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The gate is open when I get there and I launch myself up the stairs two, and sometimes three, at a time, almost falling all the way back down when my shin knocks up against the highest step.
"No!" the voice screams. It's definitely her.
God.
At the top of the stairs, I run down the short hallway and into the room at the end.
"Clarissa!" I shout, my heart beating about ten times its normal speed.
They don't hear me; Patrick just keeps his body crushing Clarissa's against the broken couch. One of his hands grips her wrist to the side of her body, and the other is raised.
And then, as if in slow motion, his hand slaps across her face. Her whole head snaps to the side. Sickening.
He raises his hand again, and this time, I move in time.
I run over and reach for Patrick's shoulders and yank him back. "Get the fuck off her!"
He falls backward, stumbling, crushing Clarissa's legs into the couch, and grunts trying to fight me off. Gripping his shoulders again, I drag him off the bed, off Clarissa, and onto the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sit up, touching the side of her face, gasping.
Grabbing his shirt collar, I pull him to his feet and shove him against the wall. "What the fuck do you think were you doing, you fucking bastard?" I shout, the blood screeching through my whole body.
Gritting my teeth, I rush at Patrick, ramming my shoulder into his solar plexus. His lungs empty of air as he grunts and chokes at the same time, and he falls on the floor again, clutching at his chest.
A red haze clouds my vision and I see nothing in my mind's eye but blood.
Fiery, furious.
I know I should pull back.
I know myself better than to give into this.
Nothing good can come out of it.
But I can't.
I can't pull back.
This shit of a human just raised his hand to a woman. He doesn't deserve me to hold back. He deserves everything that's coming to him...and more.
Pulling my elbow back, I hold it for a moment and then release my balled-up fist like a slingshot and launch it at him. My knuckles catch him right on the philtrum, and I push up, feeling the crack of his nose under my fist.
It fuels the beast inside me.
As I drag my fist back, readying it for another punch, his entire face crumples into a bloody pulp, blood spraying from his nose. I grab him by the shoulders and pull him against me, ramming my knee into his stomach.
"You filthy piece of shit. You're about to find out what it's like when someone puts a hand on you. Every single part of your body is about to break," I hiss, my voice cold, dangerous.
I never make promises I don't keep.
I let go of his shoulders only to reach for his throat, digging my fingers into the sides of his trachea. I'm going to strangle the son of a bitch until he's nothing but a gasping puddle on the floor.
"Matthias."
Somehow, the soft sound of my name penetrates the red cloud. My hand still gripping his throat, I turn to look at Clarissa.
She's slid to the end of the couch, her hand holding her torn shirt closed, her hair tangled into a messy nest. A bruise is already forming on her right cheek.
