Chapter 28th
I clawed at his approaching hand with feisty determination, yet he grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me out of the cupboard effortlessly.
I slid onto the floor, and as soon as he tried to grab me, I began writhing and screaming:
"No! HELP! SOMEBODY!!"
"Who's the show for? There's no one here!" he grabbed my arms, I pulled them free, slapped him frantically.
"HELP ME!!!"
"You know you're not going anywhere!"
He managed to grab me by the shoulders and pull me up. I tried to break free from his arms as they wrapped around me, but it was as useless as slamming against a wall. I turned back towards him and began administering a merciless series of blows – slaps, at first.
"Let me go!! Let me go, you son of a bitch!!" I covered his face, neck and chest with slaps, but that only rendered him annoyed. I'd have to seriously step up my game if I wanted to hurt him, so I closed my hands into fists.
"Don't be absurd!" he tried to grab my fists in one free hand, I pulled back as hard as I could on the other arm that held me.
"Just when I thought we were done with this part…"
He squeezed my arm, I ignored the pain, carried on pushing against it, back and forth, breaking his resistance.
"Stop it!! You don't want to fight me, Abby…" he threatened, growing impatient.
I was doing it… I was getting under his skin! I was finally inconveniencing him enough to anger him. His arms couldn't fully contain me, not when I moved so fast and so erratically, not when he had to hold me and simultaneously protect his face from my blows. I pushed back on his arm around my waist with all my weight, making him lose his balance. I almost fell back, out of his reach; but before I could touch the ground, he pulled me to him with violence. I sprung back up, using the momentum with which I was pulled to prepare a blow of my closed fist.
Like a surprise hit, it landed: I had somehow managed to punch him in the jaw, which was first evidenced by a mute thud in the air – of my bone hitting against his – and then by a growing, throbbing pain spreading around my knuckle and cutting deep into the bone – I didn't care about it though… I had struck him. Hard. I had swung his head to the side… now it turned back, his brow furrowed, his eyes not effectively wounded… just seriously annoyed.
I gasped, anticipating it, knowing, but too slow to prevent it: Chris gave me a blow to the stomach. Not the hardest he could do, I was sure of it – his arm didn't swing, it didn't travel a far distance at all… he didn't make any visible effort. Still, I bent over his fist and gasped for air, collapsing, breathless and incapacitated with the pain, over his arm. When he pulled it away, I fell to my knees, hugging myself and struggling with a suffocated cough. Chris breathed out a somewhat more relaxed sigh as he watched me from his height, finally subdued. Then, he crouched down, placed a hand on my hair in lieu of a caress, and shushed me as I recovered my breath.
"See?" he patted me. "This is what I'm talking about – what I want to avoid. I didn't spend all these days taking such good care not to scare you or rough up your feathers just to end up… brutalizing you like this."
I coughed on, incredibly sore, confused and wounded by that soft stroking down my head.
"Shhh… it's okay. Breathe in. C'mon, deep breaths…" he aided. "…and please don't try this again! You can't fight me, Abby: do the smart thing here. Look at me…"
When I didn't obey – honestly, because I wasn't done grimacing at my pain – he brushed the back of his fingers down my face, smoothing it before forcing it up by my chin, to meet his cold, assertive eyes:
"…I don't want to hurt you… But I'm not that patient either. You're just burning your chips here. Now, will I have to do this to remind you every time?
I stared at his eyes – at their cynical, emotionless attempt at remorse. And I guess for the first time… I felt anger rise amidst fear. My fear must have mimicked it – shown it, somehow: a furrowed brow, a curled-up nose, tightening lips… something about my face showed him that splinter of anger, and I saw his own expression change from deceitful kindness to an impassive, annoyed, colder stare. The muscles around his jaw tightened, as did the firmness of his fingers while they ran down my hair. They closed into a fist at the back of my head, capturing me by the root of my hair and jerking me ever so slightly, asserting his dominance.
"OUCH! NO – please!" I begged, automatically responding to pain and grabbing his securing in my desperately clawing hands.
"Why do I have this feeling that only now you're listening?" his voice, too, was raspier – the reflection of his tightening jaw.
"I Am! I am!!" I clawed on, adjusting and shifting around the floor to try and counter his painful pulling.
"You are, aren't you? Good… then listen very well…" he was angry. He was frayed. Fear was back! "You can't fight me, Abby. And you can scream all you want, too, but no one can hear you – not from here, not where I'm taking you either. Think about it reasonably: I've had plenty of time to prepare this house, to make sure nothing would get in my way. Now, I can't stop you from trying – I guess it's an instinct you're too dumb to resist in your know-it-all age… I just hope you'll eventually learn how useless it is. And the sooner you do, the better for you! You wanted to be a big girl, didn't you? Well, big girls know to do as I tell them!"
I stared into his eyes, recognizing them: their charming blue light, the coldness behind them… that had always been there, I just failed to read the intimidation they inspired me!
"So… I will ask you now. Think of it as an opportunity: you can be smart and accept it already: that you have lost. Or you can make this a painful struggle for yourself; a tiresome, but ultimately no less gratifying effort for me. What's it gonna be?"
His eyes… the way they looked into mine, the assuredness in them, the possessorship… It intimated and angered me in equal measures. With fear I recoiled, and with anger I thrashed, struggled a little more despite of myself, moved by rage alone. Truly, I only proved him right by hurting myself against his grip. Chris chuckled: I only illustrated his point.
…But I couldn't do it! Even in face of all the evidence that I couldn't fight him when he held me down as he did, I couldn't possibly concede and surrender to a lesser pain as opposite to a bigger one, like he suggested. That's not how panic works! The ultimate pain was a given – death! – and exchanging whatever was in between to make for easier days didn't seem like a bargain to me! I couldn't stop fighting – it was all I could do! And if I couldn't beat him in strength, then I'd use my smarts: strong as they were, men had that one soft spot… crouched before me as Chris was, his was an easy target. I lunged towards him, ready to punch him in the crotch.
But I guess I was too slow… maybe my intentions were too visible. Chris grabbed my wrist before I could, pulled me to him and held me there, against his chest, immobilizing my finnicky body.
"I'll pretend you were going there for something else, for your sake!" he spoke quietly, his lips near my ear "…that you're just so sorry that you can't wait to please me. Of course, I'll pretend it… and I'll expect you to come through."
"What? No…" I heaved, breathing heavily as he stood up, pulling me with him.
He didn't have to say it then. The decisiveness with which he stood, the inflexibility in his eyes, the firm grip on my arm… they all told me what was to happen. "NO!" I screamed again, stubbornly so, imbued with a fresh gush of panic. "HELP!! SOMEBODY! Let go you… filthy bastard!!" I turned to kick, to punch. Chris was really not having it – not indulging in it anymore, as if all my previous small successes had been his doing: he grabbed my arm before I could land a single blow, twisted it around my back until I was immobilized, and pushed me ahead of him.
"Let you go? Are you kidding me? After all this work? No, Abby… I it's time it finally starts paying off!" I heard the faint sound of a smile, before being pushed ahead like an escorted prisoner.