Chapter 25 Two Fights, One Wrong
Delilah
I parked in front of the house and walked in.
He'd followed me. I knew it.
I just didn't want to admit it to myself. Admittance was the first step to fear. And fear was the first step to failure. Especially when lying.
I entered the house and found him sitting patiently on the sofa. He was calm, hands crossed over one knee. He was sitting peacefully like he was at a board meeting or waiting for a client.
He only did this when he was very angry, which was rare.
This was a different type of anger. A type that was unsafe. He sat like that for a while. And I stood at the door, watching him, unsure what came next.
“Hey, husband.” My voice was small. Quiet. Almost conceding even before I even got a chance to start.
He definitely followed me.
It was a question of whether he would actually do something about it, which was very likely. He unraveled himself at the sound of my voice, and got up swaying just that little bit.
“Where have you been?” His words slurred slightly. His eyes drifted into the distance.
He was tipsy. I could work this in my favour.
I walked closer to him, a little more confident.
“I smell alcohol. Where have you been?” I threw the question back at him. Two could play that game.
“I asked you a question. I didn't ask that question to be asked back. Where. The. Fuck, have you been?”
“I was at work. You saw me get up this morning. And I told you where I was going.”
Sometimes lying was easy. You stayed with the words until they wrote themselves into your head.
I, for one, had done it well enough that whatever I wanted to be the truth was the truth. As long as I wanted it to be.
“And whilst I was at work it looked like someone was having the time of their lives with a good amount of alcohol. Why do you reek of it though? I don't know.” I was playing an angry wife. Trying to get his mind off whatever he'd seen. And on the fact that he was tipsy. Or drunk.
Whichever came first.
I shouted then went quiet again. And he just stared at me.
I will only ask one last time. If I have to ask again, it'll come with more than just a warning.
“Where were you?” I looked down, feigning fear.
“I-I-I was at work. I promise you. Believe me.”
It doesn't take two seconds for his hand to connect to my nose. I hear a crunch of cartilage. My nose bleeds freely.
I look down at my face, the red streaks covering my sight. I scream.
I scream beyond my own voice. I scream loud and clear. He sent his hand flying again.
This time it hit me right in the side of my head. I grabbed my head, holding on. Trying to regain control, the pain searing through my skin. It promised to light my head on fire. I closed my eyes as I fell, struggling to regain composure and consciousness.
Within minutes, I was on the ground, rolling.
He kicked. Once. Behind me.
My spine reeled. My vision blurred.
And then he kicked again. And again.
He moved around and kicked me right in the gut. I grabbed my midsection. Groaning with everything in me. Everything hurt. Everything.
He bent down, falling to his knees and grabbed me by the shirt, pulling my entire form to him.
“Where the fuck were you? Are you ready to tell me now?”
Fuck.
Grayson
Nobody, absolutely nobody touched my sister.
I'd warned him before, once when he tried to almost do it, and now he’d sent her to the hospital. I'd waited for a chance to really hand it to him.
The only saving grace he had was that Delilah loved him, and now even that saving grace was whittling away quickly.
I drove to the hospital as quickly as I could, wanting to get him there so that I didn't have to look for him, so that I didn't have to do it in private, so that everybody knew what he had done to my sister.
I parked in front of the hospital easily, not caring much for what the parking space rules were, overcome with rage.
I walked into the building, asking a couple questions at reception to get a feel for where my sister would be, and then walking straight there, not looking back or to any side to see what was happening.
Nothing mattered more to me at that moment than my sister. Nothing.
I needed to see her, but first I needed to stick it to him. I needed him to see a woman next time and respect that female, whoever they were. He was in the business of disrespecting women, and it was high time he got taught the lesson of his life.
I entered the ward, walking towards her room after requesting from the department's help desk.
I opened the room door and found him sitting at her bedside, sober, eyes visible from the lack of sleep.
I walked to him, grabbing him by the shirt and punching him straight in the nose, exactly where he'd hit her.
I wanted him to feel the exact same pain she'd felt. Every last decibel.
He felt his body hit the ground like a large sack of heavy weights. I picked him up again, punching him in the face again and again and again.
He groaned repeatedly, begging, pleading that I let go of him, that he was sorry, that he didn't mean it.
Yeah, right.
He was only sorry now because there's somebody to fight for her, which was surprising because he knew that that somebody existed before he raised his hand to her, and that was part of the problem.
If I did not deal with this now in the most problematic way possible, he would do it again, and there was nothing worse than knowing that my sister was being secretly abused.
As he fell the third or fourth time– I wasn't sure which– I walked around him, kicking him in the spine.
I'd worn the right shoes for him, hard strong leather with solid soles.
He screeched in pain, feeling around for his back immediately, like I had just stabbed him with a knife.
“Please, Grayson, please, I beg you, I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be that bad. I wasn't thinking, I promise you, I'm sorry.” I picked him up again by the shirt, our eyes locking, his gleaming with tears, full of pain.
“You will listen to me and listen very well. No one, absolutely no one raises a hand to my sister. Is that clear?”
“Yes, yes, Grayson, it's clear. I'm so sorry. I won't do it again, and I'd never do it. I didn't mean it, I swear.”
I dropped him, facing my sister.
She was the only thing that mattered.