Shattered

•Twenty•

NOW

"Christine," a loud voice boomed into my brain.  My eyes were closed and I didn't want to open them. 

I squeezed them closed tighter and the voice hit me again.  My head was throbbing.  I tried to stretch, my joints feeling achy, but stopped when I realized I was in pain.

A hand touched my face, gently.  Another hand on my shoulder gave me a cautious shake.

I opened my eyes, my sight blurry.  I blinked hard, trying to focus.  Tom was knelt beside me, breathing heavily, his eyes looking angry.

"Tom?" I cleared my throat and tried to move.

He helped me sit up.  "We need to get out of here," he said with clarity.  I followed his eyes, turning to look behind me. 

Jack was on the kitchen floor, the vase on the counter now shattered around him, peonies surrounding his head. 

I reached up and felt my head as Tom helped me to stand.  "What happened?"  Forcing the words out, I felt my throat and coughed.

"Shh, let's get out of here first, come on," he took my hand and we carefully stepped over Jack.

It took everything I had not to kick him in the balls while he was down.  But that was his style, not mine. 

Tom coaxed me out of the house, through the garage.  We ran down the driveway to the side of the road where he was parked.  I gasped at the body hunched over the sidewalk.  It was a large man, but I couldn't make out who.  I gawped at Tom and he ignored both me and the man shallowly breathing on the ground.  He helped me into his car and we left.

"Are you okay?  Christine!"  He snapped at me as I stared out the window, watching the neighboring houses along the street as we passed them, envious of how normal their lives seemed to be.  Televisions on, dinner at the table; normal loving families.

I turned, facing Tom as he gripped the steering wheel.  His knuckles were bloody.  Only then did I really look at him.  A small cut on his cheekbone glistened with the sparse lighting of the street lamps outside.

"What happened?  Are you okay??"  I gingerly touched his cheek.

"Me?  Christine, are you?"

"I think so.  He threw me down the stairs," I shook, shuddering at the memory of what just happened, the way Jack had turned into a complete monster.  "Next thing I know, you're waking me up.  What happened, Tom?"

"I could have killed him, Christine," he growled, squeezing the steering wheel tighter.  "I should have fucking killed him!  I was outside, and I know you didn't want me out there, but I knew I had to be there, okay?  So don't start scolding me for not listening to you.  You needed me and I knew it, so there."  He glanced at me to make sure I wouldn't object.  "I sat in the car and waited for a text from you when Grizz came knocking on the window.  You remember Grizz?"

I nodded, recollecting Tom sparring with him at Curly's. 

"I rolled down the window and the bastard grabs me, pulling me out, trying to knock me out."

"What?!  Why?"

Tom shrugged, angrily.  "Only thing I can think is Jack hired him to keep an eye on me or get rid of me," he scoffed before he continued.  "I heard my phone, knowing you texted me and needed me.  I took care of Grizz and ran inside to find Jack choking you at the bottom of the stairs."

My hand went to my neck.  That explained why it felt sore. 

"I pulled him off you and he grabbed a fucking knife.  I thought you were dead, Christine, you just laid there, lifeless."  He punched the dashboard, breathing hard.