“You heave and you huff your prayers down on your knees thinking your “Goddess” hears you. You’ll bleed your last breath out, choking on your red misted spittle, your snot running bloody tracks and trails down your face and you still think you will be answered? Really?”
Another hard kick to the gut followed the chastising.
I knelt, my nose indeed running bloody, my spit tasting of a dozen copper pennies, struggling mightily against coughing until my body and my lungs seized and all I could do was puke red…for what seemed like forever…
I wiped my mouth with the back of my left hand when I realised I could, when I realized that the words wouldn’t hurt me for the moment. My right hand hadn’t moved off the floor from when I’d first fallen.That hand was my lifesaver. Fucked up thumb, pinky, scars and all. That hand was keeping me connected, grounded, and for as much as I wanted to fall, upright.
Y’gotta respect a hand like that.
To say nothing of the arm connected to it, busted once, but still holding the meat-bag attached to it as up and not full on her face as possible. Especially after the legs failed.
The meat-bag, meaning me, spit one last glob out and nailed the bitch right on her perfectly manicured foot. I watched its slow dribble down the imperfect slope, leaving a trail like a mortally wounded snail, crimson slowly fading to pink, until the teardrop of mucous, spit, and blood heavily dripdropped between the sole of her foot and the sole of her footwear.
I admit it. I kinda hoped it made the rest of her night squishy and uncomfortable. Which, honestly, is kinda odd when you think about it.
I looked up. Looked at her straight in the face…saw the smirk. The set of the jaw. The familiar eyes of gentle green overflowing, overwhelmed by the gold of anger.
And smiled, teeth rimmed red, feeling the blood trickle down the sides of my upturned grin. After all, when you finally face yourself, after all the beatings and brutalization you’ve put yourself through…?
“You don’t scare me.”