Page 90 of Existential
Her chest heaves with each stolen breath, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. But she’s not upset, not sad; she’s angry, frustrated, and looking to place that hate somewhere convenient and close.
I’ve seen this look before, many a time. Only it was on a man’s face: my father’s. Shit’s going south, fast. I step sideways, ready to bolt, but she pre-empts my move and cuts me off, effectively boxing me in the dead end between the kitchen and dining room.
“Heather,” Beth warns. “Perhaps you need to go talk about this with Digits.”
“No,” she snaps. “None of this would have happened if he hadn’t brought this whore back here.”
“Excuse me?” I scoff. Who’s the whore?
“You heard me, bitch. We had it good until you turned up. I was goin’ to be his old lady.”
“You know that’s not true.” Beth steps between us. “You know he has no intention of doing that.”
“He will.” Heather visibly shakes, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “You’ll see. He loves me.” The girl’s lost it. Completely cuckoo. A whole fucking basket short of a picnic. “He’s just blinded with her around.” Her lips peel back in a snarl as she points her bony finger around Beth at me.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I exclaim. “I’ve told him I’m not interested. I made it clear.” Jesus. He’s been messing with her, too. Why the hell did I think I’d be the first one he tried emotional blackmail on?
“He wants kids,” Heather snaps. “You know that? He’s told me I’d make a great momma.”
This is way worse than anyone realizes. I flick my wide-eyed gaze to Beth. She stares back at me and shrugs. What do we do?
“I thought he was playin’ around on me.” Heather laughs sadly. “But he promised, he told me I’m the only one. He told me how pretty I am, how he loves how small I am.”
He’s the cause of her frail size? Oh, no way. Beth seems just as surprised by the revelation.
“Yeah.” Heather mistakes our shock as something other. “He buys me these clothes. That’s how much he loves me” She picks at the edge of her shorts that I’m pretty sure could be found in the kids department. “Says if I stay small enough to fit them I’ve always got a place in his bed.”
“You realize what he’s doing?” I ask softly.
“He loves me,” she reiterates. “He just wants me to look my best.”
“No.” I shake my head. “He’s controlling you, Heather. Can’t you see it?”
Her head whips left and right, her gaze flicking between us. “No. No way. You’re lying!”
“Why would I lie?”
“Because you’re trying to break us up. You’re makin’ a move you filthy fucking slut.” She launches forward, hands outstretched.
Beth manages to hit Heather in the shoulder, sending her spinning, but the madwoman regains her balance and lunges around Beth to lock onto me by the throat. I grasp at her wrists, prying her off, but she raises a knee and catches me in the stomach before I can fully comprehend the level of insanity I’m dealing with here.
“Get off her,” Beth yells, tugging at Heather.
A sharp crack sounds as Heather whips an elbow around, and Beth stumbles back, her hands covering a bloody nose.
“You crazy fuckin’ two-bit hooker!”
“You’ll never have him,” Heather screams, still not getting the fact I’m not interested in Digits in the slightest. “You hear me?”
I try to speak, but my words come out garbled through her tightened grip. White spots mar my vision as she shakes me back and forth, and I flail madly in the hopes I connect with something. Only problem is, the waif is a slim target and most of my hits go unanswered.
Certain I’m going to blackout if I don’t get oxygen, I do the only thing I haven’t tried: pushing into the fight. Instead of trying to pull away, trying to escape, I delve deeper into the ruckus by launching my head up and towards her. Our foreheads connect, and it’s enough to startle her into loosening her grip.
Free, and able to breathe, I manage to choke out a single word to Beth. “Hooch.”
She sprints toward the front of the house, hollering at anyone who’s available to come help. But not just anyone will understand—I need Hooch to see this. I need him to realize that the problem with Digits isn’t going to die a natural death.
Murphy is first on the scene, arriving in the exact moment Heather recovers enough to swing a wild right hook at my head. I duck, and her knuckles connect with the hardwood flooring. She cries out in pain, cursing as Murphy grapples her from behind, restricting her arms to her sides.