I’ve needed to smoke a bloom since I landed in this place. Without them, I get antsy, impatient. Violent. And being around Garrett has increased my need for a bloom by ten.
His head rolls, and a strained noise gets trapped in his throat as he tries shifting in his chair. I wait for him to lift his head and figure out why he’s been restrained. It takes the mind a few seconds—sometimes minutes—for previous events to register after a mild head trauma, but I have a feeling when he sees me, it’ll all come back to him rather quickly. When he spots me standing across the room with my arms folded, his glossy eyes stretch wide, and he rocks harder in the chair I tied him in.
“Glad to see you aren’t dead,” I say.
He tries screaming beneath the silver tape wrapped around his mouth. It’s the only thing I could find in this dreadful place of his. I do have to admit, though, this world of Willow’s is quite resourceful. I pulled over about fifteen minutes after taking off from her place and checked his pockets for one of those cellphones. Apparently, many people on Earth have them. I also retrieved his wallet and checked his ID, making sure he was Garrett, and what did I find? A location, which I figured was his designated address. With what I remembered from Willow’s mini tutorial in the car, I entered the address into the navigational thingy on his cellphone, and it led me here, to his home—a shabby little shithole in the wall that’s located in a terrible area, might I add. I saw men outside with their pants hanging below their asses, smoking scented sticks that smelled of chemicals. I hope Willow has never come here. It’s revolting and reminds me a lot of Ripple Hills, just with more buildings and streets.
The good thing about Garrett’s home, though, is that there’s some sort of club next door, and their music is very loud. The bass thumps through the walls, vibrating beneath my feet.
Garrett’s eyes swing to the counter behind me, and his eyes grow even wider. I look with him, at the knives neatly lined on the counter, then back at him as he moans behind the tape.
I walk up to him, gripping the top of his head with one hand and snatching the tape off with the other.
“Come on, man!” Garrett wheezes, his eyes damp. “I-It’s not like that with Willow anymore, man! I—I didn’t do anything to her!”
“You hurt her. And you just tried to kill me with your bloody car,” I mutter.
He frowns. “I—okay, yeah, I may have grabbed her a little too roughly a few times, but I can’t control myself sometimes, man. It’s just a way to keep her attention. I’ve done it to other women too, not just her. And I wasn’t trying to kill you, just scare you.”
I step back, assessing him, then turn for the counter. “Should I start with your fingers or your toes?”
“Come on, please!” he begs.
I pick up the thinnest knife. It’s nothing like my silver wire in Vakeeli that I use to slice off flesh and fingers, but it’ll do.
“The sad thing, Garrett, is that as much as I want to, I can’t kill you. You should find relief in that.” I glance over my shoulder. “Apparently there are laws here—things I can’t do to get rid of you without a whole case coming down on Willow’s head. But I can hurt you.”
“W-why? You just met her, didn’t you? Why do you wanna hurt me over her? She isn’t shit, man! All she does is get high and drunk all day, and her communication is fucking terrible. She hides literally everything about herself, she’s a shitty girlfriend, and I won’t even lie to you, she sucks bed! All she does is lay there! You’ll be bored with her in less than a week.”
I withdraw my gun and point it at the center of his forehead. “Say one more word about her and I’ll blow your fucking brains out, you ignorant piece of shit. I don’t care about the laws. Worst case scenario, I’ll take her with me, and no one will ever find her if someone is generous enough to come looking for you. You’ll be dead, and she’ll be safe.”
His bottom lip quivers. So pathetic. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken the tape off. He’s just pissing me off at this point. It’ll be hard not to kill him.
I put the gun back in my waistband. “Right. Let’s get this over with, shall we? Where’s your nearest hospital?”
“W-what?”
“Never mind. I’m sure I can find it.” I grip the handle of the knife and bring the tip of the blade to his left eyelid.
“Please,” he whimpers.
“See, where I come from, we don’t tolerate men putting their hands on women. In fact, if I hear about it, I kill the bloody bastards who do it.”
I drag the blade of the knife across his eyelid, and he rocks in the chair with a loud cry. It takes everything in me not to jam the damn thing into his eye socket. Instead, I take the knife away and grip him by the shoulder, coming face to face with him.
“Oi. Look at me.” Tears leak down his face, mixing with blood from the fresh cut. When he doesn’t look at me, I slap him once, twice, demanding his attention. “LOOK. AT. ME.”
He opens his right eye, and when he does, I take the knife and stab it into the meaty flesh of his thigh. His wail pierces the room, and fortunately for me, the club music drowns it out.
“Repeat these words,” I command.
“Please…stop,” he cries. “Please. I’m sorry, man!”
I press down on the knife, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, holding back another set of tears.
“I will never…”
Garrett drops his head. “I…will…never…” he repeats.
“Put my hands…”
“Put…my h-hands.”
“On another woman again.”
“On a-another woman…again.”
“Especially not Willow Austin.”
“E-especially not…Willow.”
“WILLOW AUSTIN!” I shout in his face. “Say her name!”
He flinches. “Especially not Willow Austin!”
“Good on you.” I rise, turning for the counter and picking up a bigger knife. It glints in the dim light above as I weigh it in my hands. Not Vakeeli steel, but good enough. “Now be still. This won’t take long.”
