Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) (24 page)

Someone had come back for me. 

But it wasn’t Jack.

It was my father.

~3~

I didn’t have a chance to scream for Bridget before my father attacked
.  I wanted to help Bridget, tell her to jump out a window or just run by with her head down.  This wasn’t her battle and it wasn’t her place to see the finale to a war that had been raging since the day I was born. 

My father’s eyes were the same vengeful eyes they’d always been.  Ten years in prison had aged him considerably, crows feet sprouted from the heavy bags under his deathly sunken look to his eyes.  He’d seen things and experienced things that would haunt him forever.  His hairline had receded, pulling back more on the sides than the front.  His once black slick hair was now dry, thinned, and straggly.  He looked homeless, deranged, and certainly dangerous.  More dangerous than I’d ever seen him before.  When I looked at the knife in his hand I imagined it covered in blood, Jack’s blood.  I knew it wasn’t the same knife he had used to murder Jack a decade ago but it looked eerily similar.

Then again, maybe this was my way out of it all.

Give my father what he wanted.

He had killed Jack and now he could kill me.  With a knife.  Similar knives, same death, and a beautiful result.  Death could be beautiful, and I told myself that as I backed up, wanting to stop.

My father charged at me and for a split second, I was going to smile.  I was going to make him enraged and snap that last string in his mind that it would leave him no choice but to make sure the job was finished.  All I could think about in that split second was facing the darkness after death, finding the memories of Jack and I, then waiting for us to find each other.

Yes, it would work.  Jack told me so.

Even if Jack told me not to do it like that, who cared?  I’d be dead, he’d be dead, and we’d be together.  No more pain.  No more worry.  We could travel together.  Forever.  The ultimate romantic life.

Nothing could stop this...

“Tessa...”

I turned my head and saw Bridget walk from the kitchen, holding a glass of water.  Her eyes went wide as she screamed.  Her hand opened, dropping the glass.  I watched it fall in slow motion, the water pouring from it as it turned to the side.  It hit the edge of linoleum kitchen floor, shattering into pieces.  She started to scream, distracting my father enough that when he swung the knife, it hit my shoulder.

It was like a bad paper cut more than anything else.

I saw the cut, saw the blood, and then felt the pain.

My father stumbled to his left, obviously drunk.

I couldn’t die, at least right then.

If he killed me, he’d kill Bridget.  That wouldn’t be fair to Bridget, she didn’t deserve to die.  She had her life.  She had Timmy.  She had everything.  She didn’t need to be pulled into my life’s tragedy.

Shit.

My father fell to one knee, the knife, depositing a little of my blood to the floor.

“Go to my room!” I cried to Bridget.

She stood, staring at my father, shaking. 

“Bridget!”

Her head snapped up.  “Who is that?”

“My father,” I said.  “He’s going to kill us...”

She screamed again and I rushed to her, grabbing her wrist.  I had no choice but to take her to my bedroom.  It wouldn't be much protection since the doors were so thin and weak, but it was all we could do.  We both had cell phones and if I could keep Bridget safe, I'd be happy.  If there was just a way to get her out of the apartment... then I could let my father kill me... and then be with Jack.

As we moved, Bridget was like an anchor.  She looked over her shoulder, dragging her feet.  My father stood back on her feet and moved at us again.  He stepped on the bottom chunk of the glass Bridget had dropped, and it crunched to pieces.  He looked even more angry, dead set on killing me.

He was a man who had nothing.  His only power was over those who feared him.  Like Bridget and me.

I tried to almost throw Bridget into my room, but my father threw his left hand out and had a handful of Bridget's hair.  He twisted and pulled, sending her into a shrieking panic.  Her hand clamped against my forearm.  Her long nails felt like five daggers.  I screamed then and released my hold on Bridget.  She stumbled back into my father’s deadly arms.

My hand was empty, my heart aching, and my head full.  Bridget screamed and thrashed, probably her best defense.

"Not her," I called out.  "You don't want her."

My father paused at the sound of my voice, looking at me.  Our eyes met and I could only see him as the raging alcoholic, the man who saved face in front of the world but behind closed doors hated me.  He always regretted me.  And now he blamed me for all his troubles.  He had ten years to think about it, but instead all he had focused on was money he was supposed to have. 

And it was all gone.

"You," he growled and pointed the tip of the knife at me.  "You... acting like a whore... making me defend you..."

He started to shake.  Sweat collected and ran down his face.  In the cramped hall leading to my bedroom, I could smell him, a horrible stench of booze, sweat, body odor, and the desperate need to cause pain. 

Bridget had since calmed, looking like she was going to give up.  I wanted to tell her to not give up but I couldn't take my focus off my father.  I suddenly realized that something must have happened with Jack.  He left to find my father and kill him.  But my father was here and Jack wasn't.

Where was Jack?

"You're not supposed to be here," I said.  "You're going back to jail."

"Try me," my father said with a devilish look in his eyes.

He had managed to somehow find me, which meant he could possibly be on the run.  Maybe he'd find Auntie B next... if he didn't already.

The thought shook me to the core.

I started to shake and stepped towards him, wanting to do something to protect Bridget.

Bridget must have seen the look in my eyes and it gave her a sense of confidence.  The fight or flight instinct kicked in.  She twisted to the right and threw an elbow with her eyes shut.  She screamed when she connected with my father's face.  His head snapped back and his grip released, giving her enough time to come forward.  He slashed with the knife but without focus and all his sight, he hit nothing but air.  Even still, it was incredibly lucky that he didn’t stab Bridget in the back. 

She fell into my arms and this time, we managed to make it into my bedroom.

I closed the door and locked it, leaving all of a second before my father’s body crashed to the door with a thundering sound.  Prison had taken away some of his gut but what he lost there was somehow made up in muscle.  My father had become a stronger worse version of himself from ten years ago.

“Oh Bridget,” I said, “I’m so sorry.”

“How?  I thought he...”

“I don’t know.  You need to get out of here.”

“We both do.”

I shook my head.

I couldn’t leave.  I wanted Bridget to leave so I could die. 

“No, Tessa, you can’t stay here.”

“If we both leave, he’ll come after us.  Take your phone and go out the window.  Call the police and I’ll do by best.”

My father hit the door again, screaming my name...

Theresa!  Theresa! 

He wasn’t going to give up and before I could say that to Bridget, he started to stab the door.  It took a few heavy hits to the door before it started to splinter.  He’d be in the room within seconds.

“Just go,” I said.  “You have to.  To save everything.”

I couldn’t say ‘us’ because there would be no ‘us’.  Just Bridget would survive.  And that was okay. 

Bridget rushed to my window. 

“Bridget,” I said.

She turned, tears running down her cheeks.

“Call the police first, then call my aunt. Make sure...”

“Okay.  Okay, Tessa.  Please come with me.”

Another hit to the door and it started to crack more.

There was no time.

“I can’t,” I said.  “I have to face him right now.”

“I love you Tessa,” Bridget said.

“We’ll all be fine, just hurry.”

Bridget opened the window and was gone.  I went to the window and closed it, hoping that it would keep my father confused enough that he wouldn’t remember there was another woman in the apartment.  I wanted him to focus on me and nothing else.

“Open the door,” he yelled.  “I just want to talk.”

I shook, crying, wishing Jack would come to me.

He hit the door over and over, his deadly urge not backing down.  He finally cracked the thin door enough to unlock it.  The door opened slowly and everything seemed to slow.  When he saw me, realizing I was trapped in my bedroom, he smiled.  I thought about my neighbors.  Had they heard the screaming?  The commotion?  The banging?  Maybe someone had already called the police. 

Nobody had much time for anything.

“What do you want?” I asked.

I tried to compose myself but the emotions were too much to hold.

“I defended you,” my father said.  “From that scummy kid next door.  And what did I get?  Prison?  Robbed of my money... where is it, Theresa?  Tell me.  You took it, didn’t you?  You and that rich bitch you lived with.  Enjoying the high life while I rotted in jail.”

“You’re a murderer,” I said.

He came at me and I couldn’t resist as I spit at him.  It hit him in the face and it felt great.  I had been wanting to do that almost all my life. 

He growled as my spit clung to his face.  He then brought me back ten years into the past with a backhand to my face.  It hit so hard and hurt so bad, I literally spun around and fell. 

Time really had given him strength.

He leaned over me, his stench overwhelming.

My cheek throbbed and my eyes were full of tears.

“Then do it,” I said.  “Do what you need to do.”

“I should have done it a long time ago,” he said.  His voice was so full of hate and so full of honesty. 

“I hate you,” I said.  “I always hated you.  You area worthless drunk.”

My father grabbed my face, his strong fingers pinching my cheeks.  I tried to gasp but had no real air at that point. 

This was it.

My time.

“Theresa,” he said, “you shouldn’t have made me mad.  Ever.”

I watched the tip of knife go back.  It would be a few more seconds and then it would be all over.

All over.

“I love you Jack,” I said, preparing for the end of it all.

As the knife came forward and down, my father started to resist.  He hesitated and at first, he didn’t realize it.

Then he turned his head and looked confused.  He bit his lip and tried to move his arm but couldn’t.

“What the fuck?” he yelled.

He grunted and tried to move his arm but couldn’t.

Then in a quick flash Jack was there.  Literally there, standing between my father and me.  My father’s eyes were wide.  Confused.  Angry. 

“Jack...”

Jack’s hand was around my father’s arm, at the bend of his elbow.  Jack let out a cry, a terrible painful cry, and then opened his hand.  The knife came down and just like ten years ago, I watched the blade slide into Jack’s body.

I screamed, just as I did when I was thirteen.

No, it couldn’t happen like this.

Not again.

No.

The blade went in but nothing happened.  My father pulled the knife out and tried again but something different happened.

“You can’t hurt her,” Jack said.

He closed his eyes and opened his arms. 

The knife came forward again and this time it hit Jack but didn’t go inside him.  Instead it was like my father had stabbed a wall.  The knife bounced back.  The ricochet somehow turned the knife around and before my mind could comprehend it, my father had the knife inside him.  He froze and fell back, down to the floor of my bedroom.

I looked up at Jack and caught him looking down at me.

“It’s the ultimate sacrifice,” he said.  “Everything I have to protect you.”

He put his hand towards me and I reached for it.  But I couldn’t grab it.  He was there but he wasn’t, and as the seconds moved on, both my father and Jack were gone.

That’s when I closed my eyes, hearing the faint sounds of sirens.

~4~

I hated waking up in a hospital, again.
  Auntie B was next to the bed, her head back, asleep.  She wasn’t in her normal attire, all dolled up like she was looking for a hot date.  She actually looked like a big mess.

I felt fine, no wounds, no worries.