Page 38 of Tainted Wings of Failure

"That's all you got?" he grunts, turning to look at me. "Come on, pussy, you're mad at me, let it out." My breath quickens, and with each sharp gasp, it fuels the fire that is raging inside me. The pain is relentless, a throbbing, stabbing sensation that doesn't let up for a second, but I push through it. Raising my fist again, I aim for Kyle's jaw once more. His head whips around yet again. "Yes!" he groans. "That was much better!"

Still holding my right hand, Kyle yanks the knife from my grasp, shoves me away, and flings it across the room before getting off the bed and stalking toward me. "More! Come on!" Kyle yells. We meet halfway and for the first time, Kyle attacks as well, ramming his shoulder into my stomach and slamming me into the wall, knocking the air out of my lungs with a low groan.

I slip a leg between his and wrap mine around his, pushing into the back of his knee and his body gives in. Throwing my weight on him, I tackle him to the ground, straddling his chest and wrapping my fingers around his throat, feeling his pulse under my fingers as I squeeze shut.

"Good," Kyle chokes out. "That's the Noah I know, the one Evelyn knows." His face reddens, the veins in his temple throb. "If you're not strong enough, your Little Dove will leave your sorry, disfigured ass." His comment only feeds the anger that rages inside me.

"Leave her out of this!" Squeezing harder, I let out a low growl, the sound echoing in my throat. It feels good—so good—to let the storm inside me take over.

Lost in the daze, Kyle throws his arms around me, his hands landing on the back of my head and slamming it forward, meeting me halfway. I squeeze my eye shut and groan in pain as our heads collide in a brutal blast.

"Stop!" A shrill scream, followed by the thunderous explosion of a gunshot and the shattering glass of the lamp on the nightstand, echoes through the room, stopping us. Our hands slip from each other as we break apart and turn toward the source of the scream, only to find Evelyn standing in the doorway with a steaming gun pointed at both of us. "Whatever you two are doing, stop this bullshit and go back to bed."

Kyle and I sit next to each other on the floor, our hands raised in surrender as she alternates between aiming at both of us. God, she looks so damn beautiful standing there in her short, white satin nightgown that highlights the curves of her body. The gun in her hand adds a dangerous flavor to her otherwise soft appearance that leaves me completely spellbound.

"Noah Philip Holman, get up and go back to our room." Her words snap me out of my trance, and I shake my head to clear my mind. "Kyle Bennett, get back in bed," she orders and we both move without saying a word. We rise to our feet and I turn to face Kyle, who looks at me with a grin. I offer him a quick apologetic smile before I follow Evelyn's orders and walk past her, out of the room and back to our bedroom.

Close behind me, Evelyn slams the door shut with a loud thunderous thud. "What the hell was that?"

"I tried to kill Kyle," I say, sitting down on the edge of my side of the bed. Something warm trickles down my nose, followed by the unmistakable taste of blood seeping into my mouth. I tilt my head forward and raise my hand to wipe it off. The back of it turns bright red and I grimace at the sight.

"Are you out of your mind?" she asks, throwing the pistol on the bed before walking to me, cupping my cheeks in her hands and examining my face.

"Did you just notice this now?" I quirk my eyebrows at her.

"You're not funny." I wince as her hand lands on my cheek in the form of a light slap before grabbing some tissues from my nightstand and starts to wipe my nose. I sniff and flinch as the motion triggers a dull pain deep in my nostrils. "Hold still," she says, her voice soft but firm. The pain in my nose intensifies for a moment as she wipes away the dried blood, and I clench my jaw to keep from flinching again. "Your face looks okay, no blood is seeping through the band-aid covering your stitches, so your eye socket should be all right. You may end up with a bruise tomorrow, but nothing seems to be broken again." She sighs and lets go of me, tossing the blood-stained tissues into the small trash can beside my nightstand.

Then she takes my left hand in hers and examines my fingers. Her brows are furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line as she tests each finger individually, carefully curling and then stretching them. A dull pain shoots up my arm, but it's bearable, not as bad as the initial punch. "Your hand is fine too,” she says. "You should sleep, rest and recover. Kyle told me you would try, but for God's sake, give yourself time." She lets go of my hand and crosses her arms in front of her chest, her eyes narrowed as she looks at me.

I lower my head, feeling the weight of guilt pressing down on me. "I know," I mutter, not meeting her gaze. "Let's just go back to sleep," I say, then scoot back onto the bed.

She remains silent for a moment, standing there with her eyes boring into me. She tries to hide her anger, but the deep lines on her forehead give her away. "Alright." She lets out another sigh and climbs back into bed. The mattress dips under her weight as she puts the pistol back in the drawer of her nightstand before slipping under the covers with me and wrapping her arms around me.

"Just…please take it easy, no more fighting tonight, promise?"

"Yeah," I nod, offering her a weak smile.

And then, just a few minutes after her head hits the pillow, her breathing evens out and she drifts back to sleep.

Chapter 24

Noah

My eye is glued to the screen of the TV in our bedroom, which hangs above our fireplace. It is still on, playing one of my many bird documentaries. The melodic songs of birds are one of the few things that keep me calm and prevent my brain from spiraling into a state of panic. They are on all the time, buzzing in the background, sometimes interrupted by the occasional movie or TV show to provide a constant noise throughout the house.

I take my attention off the screen and tilt my head to my left, where Evelyn is lying on her side, facing me, asleep, hugging her fluffy pink blanket that peeps out from under the covers close to her chest.

My heart skips a painful beat at the sight of her beautiful face, so pure, so soft, not a single imperfection in sight. Her features are relaxed, her mouth slightly open, and a quiet whistle escapes her lips with each breath. I lift my hand and brush one of the loose brown strands of her curtain bangs out of her face before running my thumb across her rosy cheek, her skin soft against my rough fingertips. A small smile curls on her lips, and she squirms in her sleep but doesn't wake up.

She is so beautiful and I—I have turned into a monster. In the calm after the raging storm of my attempt to kill Kyle, his words echo through my mind: If you're not strong enough, your Little Dove will leave your sorry, disfigured ass.

Pulling my hand back, I take a deep, shaky breath and roll over to the edge of the bed. I push away the blanket and get up, making my way to our bathroom. I stop in front of the large mirror, planting my hands on the counter to balance my weight as I stare at my own reflection looking back at me. My stomach twists into a tight knot at the sight of my face and the band-aids covering my eye and ear. Without hesitation, I reach up and pick at the sticky edges and peel off the protective cover, revealing my sutured eye socket and missing ear.

My remaining eye stings at the sight, and I swallow the lump crawling up my throat, suppressing the raging emotions that well up inside me. I shouldn't be here. I should be dead. I should be in hell, where all the souls I killed are waiting for me, waiting for their revenge.

My mind has been clouded by the same depressing thoughts that have been haunting me since the first time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I’d like to believe that I never cared about my looks that much. Sure, I made sure I shaved, went to the barber on a regular basis, and wore good clothes to look well put together. Yes, I hid my scars, but not because I'm ashamed of them, more because society isn't used to seeing all those marks on a single human and I prefer to blend in. But this new addition is too much even for me. I won't be able to fit in; instead, I will stand out.

My heartbeat quickens and I clutch the edge of the counter as the room spins in circles all around me. Breathing becomes increasingly difficult as I gasp for air and spiral into a state of hyperventilation. Nausea creeps from my stomach up my throat, the taste of bile fills my mouth, and I hunch over as the contents of my stomach force their way out and splash into the sink.

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