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I said nothing, though, just crossed my arms over my chest like an insolent child.
He’d make me pay for all of this, I knew.
If it got that far.
It wouldn’t.
It couldn’t.
I didn’t survive one attack by him to die after another.
The sound that came out of him then reminded me a lot of this one guy I’d briefly dated in college who was obsessed with gaming, and when he lost or got killed or whatever happened to make gamers rage-quit, he would get out of his chair, rip off his headphones, and make this shrieking, growling sound.
I had him at rage-quit level anger.
That was both terrible and good at the same time, depending on what came next.
Folding downward, he grabbed my ankles, and seemed so lost in his own frustration that he didn’t even notice my lack of laces.
I actually relaxed a bit. Some part of me had been expecting him to drag me by my hair. And if you were going to get dragged, by the hair was definitely the worst way.
Ankles wasn’t bad.
I’d have to tuck my chin to my chest as we went up the step that led into the house. But other than that, this part wouldn’t hurt.
Which gave me more time to think and observe and plan.
Again, I stayed complete dead weight as he dragged me. He might as well have been hauling a dead body around as he pulled me toward the interior door.
To open it, he had to drop one of my ankles, and I let it go all the way to the floor, so he would have to stoop to pick it up again.
Seeing this, he let out a growl as he started to lean downward, the movement making his hand loosen on my other ankle.
It all seemed like pure instinct right then.
I couldn’t recall even thinking about doing it until it was happening.
I pulled both knees inward toward my chest, then shoved them outward with everything I had.
The impact, catching him off guard, sent him sprawling onto his butt right in the doorway.
“Fuck,” he shrieked, trying to get up even as I scrambled onto all fours, then onto my feet.
There was next to nothing in the garage.
Save for the car, whose keys could be anywhere, so that wasn’t a good option. Locking myself in wouldn’t work if he had the keys. And even if he didn’t, I couldn’t drive out of the garage. And he could break a window relatively quickly.
There were also two cans, one garbage, the other recycling.
I wondered a bit fleetingly if there were any actual recyclables in there.
Liquor bottles? Pasta jars? God, solid, thick glass. Useless for blunt or sharp weapons.
Only one way to find out.
I ran, rushing toward them, aware of his footsteps behind me.
I grabbed the recycling can, feeling it about half-filled as I flung it at my attacker, knocking into his legs, but not making him fall over.
