6
Knox
I pullmy car into the same spot across the street from her house that I sat in last night. Lucky for me, they haven’t closed the curtains yet. I watch her walk up the steps and slide inside slowly, closing the door behind her.
For a minute, everything seems normal. The short fat guy from this morning is nowhere to be seen, but a woman who is equally large comes into view as Aria enters. The woman sways on her feet, wobbling but never falling, with a glass in her hand and starts talking to Aria.
I can’t hear what she’s saying, but her body language and resting bitch face makes me want to go in there and tell her to shut the fuck up. I maintain my composure, though, and just watch. Wait.
Aria nods, sets her bag down, and gets to work cleaning. I watch as she moves around the house, dusting, vacuuming, the works. When she finally finishes and rolls the cord to the vacuum back on its cradle, the bitch looks at her and pours chips on the floor. She doesn’t even try to hide the elation in her face as she does it, and it pisses me off. But I still wait. Aria doesn’t seem like the type of woman to take such bullshit, but maybe I’m wrong. She plugs the cord back in, vacuums for the second time, then puts it back in its spot as she grabs the mop.
She moves around the kitchen, pushing the wet mop in front of her, completely lifeless. Even from here, I can see the gleam in her eyes has dimmed to nothing, and her shoulders slump with sadness.
After a while, a car pulling in the driveway grabs my attention. I watch as the fat guy from this morning exits the vehicle and starts around the house. I already don’t like him just because I can practically see the arrogance surrounding him, but when I flick my gaze back to Aria, I realize I really don’t like him. She perks up when he walks inside, but not in the way you see when someone is excited. No, this is fear. She turns into herself, shoots her eyes to the floor, and crosses her arms over her body.
It’s the same way people seem to look when I walk by.
I study their interactions. The fat prick seems to know she’s scared of him too because his chin stays lifted high as he spits words at her. I zero in on the movement of his mouth and try to figure out what he’s saying, but when his hands land on Aria and he throws her against the fridge, I decide I fucking hate him.
Anger rises inside me like lava in a fucking volcano as I rush out of my car and to the front door. I knock a few times, thinking they might answer, but they must be smarter than I thought. Instead of waiting another second, I raise my foot and kick the door with all my might. It flies off its hinges, the sound of splitting wood and smashing ringing out around me, then falls to the ground.
My blood reaches a new boiling point when I see the guy is now on top of Aria, pressing her face to the floor, his elbow digging into her back as he keeps his weight on her.
Something that sounds like a feral growl rips from my throat and the fucking coward he is, scurries backward, off her. With the fat guy’s attention now on me, Aria crawls away.
Seeing she’s out of his reach, I take three long strides to him. “Who the fu—”
I cut him off with my fist to his face. Normally, this would be the time I would grab my blade and just kill the pathetic piece of shit, but I want to make this slow. Drawn-out. Painful. I want to see the motherfucker bleed and hear him scream.
I hit him again, sending his body crumpling to the floor. I hunch down and straddle him, sending fist after fist into his face, stomach, and groin. How dare he touch her and think he could get away with it?
Blood splashes onto my face with every strike, and it fills me with pride. I’ve always been a hothead, but nothing like this has ever sent me over the edge. When I saw her thin, frail body on the floor, I got complete tunnel vision. Nothing else mattered. Only her and her safety. And killing the one who hurt her.
He finally stops moving, and the only sound coming from him is muffled cries, but I can’t stop until he’s dead. His face resembles smashed cherry Jell-O—red and disfigured—but he’s still breathing, and it still doesn’t stop me.
I rear my fist back again, ready to hear more bones crunching under its weight, but the sound of Aria’s sobs has me stopping in my tracks.
Fist still raised, I look to my left where she crawled and see her knees pulled to her chest. Her hands cover her face as she cries, and for the first time in my life, it makes the supernova inside me burn down to a small, flickering flame.
I drop my hand and stand from the woman beater under me, then step toward Aria. Only now do I hear the screams of Aria’s mother, begging me to leave, to let her husband live. I ignore her, drowning her annoying voice out while I focus my attention on the only person in the room who matters.
Reaching down, I scoop Aria up and hold her to my chest. Her arms come around my neck, and she leans her tear-soaked face against my shoulder. When her body is nestled against mine, I look at the woman and point at the guy on the ground. “Let him know I’ll be back to finish what I started.”
She shakes her head, her eyes filled with horror. “And you, don’t think you’re going to get off unscathed because you’re a woman. I know what you did, and you're going to pay for it just like him.”
A trickling sound draws my eyes between her legs where a wet spot is forming. She is pissing herself from fear. Good, I want her scared. I want her to suffer, but not today. Right now, all that matters is Aria. Her fucked-up parents can wait.
“Where is your bag?” I ask her before I head out. Aria points at a spot next to the door. “Are your phone and wallet in there?” When she nods, I bend over enough so she can grab the bag without me putting her down.
I exit the house as Aria’s mother screams behind me, and I cross the street to my car. Placing Aria into the passenger seat, I close the door, then round the hood and slide into the driver’s seat. For me, this is just another day. Beating someone—or even killing them—is nothing new, so it’s easy for me to just act like nothing happened. Almost.
I can still feel the rage simmering under my skin, begging to be released, but I’m more worried about Aria. She’s finally stopped sobbing and just stares out the window, a small hiccup escaping her every so often, but she doesn’t speak. She doesn’t even look at me.
When I pull up to my house, I park in the drive and wait a moment to see if she’ll speak. My house isn’t too extravagant—just a small, simple brick structure where I like to spend my free time.
“Where are we?” her voice squeaks out.
“My place.”