Page 49 of In a Haze

It’s fury.

My God, it’s been there all along, but it’s been buried, hidden from me. It’s this reserve of anger that’s been building inside—not just toward this woman, but all of it. And as Bobbi sneers, dropping her toothbrush, I just let it continue growing like a monster in my chest. She grabs my jaw and mashes her nose into mine. “Joe says you’re his, but he can’t fucking protect you, princess. Neither can that senator husband of yours. In here, you’re mine.” I think for a second that she’s going to kiss me but she doesn’t. Instead, she grabs the waistband of my sweatpants and pulls them down with one hand while the other slams me backward against the sink.

As I start to yell in pain, she clamps a hand over my mouth. My sweatpants are clinging to my thighs, exposing my womanhood, as she grabs my arm, bruising it again with her roughness.

But that’s when the volcano inside me erupts.

“Get your fucking hands off me, you filthy bitch.” I push her away, shoving her a few feet across the room. At first, she loses her footing, but she quickly regains it. My arm hurts from the way her fingers tore at my flesh and my back is still screaming, but she’s at least a little off her game.

“Ah, you have some fight in you, eh, Anna? I think this might be a little fun.”

“Yeah, come and get it.”

Isaidthat?

Before I can even compute, my fists are in the air—but I’m not waiting for her. I’m charging at her like a bull out of the gate.

Now she’s ready, though, and her knuckles connect with my jaw, making me almost fly backwards. Holy crap, that hurts like crazy, and there’s a flash of white light behind my closed eyelids. I’m down and I’m vulnerable now, and she’s coming at me like a tiger, so I know this is it. If she pins me, she’s going to be raping me with her fist. Somehow, I just know this—and I refuse to let it happen. No longer am I drugged and hazy, unable to defend myself.

I am strong. And I am fucking furious. I’m awake and I’m alive and as long as I am, she’s not going to hurt me anymore.

I jump up, more quickly than I would have thought I could have, my fists at the ready again by the time she’s there. This time, when she swings, I block it with my arm, and then I unleash the fury. My right fist connects with her jaw just before my left one follows it. She’s still standing, swinging back, but something has clicked in my head. It’s automatic now the way I am avoiding her fists and connecting with mine.

I actually have to move forward to punch her again.

Oh, the blood. There’s blood coming out of her nose.

But I can’t stop myself. Another fist connects, and this time her cheek looks bloody. Whether it’s from her nose or another gash, I can’t tell. And I keep it up until she falls backwards, hitting her head on the tiled step to the shower.

I’m standing there, fists at the ready, air rapidly moving in and out of my nostrils, my lips pursed, my teeth grinding.

For a second, I realize that now my knuckles also hurt and they’re covered in blood.

She’s not getting up.

Then panic sets in. Did I kill her? Or, rather, did she die from hitting the step too hard? Swallowing, I also realize this could be a ruse. She might be faking it to gain the upper hand. So I stand there longer and then bend over, keeping myself out of her arm’s reach. As I continue to stare at her, I see her chest moving up and down ever so slightly.

Meaning, instead, that this was a knockout.

And I better get the hell out of here.

I go back to the sink and marvel at how the water turns pink as I wash her blood off my hands. But, scrubbing the knuckles, I see that some of it might be mine. My hands show signs of the scuffle, so I dry them off quickly and get the hell out of there. Just as I walk out the doorway, here comes the guard.

Good thing I have my hands folded behind my back.

“Let’s get you back to bed, Clawson. You’re not gonna be bugging me the rest of the night, are you?”

“No, sir.” Not unless he hunts me down later outside my room.

18

How the hell do boxers and fighters do it? Now I realize why they wear gloves and wrap their fists, because my knuckles have been throbbing.

Of course, so is my arm where Bobbi grabbed it and where my back connected with the sink. But all of the pain from those injuries is finally starting to subside a little.

I really can’t judge how much time has passed, but the concept of seconds, minutes, hours, and days has finally started to come back to me—and I suspect it’s been at least an hour. That also tells me that either someone hasn’t found Bobbi yet or she’s awakened and slunk back to her hole on her own. Either way, I’m beginning to think I’m in the clear.

And even if not, it was self-defense. Not the way Joe used that as a courtroom plea but truly defending myself. Had I not, she would have harmed me more than she already had. I know now that she’s done some unspeakable things to me in the past but I’m fortunate enough to not recall the actual incidents.

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