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He’s smaller than me. Weak. The type who feels strong by intimidating women. The type of disgusting piece of shit I’d happily put bullets in all day long.
Nero’s whistling gets louder––is thatsomewhere over the rainbow?––and I hear him turn the water back on as I crowd the man back into the stall.
The man opens his mouth to protest, but before he can so much as squeak, I grip his throat and squeeze, cutting off all his air.
The struggle that follows is typical. It’s the body’s natural response to being choked. But this isn’t the first time I’ve strangled a man, so it’s hardly a fair fight.
But I didn’t make it to where I am by fighting fair.
I stomp down on both his feet with mine, pinning them in place with my greater weight, hopefully crunching some of those fragile toe bones.
His hands grapple with my arm, trying to free my grip, but I just lean into him, crushing him against the sturdy stall wall with my larger size.
I put my face close to his. “If you rip my suit, I will break your neck.”
His hands switch from clawing at me, to just trying to push me away.
Useless.
The toilet flushes in the other stall, and then we listen as Nero starts up a conversation with the man ending with, “Let me get that.” And I know he’s using slight of hand to unlock the main door as he opens it.
When the door shuts, silence descends in on the bathroom.
I let go of the man’s throat as Nero uses his foot to swing the stall door open, before leaning against it.
“What’d he do?” Nero slides his hands into his pockets.
The man’s gasps turn into coughing. Loud coughing.
Nero starts whistling again to cover the sound.
“He touched my wife.”
Savannah’s back was to me when she was at the auction table, but her reaction to that man’s closeness could only mean one thing. And the way his eyes bug out when he looks up at me confirms I’m correct.
Nero’s hands slide out of their pockets, and I see he’s got a switch blade in one, the tempo of his song slowing to a sinister soundtrack.
“No killing him, remember,” I remind him.
The man tries to speak at this, but he’s still struggling to breathe properly.
If he just moved here, he might not know who we are. But he canfeelwho we are. He can feel the danger he’s in.
I make sure he can see the anger I’m feeling. “If I ever see your face again, I will cut your throat so deep your head will beat your body to the floor.”
Leaning against the wall, he nods frantically, while rubbing at his throat.
Looking like he understands.
But he doesn’t. Not yet.
“So,” I roll my neck out. “When you can use your arms again, you’re going to pack up and leave the state. Because if you don’t, I will see you. And I will kill you.”
I watch him mouth the wordarmsbefore I dart my hands out.
Grabbing his wrist in one hand, I grip behind the elbow of the same arm with my other hand. He starts to struggle, but holding tight, I forcefully jerk his elbow the wrong way, forcing it through the body’s natural resistance.
The sounds of snapping as it gives way is the perfect percussion to Nero’s tune.
