Page 38 of Unfulfilled Promises
He took another bite of his sandwich, and I made eye contact with Wren again. The subtle nod she gave me said she was ready for whatever I came up with. I didn’t want to leave her alone with John, but I needed to snoop in the bathroom. I closed the door and made quick work of peeing before I began my search. The drawers had typical bathroom stuff inside with nothing that was useful.
Carefully, I opened the cabinet under the sink and began to push around the toilet paper when something caught my eye. In the far back corner, halfway tucked under a hole in the wall, was a rusty pair of tiny scissors. Pulling them out, they were smaller than the palm of my hand. I feared they were worthless, but I remembered someone saying something a long time ago. I never understood it until that exact moment.
Everything is a weapon if you try hard enough.
I slid them into the top pocket of my jeans and pulled my shirt down over it to hide the handle. Flushing the toilet, I turned on the water and washed my hands before opening the door and walking back into the kitchen.
Retaking my seat, I said, “Thank you.”
He grunted and scrolled on his phone as I lifted my sandwich and took another bite. It wasn’t much, but it was food, and we were going to need the energy. Wren glanced at me and then to John, giving a small look of question. I lifted my chin an inch or two and slowly lowered it to indicate I had a plan.
It wasn’t a good plan, but it was all I had, and if I let him put us back in the basement, we would be damned down there. And I wasn’t going to let him or anyone else take from me or Wren. “Can I get something to drink?”
“Jesus, you’re a needy bitch. You better be worth all this trouble. In the fridge.”
I stood, and when I passed Wren, I gave her shoulder a single squeeze before opening the fridge. Looking inside, there was a piece of chicken on a plate and beside it was a butter knife. It wasn’t deadly, but it would be painful, and that’s all the opening I needed.
Grabbing two bottles of water, I slipped the knife between the bottles and tucked them against my body. I closed the fridge and noticed John still wasn’t paying attention, scrolling on his phone instead of watching what was happening in front of him. I guess he got the message about the old me and not the Regan who was sick of assholes being assholes.
Stepping closer to Wren, I took one bottle of water, tucking the knife against the inner part of my hand where John wouldn’t see it, and handed it to her. Her eyes caught sight of the knife, and she quickly pulled the bottle into her lap.
I retook my seat and opened my bottle to take a big swallow. After another few minutes of silence, John sighed heavily and placed his phone onto the table. “Time to go back downstairs.”
Wren and I stood, and she kept the bottle pressed against her, hiding the knife in the shadows of her shirt. John started walking, and I held her back as I slipped the scissors from my pocket and gripped them facing out from my palm. Her eyes caught the small scissors, and she shook her head at me.
I locked eyes with her and nodded before I stepped up behind John. He was about to open the door to the basement when I attacked. Stabbing the tiny scissors into the back of his neck, he screamed and spun around to backhand me as he tried and failed to pull them from his skin. They were sunk about an inch into his neck, but apparently, they missed anything that would have incapacitated him.
“You fuckin’ bitch! I’m going to kill you,” he roared, and I took a defensive stance as Wren moved to the side, allowing me room to step back into the kitchen.
The more space I had, the better this would be for me. John was livid and over-punching as he advanced on me, swinging his arms but connecting with nothing. He was moving toward Wren, so I needed to focus his attention back on me. I swung, connecting with his chin and sending him onto his heels.
He grabbed his jaw and rubbed his hand across it as his eyes flared with rage. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife before, flipping a switch to send the blade shooting out the end. He spun it in his hand, getting a better grip on the handle as he advanced on me.
“Giovanni said I couldn’t kill you, but I promise you’re gonna wish I did when I’m through with you.”
“Fuck you, asshole,” I spat, and he swung the blade, catching the side of my arm and slicing deep into the skin,
I grabbed my arm as the warm, sticky blood seeped down while John came at me again. Raising my arm, I hoped I could deflect his next attack when he suddenly screamed and dropped his knife to the floor. When he spun around to grab at his back, I saw the butter knife sticking out of his shoulder and a terrified Wren hiding behind the small island in the kitchen,
“You fucking bitches,” John bellowed. “I’m going to kill you both.”
John turned to make a move on Wren, and I pushed off the floor and grabbed the blade he’d dropped between us. I was woozy but managed to get a solid grip on the handle just as John was grasping onto Wren’s blonde hair and yanking her from the floor. I wasn’t fast enough to stop the slap he gave her across the face, but as she fell and he went to kick his boot into her, I ran up, and with as much strength as I could muster, used both hands and drove the blade into his back, feeling it hit something hard, which I assumed was his spine.
I didn’t know why, but I twisted the knife in his back, and the screams he emitted before he fell silent would haunt me forever.When he fell forward, Wren wasn’t able to avoid the collision, so I grabbed her, pulling her from the floor and tucking her against my side as we watched to see if he would get back up.
His chest and back remained still, and I carefully leaned forward and pushed my fingers to his neck. Without feeling a heartbeat, I stepped back and whispered, “He’s dead.”
“What are we going to do?” she cried, and I grasped onto her, feeling lightheaded and dizzy, stumbling against her.
“Regan,” Wren gasped and pushed me into one of the chairs in the kitchen.
She saw the blood pouring from my arm and started looking around for something. I felt sick to my stomach and my head throbbed as she grabbed something from John and quickly returned to me. “This should slow the bleeding until we can get you to a doctor.”
Wren secured a leather belt around my arm, and when she cinched it tight to slow the bleeding, I yelled and slammed my hand onto the table.
“I’m sorry, but it has to be tight,” she remarked, and I looked up at her with a smile.
“I know it does. It just hurts like a bitch.” Looking at the trickle of blood, I asked, “Where did you learn that from?”
