Page 4 of Inflame Me
I point the knife in front of me, directed toward him as I run to the other side of the room. I just have to get my mom up and out of here. It’s possible, right? No. No, it’s not possible. Shit!
He charges at me, this time at full speed. The knife in his shoulder is not slowing him down a bit, and I’m not quick enough. He grabs my arm holding the knife and presses some part of my arm that is so damn painful I have no choice except to drop the knife and hear it clatter to the tile floor.
No. No. No.
He pulls my side up against his body, and I smell the alcohol on his breath, my stomach churning from its potency. He keeps ahold of my arm while punching me twice in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me. If he weren’t holding my arm, I would have collapsed to the floor in a heap.
“You’re as stupid as she is. Let me show you how I make sure your mother knows her place in this house.”
I begin to fight and struggle out of his grasp, using my arms to hit, nails to scratch, and legs to kick. Even drunk, he’s got great reflexes and deflects all of them, putting in a couple more slaps and a kick of his own to my shin that bursts with pain.
“Stop!” my mom’s hoarse voice says from the floor as she tries to pick herself up from it, but she doesn’t make it far and collapses again.
“Fuck you, Mearna. Your daughter needs to be taught that she shouldn’t put her nose in other people’s business, let alone put a fucking knife in me.” His next punch is a doozy, knocking me hard to the tile floor as he fully lets go of me. This one was to the chest, right between my breasts, and I feel like I can’t breathe. At all.
I gasp, trying to suck in air as he leaves me on the floor, heading toward my mother.
“Guess I need to shut you up first before I fuck your daughter,” He barks at her.
With all the strength I can muster, I scan the floor, looking for the knife. It couldn’t have gone far. With James’s back to me, I hold in all the grunts of pain, being as quiet as I can. I find it on the other side of the kitchen island. Gripping it with all my might, I rise to my shaky feet, still remaining quiet, letting the anger give me strength.
“Bitch!” he yells, sending a shattering blow to my mother.
On instinct alone and as quickly as my messed up body will take me, I make my way over to his back. My brain shuts down, and all I hear is my mother’s cries. Holding the knife with both hands, I raise it high and begin to plunge it into his back. He screams in pain, and I get two more jabs in and out of his flesh before he turns around.
I step back as he lunges toward me. Then I stick the knife out, and it pierces his chest.
“You bitch.” This time, he gurgles the words.
I pull up on the knife that is inside his body with a strength I didn’t know I had in me as he falls to his knees. I keep pulling as blood coats my hands. I must have hit his heart or some major blood supply because the white tile around us instantly becomes red.
James makes one last attempt to grab my feet, but I pull the knife out of his body and jump to the side, my body screaming at me the entire time.
He falls to the floor in a loud thud while my heart pounds, and my blood stained hands shake. What did I just do?
“Tanner!” my mom says from the floor, lying there in the fetal position, snapping me out of my new discovery.
I watch James to see if his chest rises and falls, and when it doesn’t, I slowly make my way over to him.
“I’ve gotta make sure this is done,” I tell her in a blank voice that I’ve never used before. It’s as if I’m a different person, allowing her to take over my body for the moment. It’s like the me I’ve known my whole life decided to leave my body.
“Let’s just go. Let’s get out of here,” she says in haste. “I don’t want him hurting you, Tanner,” she pleads, bringing me slightly back from the fog, but not much.
“Mom, if he’s still alive, he’s going to come after us. If he’s dead …” I trail off, knowing then the cops would be after us, and it would be one giant cluster-fuck that I don’t know how to fix. First things first—keep us safe.
I walk over to James, the knife still clenched in my hand, and make my way to his face. His cold, brown eyes stare back at me, unmoving. I don’t want to touch him, but I have no choice. I put my hand under his nose to check his breathing, and nothing happens. I place two fingers on his wrist and check for a pulse, or I try to since I’ve never had to do this before and have only seen doctors and nurses do it. I move my fingers around a couple of times, but I don’t feel anything.
He’s dead. And I killed him.
AS I WIPE THE blood off of my mother, the tub turns pink. I wanted to do this in the shower, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold her up on my own for that long. My entire body aches from James’s blows, and I feel like I’m a robot doing what needs to be done then moving to the next step, whatever in the hell that is.
I wash her hair then help her out, wrapping a towel tightly around her frail body. Every part of her has some type of welt or bruise that will only get worse in the next couple of days.
I brought her back to my small apartment, wanting to get cleaned up. She protested, saying we needed to go to a hotel and do it there, but I didn’t listen. I was in too much of a fog after taking James’s life. I still am.
Mom goes into my bedroom where I help her put clothes on, careful not to hurt her even more. I need to take her to the emergency room, but I just killed a cop, a well-respected one at that. If I take her, I’ll be arrested for his murder, and I can’t risk that.
As my mother lies down, I try to figure out what in the hell I’m going to do. The rational part of me says that what I did was self-defense, but no one will believe me.
