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I easily bat his hands away. And when one of his knees thuds into my spine, I throw my elbow back into his thigh, causing him to cry out. Before he can try to nail me again, King grips Arthur’s ankles, jerking them away from me, forcing Arthur to look like he’s sitting properly in the chair. Only this chair is laying on its back, and I’m sitting on the occupant.
“Okay! Okay!” Arthur frantically pleads, assuming we’re here for something we’re not. “I just need a little more time!”
He shakily holds his hands up in surrender, and it almost makes me smile.
I don’t need his surrender. I’m here to take without permission.
I lean more of my weight onto my knees, feeling his shoulders grind beneath me.
“T-Tell him! I’ll have the money soon!”
I ignore Arthur’s words, distracted by a flash of gold on one of his wavering hands.
A pinky ring.Typical.
And when the lamp light reflects off it again, a memory pops into my head.
Payton on the couch. Crying in her sleep. Clawing at her neck. Fighting an invisible monster.
Giving me a name.
“Have you always worn that?” The sound of my voice makes Arthur stop struggling.
“What?” He tries to look down at his stained and holey t-shirt.
“The ring.” I gesture toward his hand. “Have you always worn it?”
He’s nodding as he closes his hand into a loose fist, allowing us to both see the top. As I expected, it’s a gaudy class ring. A wide gold band, covered in engravings that circle a large, obviously fake, red stone.
“I see.”
I can feel Arthur’s confusion as I stare at that fucking ring. Imagining the distress that would’ve covered a young Payton’s face, as she tried to push that hand away. Imagining the tears streaking down her face whilethat ringpressed into her flesh.
The viciousness that lives inside me slithers up my spine, and in my mind I smell the scent of roses.
Without another word, I dart my left hand out and grip his wrist.
My weight shifts further forward, until I’m looming over him, his hand trapped between us.
Arthur’s struggling now. His eyes are wide, his animal instincts kicking in.
She would’ve looked the same way.
With my right hand, I grab his pinky. The ring warm where it meets my skin.
Arthur really starts to fight now. And I hear King grunt behind me, as he puts more weight against Arthur’s legs.
Arthur tries to hit me with his free hand, so I widen my stance, my left knee jamming hard into his right bicep.
“Just take it!” Arthur’s shout is garbled. “Take the ring!”
My lips curl into a grin. “Okay.”
But instead of sliding the ring off, I tighten my grip around his pinky finger, squeezing it, as tight as I can.
I jerk my hands apart. A crackling sound fills the room.
And Arthur starts to scream.
