Savior

The Girl and the Game

The summer before I turned thirteen I knocked Raymond Suh's teeth into his gums.

He kept making vulgar comments about my sister –each remark picking and picking at my resolve and patience. It only took one more lude remark to have my fist swinging backward and connecting with his jaw.

Seven stitches, a visit to the dentist, and way too much money later and Ray was healed and I was grounded for the rest of the summer.

I cried for days, but not because I was sorry.

Because I regretted not breaking his nose too.

It seemed like the greatest injustice to my twelve year old self that I was to stay inside until school started for teaching Ray a lesson in how not to degrade women, while he got to run around the neighborhood and continue his childish behavior.

My anger, my bitterness, frightened my mum more than the actual violence did.

It was the first time I had lashed out like that before and after a long talk with my mum and a promise that I would never let my anger control my actions – it was the last time.

Until now.

Until I find my fists reacquainting themselves with the feeling of crunching bone and soft flesh over and over and over...

Though, I think even my mum would approve of this use of letting out my rage. Approve of my righteous fist of justice.

I knew I had the right house as soon as the taxi pulled up to the cracked curb after driving past the few other homes that line the street. All the other houses along this country road had some sort of signs of life; an idle truck, a swing set in the yard, lights on inside the windows.

But, not only did this house look like something straight out of an old school horror film –the front door was also wide open.

I barely had time to throw the driver some money before I was racing inside, a terrible feeling beginning to root itself inside my gut.

A feeling that came to fruition once I yanked open the doors next to the stairs and was met with an image that made my skin grow cold from my toes all the way up to the hairs on my head. An image that I know now I will never be able to shake for the rest of my days.

An image that will haunt me in all my waking moments and my nightmares.

Layla's once rosy cheeks an unnatural shade of blue, her once bright smile frozen in search for desperate gasps of air, and her once vibrant eyes devoid of light.

Devoid of life.

His vicious fingers, snakes that wrapped themselves around her neck and constrict her airways.

I swear I blacked out after that –my vision going red and a primal instinct taking control of my actions.

I don't remember knocking him off of her, the sound of her gasping for air she is now allowed to take in. I don't remember climbing on top of him or throwing the first punch -I just did.

The feeling of fists hitting flesh with this much vigor, this much force is unfamiliar to me; the sound of bones crunching and skull hitting hardwood is alarming at first. Horrifying, really. But, then it's gratifying. Then it's extremely therapeutic.

Then, I can't stop.

I land a sharp knuckled fist against his nose so hard I hear a crunch and a snap as his head slams back into the floor. His arms flail around us weakly, scratching at my face and attempting to shove me backwards.