Chapter 13 Perpetrator Toilet Swims #2
The blonde-haired man turns first and a sick, hot wave of hate washes over me.
I detest a lot of things, but women beaters and pedophiles are always my top two on the list of hates.
Anger simmers just beneath the surface of my sanity as I calmly walk up to him, feeling my muscles straining.
The need to sink my fist into this man’s face is vicious.
“Sarah’s ready to see you now,” I lie, taking Brandon by the shoulder and maneuvering him towards the door to Sarah’s room. My lip curls at the look of relief on his face.
“Wait! He can’t go in there! Who are you?” The other man I assume is Christopher walks up next to us before pushing into the room before us, putting himself between us and Sarah as we maneuver our way through the doorway.
There's no need. I never intended to let him talk to Sarah anyways. I just want to get him alone to teach him a lesson.
I close the door swiftly behind us hearing Brandon say, “Baby!” and then see the sudden fear on Sarah’s face before reaching forward and clamping my hand hard on the back of this piece of shit’s neck.
Tightening impossibly hard. Christopher frowns, and his eyes go wide at my actions, but I ignore him.
I lean into this rare feeling of losing control, ignoring everything but the need I feel to put this man in his fucking place.
Brandon grunts in surprise, trying to jerk away from me, but I move fast, opening the private bathroom door and shoving him in and knocking his head on the wall in the process.
The sickening thump of his head hitting the wall sounds wonderful.
Brandon groans as he rights himself, his hands flying to his head in shock.
His gray eyes squeeze shut in pain as a trickle of blood moves down his face from his temple, and I enjoy a momentary delightful prick of pleasure at hurting this man who caused such damage to the woman that's got me turned inside out.
I wish I could slam his head into the wall until his brain leaks out of his skull. But I'm at a hospital and need to have decorum.
“What the fuck, man?!” Brandon yells, turning in the small space to face me with rage in his eyes.
I move fast, sinking my fist into his stomach, doubling him over and stunning him before snatching his hair and yanking his head back.
I know my eyes are ice cold as I regard this disgusting, sorry excuse of a human, but right now every derogatory name that's been hurdled my way regarding my looks is worth it at the look of fear in his eyes.
Brandon gags as my fingers tighten hard on his scalp, feeling some of the strands rip from it.
I take a deep breath through my nose. “You like beating up pregnant women who can’t defend themselves?” I snarl down at him. Brandon’s gray eyes morph from fear, to downright terror. “Lie to me. I dare you,” I say roughly.
I see the lie in his eyes before he says it, and it sends me through the roof.
“I didn’t—“
Brandon yells as I pull my fist back and punch him in the face, not hard enough to snap his neck like I'd like to but hard enough to stun him.
I use the momentum to turn him and kick him in the back of his knees, making his legs collapse, and pull him to the toilet where I shove his head in, plunging him into the water inside.
Listening to him gurgle for a few seconds, I relish the thought of drowning him before I snap out of it and call out for Jerome.
A second later, the bathroom door flies open, and Christopher appears instead, Sarah’s other friend, poking his head in.
His brown eyes narrow as he sees me nonchalantly drowning Brandon in the toilet.
Christopher’s eyes flicker up to mine, and he leans against the doorframe in a relaxed stance with his arms crossed, as if he sees a man being murdered every day. Maybe he does. Hell, I don't know. And if he does, who am I to judge?
“Yeah, man. It’s Christopher by the way; Jerome’s the other guy,” he says conversationally and with a hint of a smile at Brandon’s predicament. “Not sure what you plan on doing with him, but I’m going to claim self-defense, just in case anyone asks.”
I nod at the unspoken agreement that passes between us. Brandon’s arms flail, trying to make contact with me, but he's unsuccessful as I work to shove his face harder into the porcelain.
“Give me two minutes and then have the security officers come in here. I should have my point across by then,” I say firmly.
I like to think we’d just shared a brotherly bonding moment, me and this stranger.
Christopher frowns, nodding his head several times. “Let’s make it three, juuust in case,” he says, pushing off the door frame and closing us back into the little room once again.
Feeling his fight leave him, I yank Brandon up. He sags in my grip, pathetically wheezing and struggling for air. His face is bright red, and his hair is wet just at the edges of his face as the water trails down it.
Hospital toilets are low flow, apparently.
I give him half a minute to catch his breath. “Now, I asked: did you beat her up?”
Brandon nods his head yes, still choking. I watch with disgust as a trickle of water slides from the corner of his mouth. He's about spent, but selfishly, this isn't enough for me. It's not near good enough.
My lip curls. "You're disgusting."
Irritated, I shove him back into the toilet and hold him there firmly, uncaring of him flailing and trying to get away. After another minute, I pull him back up, aware he's fighting to stay conscious.
“Now that I have my point across, this is how this is going to go. The police are about to come in here, and you’re going to confess to what you did to her in front of her, so we all know you got the facts straight. You live with her?”
My eyes flick across his face, memorizing him.
Brandon nods.
“Then, at some point, she’s either going to come get her stuff, or she’ll stay in the place that you two are living in. And whatever she wants to do, you’re going to respect that, and you’re going to leave her the fuck alone. Aren’t you?” I say, narrowing my eyes..
“Fine,” Brandon hisses as his gray eyes flash in anger, his nostrils flaring.
I cock my head, feeling murderous. Because I instinctively know this attitude he's showing me, albeit I just knocked him around a little bit, is nothing compared to what I know he's unleashed upon that beautiful, helpless woman laying in the next room.
With bruises on her back so big and dark that I know he's taken out a lot of his anger on her, and didn't spare her any thought or mercy.
“I don’t give a shit how angry you are," I say decisively. "If I hear you are fucking around her again, I will personally come take care of you myself. Promise.” I let go of him and rise fluidly. “Oh,” I click my tongue and tilt my head, giving him a nasty once over, “I’m Dr. Richardson, in case it comes up for any reason. Nice conversation, Brandon. Let’s go. ”
I escort him from the bathroom, out of the door, and into the hallway, away from Sarah. I don’t even let him look at her until security comes, and we all go in together to give them a report. I walk to the other side of the bed, keeping myself in between her, Brandon, the officers and her friends.
"You're going to be okay, honey," I whisper into her ear.
Seeing she's shaken up, I press the side of my head against her temple, nuzzling her briefly, trying to give her some of my strength. I slide my hand back into hers, not giving two fucks about what anyone in this room thinks about it. She needs to know someone's in her corner.
That I've got her.
Opting to stand next to her instead of returning to my seat, I exchange a mutually infuriated look with Jerome and Christopher while we listen silently as Brandon hollowly confesses to beating Sarah almost daily for the last several weeks.
And to the beating that caused her miscarriage. My fist clenches.
The fucker threw her through a fucking glass table.
I should have killed his ass in the bathroom.
I rub her soft skin with my thumb as Sarah quietly corroborates in her soft voice, correcting and interjecting where needed.
Brandon stands there like a pathetic idiot, red-faced and quiet as the police officer reads him his rights and then places him in handcuffs.
I hand Sarah a tissue, as she can’t get through the statement without crying.
Brandon doesn’t mention what I did to him, and we all watch silently as they take him away in handcuffs.
Sarah's fingers tremble in mine the entire time.
Having been strong the entire report with the officer, as soon as they disappear through the door, her face contorts with pain as she breaks down crying again. She buries her face in her hands, and her sobs rip through my being, digging her way into my soul where I feel her settle deep.
Pressing her head to my chest, I stroke a heavy hand down her hair, needing to feel a connection just as much as I know she does.
Jerome and Christopher's eyes nail themselves on her back, where the hospital gown sags open. They widen in shock.
"Motherfucker," Christopher curses and turns to stalk away, rubbing a rough hand across his jaw.
Jerome's face is tight with sadness as his eyes flick from her back, to mine, then to her back again.
He brings a hand up to cover a ragged gasp, and a tear slips down his cheek.
It's quite difficult to watch as these friends who obviously care deeply for Sarah get a good look at how bad the damage actually is.
They stay silent though, and there's not much to say really without making it worse.
Though riddled black and blue, she's flawless to me.
Her tears cease, and she suddenly stiffens and pulls awkwardly away from me. "Sorry," she murmurs, swiping her tissue across her eyes again with an ashamed look on her face.
Sitting once more, I lean back in my seat and look away with a scowl, wishing I would have just went ahead and drowned the sorry excuse for a man.
Surely going to jail would have been worth the rage that just bubbled up in me, hotter than anything I've ever felt before. It's a disconcerting feeling.
A feeling admittedly and uncomfortably worse than my anger at Tyler, who's busy screwing and bar fighting his way through Spain.
The anger I swallow is hotter than the rage I feel at Hannah, who never seems to take ownership of anything. Always delegating the hard stuff to me and not wanting to be a mother to her own son. Alienating me from my own family with her antics.
Christopher comes back in and slings an arm around Jerome's shoulders and says something quietly in his ear.
They distract me just enough for me to take a deep breath.
Getting a grip, my eyes flick slowly back to Sarah as she seems to struggle to breathe for a moment.
I feel myself melt even more. She's so beautiful, even in her melancholy state.
She looks at me suddenly, pinning me with her beautiful dark, almond shaped eyes. “Thank you, Dr. Rich-Rich—”
Sarah's words are cut off, muffled by her hands.
Christopher wraps her up in a hug and rocks her; his hands band around her head so as to not disturb the raw skin of her back.
“Aww, you called me rich. That makes me feel very good,” I tease in an effort to lighten this screwed-up night and her truly unsettled mood.
I lean forward as the men chuckle and run my hand down her soft arm and then squeeze her hand gently, comforting this woman who is technically still a stranger to me. I ignore her friends looking at me curiously and focus on how good her skin feels against mine. So warm and fragrant.
Sarah looks over at me, gasping through her nervous laughter and tears, and my eyes soften as an emotion swells inside me. Something I can't explain, because I've never felt it before.