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Now, I hate fairy tales even more.
“Aren't you scared that after we get married, I might run away with the money or something?” I squint a little now that I hear the question out loud; it seems foolish to me.
“Have you heard of a prenup? There's no reason for me to be scared ‘cause even with all the money in your hands, you wouldn't have anywhere to run without me finding you,” he says so confidently that it sends shivers down my spine. “And you already know what will happen if you run from me,” he makes sure that the message is received correctly with a stern and terrifying glare.
I laugh nervously and try to comb my hair with my fingers and wipe my face before we go out among people.
“What will happen?” I’m trying to defy him.
“I will look for you, I will find you, and I will fuck you.” he decrees with a straight face.
“Wasn’t the last line ‘kill you’?”
“I’ll fuck you till I’ll kill you.”
At the end of the stone-fenced road, some flashing lights catch our attention, and we head towards the police car and the men who are engaged in a heated conversation in front of the resort.
“I told you it's a misunderstanding. The boss is quite moody by nature, but he would never lay a hand on a woman. It's against his morals,” Peter gestures excessively, and the police crew is ready to apprehend him as well.
“Is there a problem?” Manasseh moves next to them, and I take the opportunity to lean against the car when we finally reach the cobblestone road.
I don't know how it's possible to have muscle fever after...
“An ID?”
“I don't have it on me. My name is Manasseh Morgenstern. What's the matter, officer?”
“We got an anonymous tip about an incident of abuse on the beach. Witnesses say they saw you hitting the young lady repeatedly,” the guy in the uniform nods towards me, his expression dead serious.
I squint, trying to make sense of it all. Someone had seen us, but they completely misinterpreted our little ‘fight.’
“Are you okay?” the young woman, his coworker, grabs my arm, offering her support. I realize that I'm reinforcing their suspicions because I'm clutching my stomach and moving like I'm in pain.
“The only thing I abused of was her fucking tight pussy,” Manasseh wipes his mouth, his gaze shameless.
My face flushes, the cops exchange uncomfortable glances, and Peter looks like he's about to faint.
“Let's keep it civil, please,” the police officer clears his throat, his face turning a bit red. “You can be fined for using trivial, vulgar, or obscene language and behavior in the presence of law enforcement.”
In just one sentence, he's summed up Manasseh perfectly, yet Manasseh seems utterly unaffected.
“Fine. There's no issue here,” Peter waves his hand dismissively.
“I'm afraid that’s not how it works. Sir, you'll need to come with us to the police station to give a statement,” the officer grabs Manasseh's arm, both of them noticing the stains on his shirt that definitely look like blood.
“You'll be okay,” the girl assures me, gently patting my back as I stay silent, trying to process what's happening.
The thing is, I don’t want to get tangled up with the police. I don't trust them, I don't want to be around them, and every time I encounter them, I feel like a criminal on the run just because I gave a false statement when I was a kid.
“Since when is fucking on the beach a crime?” Manasseh asks, looking at the uniformed girl next to me with intent, who lightly grips my arm as their gazes meet.
“If you're mentioning that, let me remind you that any obscene gestures or verbal expressions in public are considered an offense against public decency, and are punishable by imprisonment for 1 to 6 months and a fine ranging from £800 to £3500,” she responds.
“Alright, then I was joking,” the vibe shifts as soon as she mentions jail.
“Please come with me,” the officer guides him towards the car, but Manasseh stubbornly refuses to budge.
“Get your hands off me!” Manasseh jerks away, visibly annoyed. “Let's go, Becca,” he tries to hold my hand, but I instinctively take a step back.
