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“Put it down,” my gaze is fixed on the knife in the weathered man's hand, pressed dangerously close to Masse's thigh.
“Samantha...?” the scared voice of the other man whispers her name, and I notice the blade easing up a bit from Masse's leg.
Meanwhile, my own knife presses harder against the woman's neck.
“Not a bad choice, right on the femoral artery. But did you know that because of its location, the carotid artery increases the fatality rate by up to 99%? All because it's so close to the brain. The brain matters more than the heart. Who would've guessed, huh? Yet another reason to think with your brain, not your heart,” I say, glancing back at Manasseh.
“She's a surgeon,” Manasseh nods in approval towards me, a hint of pride in his gaze.
“She's insane!” the grizzled man beside Manasseh yells.
“Perhaps. Want to check my mental health?,” the knife's blade digs deeper, the woman's panicked screams filling the air, going into a panic attack.
“Please, I'm begging you! I don't want to die like this!”
“Becca, stop!” Manasseh shakes his head, which only heightens the anxiety of the two men, and they start to believe I'm capable of doing it.
“A small stab will be fatal, alongside a femoral cut that I doubt you idiots can execute properly. All I need is a tourniquet to buy her enough time until the ambulance arrives, and my belt will do the trick, or his.”
“Please, Hulbert! Don't do this,” the woman sobs, trembling in my hands. “I don't want to die!”
The silhouettes of the two men freeze. Fear seeps from every inch of their beings, their wide-eyed terror directed at me. Manasseh remains frozen in his seat, and I can’t fathom what could've happened to him if I hadn't arrived in time.
“Throw me the knife,” I gesture toward the blade and watch it land at my feet.
I press the hilt beneath my shoe, ensuring the woman won't attempt anything. For now, hands on the table until the police show up. My peripheral vision catches the chaos that's erupted around us.
Tourists from nearby tables scatter, others gawk from the shadows, and the bolder ones probably see me as the antagonist in this scene. It's entirely possible I'll end up trending on TikTok again, and this time, it could spell my downfall. Why did I risk so much for Manasseh? I don’t know.
“Becca, are you alright?” Manasseh's voice breaks through, his attempt to stand halted by my stern look.
“I'm not okay, not by a long shot,” I shake my head, my tears blurring my vision. “Stay put!” I snap at him and tighten my grip on the woman's hair, continuing to threaten her with the knife.
“I'm begging you, just calm down!” Manasseh raises his hands toward his chest and slowly eases back into his seat, following my instructions.
For the first time, I catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes, not for the situation, but for me. He might be hungover, but Manasseh is genuinely afraid of me right now.
“How can I possibly calm down when I was inches away from being stabbed? How?!” I rough up the woman, the temptation to drive the knife into her neck a tangible force given how angry I am.
“Did you order the attack on my wife?!” Manasseh seizes the man's collar and slams his head onto the table, blood gushing from the grizzled man's nose. “Did you take advantage of the fact that I came here with just her? You fucking pig!”
Manasseh lands punch after punch on the other man with his powerful boxer fists. The second man intervenes, attempting to stop it, but Manasseh strikes him too, and up until police arrive, he beats the living daylights out of them.
Two police cars and a pair of ambulances arrive at the resort much faster than I anticipated. I'm feeling drained, probably due to not having eaten much today. It's a struggle to give my statement and keep my eyes open as they tend to the wound on my palm. Once they're done, I settle into a lounge chair on the terrace and let my gaze drift out to the sea.
The rush of adrenaline has faded, leaving behind an overwhelming fatigue. The nighttime ocean triggers memories of Samael's eyes, and suddenly, a wave of sadness engulfs me. If I hadn't cried before, not even when they were dressing my wound, but I'm on the verge of tears now. I miss his eyes that used to stir something within me, even if his words were the balm to soothe it. I feel so alone and sad that even the vastness of the sea wouldn't be enough to drown the pain washing over my soul.
I pour a shot of something strong, hoping to numb myself from the memory of his eyes. But just as the glass touches my lips, it's snatched away.
“Pairing hard liquor with painkillers isn't a great idea,” Manasseh materializes out of thin air, tossing the drink and glass aside. “Not even for me. I've had enough.”
“I doubt you've ever truly known the depths of pain. These painkillers barely scratch the surface; they can't dull the ache in here,” I motion to my chest.
“Neither does alcohol,” Manasseh counters, his gaze intense. “Take my word for it. I've grown up and lived with an unrelenting pain that no one saw. People passed me by, oblivious to my struggle. No one cared to ask how I was feeling. Living in the shadow of others' ignorance is like living through hell. No one saw my potential, no matter how hard I tried to prove myself. I've been swimming against the current for as long as I can remember. So, if you think your life has been tough, spare me your lectures. You're looking at things subjectively, not objectively.”
What he tells me makes me contemplate and opens a door to a possible connection that I had avoided until now. Was I part of those who overlooked what he felt? Curiosity gnaws at me.
“You do the same thing in our relationship. Haven't you learned from your mistakes?”
