeds through the white as we both watch, something unspoken and heavy passing between us. “Finish it,” he mouths, removing his hand as he goes to swipe a pair of headphones for himself, placing them over his ears.

Not ready to face my biggest demon, I march over to the dummy next to Angelo. Aiming the gun at Maks’ head, my hand is a bit shaky; I’ve never used a firearm before.

Fabien’s behind me, now holding my arm steady as he adjusts my aim. “The trigger is heavy,” he shouts. “Pull back with your index finger until you feel the click.”

Doing as he instructs, my heart’s pounding in my ears. There’s a click as I’m knocked back into his strong body. A chunk of the dummy’s head flies off, and I giggle.

“Perfect shot,” Fabien shouts, taking the gun from my hand and assessing the carnage. He removes his headphones, placing them over his shoulders, and I do the same for mine.

His eyes shift to the untouched part of the warehouse, to an untouched Ringer.

“Is he my kill, or yours?” Fabien’s voice is nothing but a violent whisper.

“Mine,” I say, steeling my spine with determination as I march to the weapons table. But none of these weapons feel right.

Fabien’s by my side, and as if he can read my mind, he extends his ice pick, handle side out. “I don’t need to mansplain to you how to slit a throat.”

Unable to decide if I need to laugh or cry, my body decides to do both as I accept my husband’s favorite weapon.

It feels like I’m floating as I cross the room, now face-to-face with my rapist. Well, as close to face-to-face as I can be with this already dead man. “I lived my life believing that you broke me. But that was a lie. I’m alive, and you’re six feet under. So who’s really broken?” A guttural cry I realize is coming from me reverberates the otherwise silent warehouse as I stab the dummy in the jugular. The material’s too tough to actually slit the throat; the ice pick becomes lodged there. But all the fight’s gone out of me, anyway; I fall to the floor and sob.

Before I know what’s happening, I’m in Fabien’s arms, and I’m being shuffled over his shoulder as he climbs into the dumpster with me. Positioning me like a rag doll, he slides down to his ass, taking me with him in his lap.

I splinter, coming completely undone. Alternating between tears and wailing, until my voice is hoarse, my eyes dry.

Fabien silently holds me as I thrash, but eventually, I give up the fight and collapse into his arms.

Cold metal is now in my hand, and I open my exhausted eyes to find Fabien’s ice pick. He moves my hand to his jugular, keeping the blade on his thudding pulse point. “You have your reasons. Saint will clean up the scene. Nobody will miss a ex-con like me, so you don’t have to worry about law enforcement. Take your revenge, the final piece,” he encourages me.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Despite being soul-level exhausted, my voice still has an edge of attitude.

He smiles, retrieving his weapon from my fingers and pocketing it.

I’m unsure how long we sit in that dumpster, but eventually I announce, “I’m ready.”

Fabien scoops me into his arms and rises with me, and he somehow manages to climb out, still holding me safely in his arms.

You’re safe with me.