On the Run by M Zeigler (online e reader txt) 📕

“Barrette! That’s my step father, Michael Dastard!” I shout over to him knowing I won’t be able to have his back in the fight so he will need that extra determination behind him, my own mother who I mistook for a child and that other woman are directly in front of me now.

 Barrette looks at me for a brief moment trying to understand what I just told him, understanding dawns on him and I watch as his eyes darken almost looking like the eyes of a demon, I can almost see his mind lose all control over his actions when he hears that the man trying to attack him is the same one who caused me to downward spiral into suicide and depression.

Imagine the most hateful look you’ve ever seen and then amplify it, then multiply by a million, that’s the anger that Barrette is showing right now. I’ve never seen such a look in anyone ever before, the expression is both terrifying and exhilarating all in the same grimace. Maybe this is what I looked like on the roof top earlier tonight? Except, even Barrette holds emotion within his eyes, I’ve been told that when I reach that breaking point I hold no emotion, I almost appear dead due to the lack of sparkle in my eyes.

The moment my mother steps back and allows the second woman to step forward Barrette cuts loose on Michael. Barrette all of the sudden has my lighter balled up in his ring clad fist while the other hand already has Michael by the collar of his shirt and up off the ground. With no warning given to Michael, Barrette starts repeatedly slamming his fist into Michael’s face, with every impact I can hear a loud crunching of bone and see blood trickle more and more down Barrette’s wrist as well as Michael’s face.

Some might assume that by me watching this I would somehow feel better, you might even say I should have a feeling that justice has been served. I don’t, though Michael terrorized me for so many years he wasn’t always all that bad, I mean he was good for a little while. He’s the one who taught me to fish, he also taught me about working in the high end industry, there was some good within that evil. Therefore, when I walked away from Michael’s battered and broke home, I left with grace and dignity, I both hated and was thankful for him. He taught me some useful things, he also taught me that there are bad people in this world, not to mention he made me tough as diamonds. So, to see Barrette giving Michael such a severe beat down is both good and bad, good because honestly every striking fist is punishment for every bit of grief Michael put me through and bad because, well Michael is still a human being that has hope of changing.

Beyond seeing the first three jabs to Michael’s face I have no time to watch what is happening, I need to be focusing on my fight.  Deciding  should fall back on the help of a weapon I leap double back into the gym room and snag two hefty ten pound dumbbells off a rusted out rack in the corner of the room. I flip both metallic objects in my hands as I watch my mother and her partner step into the room both watching me like vultures on a dying animal.

“Really?” I hear the familiar voice of an old and much hated neighbor that lived a few doors down from Michael and Adrienne’s house. Alley is one of many people whose lives I thoroughly destroyed when I lived in my step father’s home. Her signature catch phrase was the word really; the word has become something of an aggravation to my reverie, anytime something went wrong or didn’t look or feel correct to her she would say really. Might I add that Alley is one of the easiest people to annoy, the better question is what she isn’t irritated by. Of course, Alley was one of the few people who truly deserved what she received and still deserves what she’s about to get right now.

The sandy brown haired, brown eyed wretch hated me from the day she met me because I called her out on the fact that she isn’t truly a Christian she doesn’t behave in the way she preaches that all people should behave. She used to brag constantly how she was so good at manipulating people, particularly men, she thought that her skill was something to be proud of. I proved on many occasions that she had nothing in the way of manipulative skills, she swore she could manage anyone into telling her what she wanted to know. She never could with me or Adrienne, when she failed to draw rumors and other dramatic garbage from me, Alley decided to start spreading rumors instead. She told everyone she knew which is basically, the entire town of San Miguel, she started telling them that I was sleeping with her husband and that I was going to hell for my sins. Of course to my dismay, ninety percent of San Luis Obispo county is more than likely related to her in some way so everyone believed what she had to say, I mean even her husband is technically related to her by marriage. I didn’t care until the night she sent some people to my house to try and jump me and drag me to church where they planned on burying me alive in the courtyard.

After all but killing her little minions I may or may not have broken into Alley’s house exploded the septic system, and then spray painted the devils cross on every wall in the house as well as the front of her house. After that I did bed her husband just to prove that I could and get away with it, she knew but couldn’t prove it or do anything about it.

“Really truly, for sure, without a doubt, Alley?” I rumble before swinging my right hand out, the corner of the workout bar tags Alley in the temple, she sways back a few steps trying to correct her stance but ends up falling to the floor unconscious.

Angeline looks at me now thinking she’s some kind of rough and tough fighter, but let’s face the facts, this baby puke brown haired sack of wrinkles is fifty four years old, knee high to a centipede, and would cry and call in sick to work over an infected hang nail. She is in no way an even match for me, when my birth giver looks me in the eyes she realizes the same thing that I do.

 “Michael is going to kill your brother, I have to.” She whispers to me before trying to attack, I give a irritated huff, I swear my mother should have been named Shleprock, she’s always finding herself in sticky situations and can never figure out how to get out of them. That was the problem with Adrienne, she could talk big but could never walk what she said. At least seven times a month she would start trying to leave Michael, but she never did, she had friends that would have helped her get to the moon and back but she still wouldn’t leave. I personally think she just stays because Michael has money, and she doesn’t want to work, it’s easier for her to just be his little pet than it is to realize she needs to work for the things in life that she wants.

If you want a five thousand dollar computer, then get a job and work for it, why should it be someone else’s problem that you want a lavish life style. I know that if I ever end up being stuck with raising a child there will be no ‘I want it now’ no that game does not fly. If you’re sixteen and whining because you don’t have a brand new cell phone then you can get off your duff and go get a job, pay for it yourself. Responsibility, something this world does not have very much of anymore, that needs to change.

Leaving my own chastising remarks behind for the time being I roll my eyes, toss the dumbbells aside and kick Adrienne’s feet out from under her. She slams to a roll mat looks at her fallen form and starts squealing like a little toddler who just fell a little too hard on their rear end. “Wow mother, you have to be the most useless person I’ve ever met.” I gripe as I step over her child like form, it’s hard to believe that she has lived as long as she has seeing as she grew up in Van Nuys.

In the parking bay across from the gym I see that Barrette has an uncurious Michael pinned to the wall just inside the factory. Not so surprising to me, Barrette is still punching Michael in the face to a point his rings and hand is evenly coated with blood. Freezing this frame for a minute, I have to say that I am both impressed and repulsed. I am repulsed as I assumed that Barrette had more self control than this, yet impressed over the fact Barrette has that much strength and power within him. But is that really considered power? The ability to beat someone into oblivion? I guess in this case it can be simply because he is wailing on Michael for the right reason, but Michael doesn’t deserve by any means, to be bludgeoned to death by Barrette’s fists.

 “Barrette, enough! That’s enough!” I shout jumping between the two men just in time to catch Barrette’s hand from throwing another angered swing at Michael. With one hand holding Barrette’s bloodied fist and the other on his chest I gently urge him to step back. Maybe distance will somewhat calm the situation at hand, you can’t hurt what you can’t reach.

 “Don’t kill him, that war is mine, he’ll get what’s coming to him.” I  vow looking Barrette in the eyes, I watch him slowly begin to calm down coming back around to a more stable frame of mind. I think that he may have gone into kill mode while fighting Michael, it appears that Michael only managed to get one solid lock with Barrette’s jaw. There’s a red mark on the right side of Barrette’s jaw, I don’t know that it will bruise but it still looks painful in any case.

“This is why I don’t drink.” Barrette rumbles as he releases his death grip on Michael’s shirt, the unconscious tormentor in my life falls to the ground as I feel Barrette’s muscles unclench under my hands. Glancing back to Michael I see he is still bleeding, he’s alive but he’ll be out for quite a while and in serious pain when he comes back around. Barrette, really did a number on him, and looking down at the guy I should feel some kind of emotion but I don’t. I’m indifferent over the entire thing, I think part of me wants to say he deserved that, but at the same time I don’t believe he did. Am I starting to grow a heart?

“We need to get out of here, now. We need to get well away from the city and far beyond anyone’s reach.” I say trying to carefully lead Barrette to the passenger’s seat of the mustang, I don’t know why I feel the need to walk him over there, he’s a grown man for the love of God. Maybe I subconsciously