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Manasseh takes two steps back, his palm, much wider than I remember, covering his mouth that moments ago sought my closeness.
My fists tremble, and along with them, my entire body.
I feel disgust, anger, but also pain.
I want revenge.
“Fine, Becca. Maybe I deserved this punch. But don't you think you went too far? You hit me pretty hard. See?” He pulls at the corner of his mouth with his pinky finger, revealing teeth stained with blood.
“You deserve all the evil in the world!” My voice trembles, completely unprepared to meet him, even though I sensed the inevitable.
“You're still the same loudmouth you've always been” I watch him lean against the kitchen sink with the back of his hands, spitting out blood mixed with saliva. “But that can be fixed. You see,” he turns to face me and leans on the edge of the sink. “I have something big enough right here,” he points at his pants zipper, “with which I can shut that loose mouth of yours until you choke.”
I watch him silently, and his insinuation makes my skin crawl, reminding me of the past. Suddenly, I feel like I'm going to be sick, and I quickly cover my mouth.
“What more do you want from me? Haven't you taken enough?!” I mutter, swallowing back the bile that rises in my throat.
“Enough?” He grabs a glass and fills it with water, rinsing his mouth. “This is only the beginning, Becca,” he turns towards the urn and lifts it from the table.
“Keep your hands off my mother!” I take a step forward, and in a sudden motion, Manasseh loses his grip on the urn, causing it to shatter into pieces and ashes to scatter across the kitchen.
I'm so shocked that I instinctively lunge towards him, ready to sink my teeth into his throat and send him where he belongs. To hell.
“You're really slow, Becca!” Manasseh exclaims, amusement evident in his voice, as he grabs my arms and immobilizes them behind my back. His weight is pressing down on me and my chest meets the cold surface of the table. “But I suppose that's partly my fault. I should have made sure you wouldn't fight when we met. You were about to become a dangerous woman,” he whispers near my ear, and I catch a whiff of the metallic scent of blood on his breath. “But I speak in the past tense now since you're just as helpless as before. You're weak, Becca.”
“Set me free, and you'll see how weak I truly am!”
“You can't even support me,” he puts even more weight on me, causing me to whimper, feeling like he's going to shatter my body if he presses any harder. My breasts ache, my ribs plead for help, and his weight leaves me breathless.
“I can't breathe,” I manage to utter, and I feel his massive body fitting even closer behind me. “I thought you were strong. Was I wrong?!” He refuses to give me any pause, and I feel like I'm running out of air completely.
“Yes, you were wrong. Now, get off me!”
“I want to hear you beg, Becca. I want to hear you plead for a breath of air,” he whispers so close to my mouth, taking away even the last glimmer of hope for oxygen.
Normally, I'd rather suffocate than inhale his breath tainted with poison and the scent of corrupted blood, but right now, I haven't settled the score yet.
Manasseh has corrupted blood.
That's how he was born.
He can't do good, even if he tries.
He is the venom on the tip of the tongue.
“I’m begging you!” I plead with my last strength, feeling the same humiliation as before.
“Fine,” he gets up and lets me breathe.
“How could you?” I kneel beside the table, touching the ashes with the tips of my fingers, and bursting into silent tears.
“Simple, it's just trash.”
I feel like I'm going crazy and grab his leg. Manasseh loses his balance, and I take the opportunity to climb over him and wrap my hands around his neck, squeezing as tightly as I can.
“You’re the trash!” I shout through tears. “Just die already!”
“Do you hate me that much?” He grabs my wrists and doesn't try to remove my hands.
