Devil You Know(76)

“I wouldn’t exactly call her yours, either. What kind of fucked up cunt treats his missus like that, huh? You dropped as a baby or something? Mommy not pay you enough attention?”

The bastard vaults the fence, and I widen my stance in preparation.

“You think you’re some hot shit, huh?” he hollers, advancing. “Think you can take my fucking wife, and I’ll leave you alone?” He swings a fist toward my face. “Think again,” he yells.

I duck, but the wanker’s knuckles graze my cheekbone. My foot swings out as I crouch, and I tangle in his legs. He stumbles, but rights himself to take another swing. This time around I’m tuned into his moves better, and I miss the hit entirely, swinging one to his gut. He groans, doubles, and lunges forward, taking me down with a shoulder to the hip.

We crash to the ground, and the sting of ripped flesh pierces my elbows. Dylan is on me, sitting over my hips as he lays blow after blow into my head. I push back my immediate anger, the urge to retaliate with no thought or regard for what the effect will be. Instead I close my eyes, and shield my head best I can while I regroup.

He’s still battering like the crazed man he is when I reopen my eyes, and put my plan to action. A fist flies toward the right side of my face, and I dodge at the last second. He howls as he connects with the driveway, and while his hand is down, I pin it between my head, and shoulder. I tip my hips to the right, and as he falls off balance, I wrap my leg around his body.

Within seconds I have him under me, shouting for submission.

“Let me go, you fucking little punk!”

“Tell me you’ll leave Jane alone,” I demand.

“Fuck off.”

I twist his arm in the bar I have it in, and he howls in pain.

“All right.”

“All right, what?”

“I’ll leave her alone.”

“Or what?” I test him.

“How the fuck would I know, you asshole?”

He screams as my weight crushes his arm between us. I lean down to get right in the fucker’s face.

“You’ve got no idea who you’re messing with. You fucking touch her, so much as breathe the same air, and I’ll be back here with a few mates to give you the worst day of your pathetic little life.”

“Fucking look forward to it,” Dylan says as I let off. He springs up, and scowls at me. “Can’t imagine a little fucker like you could do it on your own, anyway.” He leaps the fence again, marches up the path, and turns to give me a last glare before he goes inside.

The guy’s an idiot. He’s fucking suicidal if he thinks he can get away with harassing Jane again.

I shake my head, and flex my aching neck side-to-side. Forgoing the bite to eat I had planned, I jump back in the pick-up, and reverse out the driveway with a squeal of rubber. I can always get food when I stop for gas.

Right now, I need to clear my mind.





ROCCO ROLLS in his sleep, and ends up with all four feet sticking out at awkward angles—two in my face. I rub his belly, and watch as drizzle begins to build on the glass of the French doors.

Malice left, and as much as the thought makes me cringe at my own cliché, he took my heart with him. The house is empty, and too quiet. Way too quiet. I’ve walked past the picture of him and his friends a dozen times or more, trying to convince myself that I didn’t do it simply to see his face again.

I’ve cried, I’ve yelled in anger, and I’ve sobbed at my own pathetic life. I’m twenty-seven years old, for fuck’s sake. I’m supposed to be in my prime, not here, sitting on my own, crying because I screwed yet another thing up. I have no friends, I have no husband, and as of this moment, I have no plans for the future. I don’t have a job.

Like so many times before, I’m left wondering if I need a future. Should I quit while I’m ahead? Is there any point in carrying on this charade?

My eyes drift to Rocco, sleeping soundly beside me. He’s the only thing stopping me from ending it all, from pulling the plug on this miserable fucking existence of mine. The thought that he would become a stray, a pound dog, executed because he’s not a cute puppy for somebody to take home, sickens me.

I couldn’t do that to him.

No, I am stronger. I can see how ridiculous and weak this train of thought is. Why do something as stupid as harm myself when the idea of my future should thrill me? Why am I looking back and crying over what I no longer have, when I should be looking forward and growing excited at what I could have?

It’s time to start thinking positive, to kill those negative thoughts that drag me down. I can see them for what they are; I simply need to learn how to ignore them. Maybe this would be a good discussion to have in my next counseling session?